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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers. But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn’t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn��t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules. Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N’s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

- All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

part 2

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incarceratedcastiel · 3 years ago

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ok. quick little sentimental post bc i’m abt to hit post limit again (under the cut bc i accidentally wrote a lot) (pictured above me trying to process nov 5 a year ago) (rip i have to do this on my sideblog)

i just wanted to say this past year has been really really fun. idk if i’ll still be here this time next year (i said the same thing about today, ha) but even if not this has been the most fun year of my online life. i’ve never made so many friends in fandom like i have here, i’ve never seen so much incredible fandom creations with fics, artwork, amvs you name it, like i have here. getting to love cas and affirm his identity and his love for dean with you all has been so meaningful to me, as someone who has been uncertainly navigating my own sexuality for more than half my life. maybe it’s pathetic that i log on here every day to literally just like posts from my little friends, but i love it so much. and every time i see all my dm conversations it truly makes me tear up to see a visual of how just how many people i’ve connected with on here through this fandom. if we’ve been mutuals for a year i love you, if we just followed each other today by proxy of our sideblogs i love you, if we’re not technically mutuals but i follow you or you follow me, i love you and i’m so happy you’re on this journey with me. whether i’m only here another week or for the next 10 years, i just want you guys to know how much you’ve impacted my life this past year ❤️

so, all to say, happy november 5th everyone, because this day is about cas and dean but to me it's also about us finding each other.

and now, tagging some mutuals who've really impacted me this year (this is not even close to everyone. i'm just drunk and didn't premeditate this post oops):

@bigdestiel - beloved same taste in women mutual, i love clowning in the tags with you sooooo much you're hilarious

@bedpissercastiel - i'm SO thankful you cold messaged me that day back in may, you're hilarious. sorry for leaving you on read just now i'm typing this post

@castielmegafruithell - confession in my head i think of you as my casgirl wife, i love talking to you so so much

@castiel-kline - what did i do to deserve to be mutuals and besties with such a talented content creator. ik you're not misha now bc you're a better poet than him

@deancasday - you've changed your url so much, but i always look forward to seeing what the next one will be

@floral-cas - we haven't talked much but i cry every time i think about how much positivity you've injected into this fandom

@ghostmary - my jackgirl hero - thanks for listening to me ramble about my favorite boy

@homophobicdean - i've been holding your hand for so many months i've lost count, you're such a soothing constant on here

@icefire149 - intimidating blog to dear friend pipeline, thanks for helping me process beat sheet

@lazarusrisingnatural - we've not been mutuals long but i feel SUCH a kinship with you <3

@pissbabydean - we've not talked much but i think so endearingly of you. and yes i really do call you piss in my head

@rotomcity - i LOVE being online with you, i love being on the same wavelength as you. i will prev your tags until i die

@saileen-away - queen of twilightnatural follows ME??? i'm unworthy. all my favorite content was made by you

@undeadcas - i give my little eileen pop a kiss on the forehead every night, thank you for making her

@5november2020 - tswiftnatural mutual, i've had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

and literally so many other mutuals, it blows my mind how many of you there are. if we haven't talked know that i literally think of you as a good friend in my head <3

#hellers. all to say. i'm fucking in love with you #cas being gay and in love is something that can be so contagious #i'm also certain i missed people i'm pretty drunk ngl also can't remember who changed their urls and who didn't #side note if i tagged you. i always overthink the order i tag people in so i just put you in alphabetical order. not that you care.#some of y'all know how obsessed i am with you but still just wanted to make a post #<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 #also seen above my snap and twitter mutuals feel free to add me on other socials fr fr

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the-darklings · 4 years ago

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coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective.

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part.

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that.

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing.

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager.

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now.

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash.

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But.

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts.

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed.

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm.

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received.

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy.

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely.

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem.

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself.

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too.

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020.

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call.

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind.

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.

So I didn’t.

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest.

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back.

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either.

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that.

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited.

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly.

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you.

Love,

- Kat.

#kat speaks #blog psa #i suppose

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panticwritten · 3 years ago

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Update post

I'm gonna do this kind of in a bullet point style in what's been going on since, like, February.

I stepped away from classes in the spring and haven't been back since. I could not keep doing school and my financial aid simply wasn't enough to keep myself fed and the rent paid, even with another income in the house.

I moved to a bigger apartment. That deserves its own point bc it's such a relief to have more space.

Remember the Boy I made pumpkin bread for a little less than 2 years ago? Well, we're engaged??? Planning to officially get all the papers signed and everything in November. Nothing big or anything until we're able to save up a little.

I started working at a hardware store stocking shelves and working their trucks and I realized very quickly that my body was not okay with that. I stuck with it for four months before I came to terms with the fact that I wasn't going to 'get used to' the work and the constant pain in my legs from being on my feet for even the shorter 4hr shifts wasn't going to just go away if I stuck through it long enough.

So I put in my 2 weeks back in August and between my last day and the 2 weeks it took me to find a job I can actually do I got to explore and cultivate myself as a human being more than I have in a LONG time because I've just been so tired all the time for pretty much ever.

I started trying to learn how to code starting with Mimo and that's been going well but very coincidentally my contact at an employment agency sent me a job listing looking for someone with p much no experience to join their web team. Today was my first day and I spent the whole shift learning how fucking expensive the van conversion industry is but I felt like an equal in my workplace for the first time ever, even though I'm technically a temp unless they decide to fully hire me on after 90 days. So, I'd say that's a successful first day.

I haven't written much in the past couple years, almost nothing if you don't count what I've done for classes before stepping away from classes. I'm just starting to dip my toes back into writing and it's very slow going right now. I'm trying to make sure I'm writing from a healthier place than I used to. I'm going to at least try to finish writing Breaking Furnace and maybe?? the Gregor daydream???(and probably most of the Collective backstories I have planned), but I don't think I'm going to do more than bits and pieces of the other daydream projects (Sequence of Regrettable Happenings, Trollhunters). My daydreams are and always will be a huge part of my life, but I don't want to obsess the way that I have in the past. I have an actual future that I can really see now.

I'll try to type up an actual writing update tomorrow, but it's kinda late and I think I'm gonna head to bed soon. I missed it here. I've mostly been on Facebook because for some reason I started seeing memes secondhand here FROM FACEBOOK which is backward and wrong.

Anyway, have a good night. I'm here. Let's see if I can convince myself to actually keep posting here this time.

#update #life update #it was a good first day #long bus ride but the workday seemed to go by super fast

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years ago

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untitled | m. rantanen (fic preview)

a/n: i’ve been talking about this fic a lot, so here’s a little 1.6K. it’s very much not done. it doesn’t even have a title yet, but i hope you all like mikko and jo as much as i do! i ended up writing with an oc so i could write this how i envisioned. let me know what you think!!

Jo tugged at her sweater, pulling at the sleeves, at the slightly too tight bottom band, at the neckline, really any part that was touching her skin. It was itchy beyond belief, but she was pretty sure that she was about to take home the non-existent prize of ugliest Christmas sweater at the party tonight. Jo had been out with Helena for dinner, so she threw the sweater on in the car on the way over to Gabe’s and was regretting never having tried it on before this moment. But, the look on Mikko’s face when he saw just how ugly the sweater was would be worth her temporary discomfort.

She punched in the gate code at Gabe’s and made her way up the driveway, smiling the whole way, something Jo had been doing a lot more of lately than she usually did. She told herself it was the hometown air, mile high and clearer than any other city. She told herself it was the fresh snow falling regularly now, deep into December. She told herself it was Christmas and a lot of people were happier around Christmas. Jo’s happiness wasn’t temporary though. It was a shift, slow and steady, a constant pressure forcing her out of the mindset she settled in years ago, the one where she always needed to be pleasing other people to be happy, the one where she needed everyone’s approval to find her own joy. She knew the clearer air, the snow, and the holidays weren’t the pressure. The pressure was a tall, somehow clumsy Finn who wanted nothing more than to see Jo smile every single day.

He didn’t try to make her happy with jokes and gimmicks and other things that were essentially bandaids to Jo’s heaviness. He didn’t try to pull a funny face while jumping just high enough for Jo to see from the other side of the walls she has built to protect herself, the ones she thought were too high for anyone to climb. Mikko wasn’t climbing them, knowing full and well that him getting over them wouldn’t truly help Jo. It would make her just okay for a little while longer, make the way she lived a little more bearable, until it destroyed them both. Mikko was taking the walls apart, brick by brick, his patience and his steadiness guiding the way. He never got frustrated when some of the bricks went back up in the middle of the night while he slept. He got up the next morning all the same and went back to work, taking the walls apart piece by piece, at whatever pace Jo would accept. Mikko hadn’t given up in four months, and he wasn’t planning on it, not until all the walls were gone and the bricks were destroyed, crumbled back into dust, and Jo could see herself the way he saw her the few times he managed to make a hole in the wall and actually see her behind all her defenses.

Jo opened the door into Andre Burakovsky. It was an accident and he shouldn’t have been standing directly in front of the front door and he wasn’t hurt in the slightest, but Jo felt bad about it all the same.

“I’m dumb, it’s my fault,” he assured her. His mouth dropped open when he saw her sweater as Jo hung up her jacket in the front closet. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen and I wish we had a contest because you’d so win.”

“I would so win,” Jo agreed, fussing with her curls to get them reasonably back into place

“There should be a contest. Maybe you can bully Gabe into getting some sort of prize anyway because you deserve it, ” Andre told her, his signature wide smile on his face. “He’s in the family room last I saw him by the way, since I know you’re looking for him.”

Jo blushed at Andre’s words. He had caught her eyes tracking over the party that was in full swing, looking for the guy who had technically invited her, but she probably could’ve shown up anyway without his invite. She ducked out on Andre, blush still deepening with him laughing in the background, and made her way through the living room and kitchen into Gabe’s family room. She was old news by now, a days old newspaper no one wanted to read anymore, and it was Jo’s favorite thing about the Colorado Avalanche. She was Mikko’s friend Jo. Full stop. No additions necessary.

“Jojo!”

Jo heard Mikko before she saw him. She technically felt him before she saw him either as two heavy, muscled, ugly sweater covered arms wrapped around her stomach and lifted her off the ground, making her squeal.. He was laughing as soon as her feet left the ground. Jo’s hands gripped one of Mikko’s forearms around her waist to steady herself as Mikko rocked slowly side to side, weight shifting from foot to foot, with Jo in the air in his arms.

“Mikko!” Jo shouted through her laughter. “Put me down!��

“You’re so easy to pick up though, and now you can actually see the party,” Mikko pointed out unhelpfully.

He set her down anyway, knowing that when Josephine Evans made up her mind, such as wanting to be put down, she was a woman who would figure out how to get her way, Mikko’s shins be damned if that’s what it took. Mikko had a game to play the day after today and wasn’t excited about doing it with shins bruised by Jo’s boots.

“This sweater,” Mikko breathed out as Jo turned to face him. He was in disbelief as he looked at it, “Jo, this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Are you proud?”

Jo spun slowly on her heels, letting Mikko take in the absolute monstrosity she had bought to wear just for this. Mikko was in disbelief, written plainly all over his face, as he observed the sweater in all its terrible glory. Jo had more than delivered when he texted her and said it was an ugly Christmas party. Mikko loved the sweater, a true ugly beauty, but he thought the best part was that Jo put her hair in those little half space buns, the rest of her hair in curls falling down her back. He thought she was the cutest person he’d ever seen and he only knew one way to deal with it in a healthy way Jo would actually appreciate.

Appreciate might have been the wrong word.

Mikko reached out with two large hands and gave her little half buns a squeeze while saying, “Your antlers are cute.”

“Mikko, I swear to god, one day you’re going to die and it’s because I kill you,” Jo informed him with a tone so casual you would think she had just ordered a breakfast sandwich.

“And what a way to go,” Mikko just laughed in response. “Mel made spiked eggnog. You interested?”

Mikko knew Jo was interested before he had even asked, which is why it didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she took off for the kitchen, dragging him by his hand to get to the eggnog. Mikko had released when he stepped into Jo’s apartment on November 3rd, almost two months ago now, just how much Jo loved Christmas, because it had already been decorated that day he walked in. She had offered no explanation for the decorations being up so early other than that it was her apartment, she could do what she damn well pleased, and if Mikko didn’t like it, he could damn well leave. He stayed. Mikko always stayed when Jo was involved.

“Those are some pours there, Jo,” Mikko told her as he eyed the cups Jo was already filling for them from the pot. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“You’re a growing boy,” Jo countered, shoving a full cup into Mikko’s waiting hand. “Drink your milk and maybe you’ll grow big and strong.”

Mikko couldn’t help but laugh. He might make Jo laugh a lot and Mikko laughed a lot in general, but no one made him laugh more than Jo. Even on his worst days, even on Jo’s worst days for that matter, she could always pry a full bellied laugh out of him. It wasn’t even prying. Mikko would willingly give it over to her even when all she offered him was a shitty joke in exchange. It wasn’t lost on Mikko why that was. It wasn’t lost on anyone in the room, or really anyone who had ever spent four minutes in the same room as Mikko and Jo. Mikko looked at Jo differently from other people. Debate what you want about loving someone or being in love with someone, Mikko knew Jo didn’t want him to be in love with her and he respected her wishes more than how he wished she felt, but Mikko Rantanen loved Josephine Evans and it had taken only a few months for it to happen. Mikko realized it the other day on the plane coming back from a road trip. All he wanted was for the plane to get to altitude so he could turn on his phone and text Jo about something funny that had happened since his phone had been in airplane mode. All he wanted to do was get home and see her. All he wanted was her. And that’s not how you feel about people you don’t love.

#fic preview

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nosferatyou · 5 years ago

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Double Indemnity: Ch.1 (Josh Kiszka x Reader)

Summary: After an incident their freshman year they could barely stand to look at each other. Now it’s their senior year and are grouped together for their final project. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Cursing

WC: 2.3k

Authors note: Well. I flipped into Josh’s lane and thought of this sucker and couldn’t get it out of my head. After I heard the story behind the writers of “Double Indemnity” I just had to make this. Heres to me hopefully finishing a series! Enjoy!

Let’s go back to the day when I “met” Josh Kiszka and when I actually met Josh.

It was the summer before my freshman year of college, and at that point, film sets weren’t a stranger to me. But I sure didn’t have the experience that most of the already film majors around me had. I was roped in by my long time friend Jack who I hadn’t spoken to since graduation, but due to the circumstances, he needed as many crew members as possible. He had 2 days to write, shoot, and cut together a short film. I was a PA (production assistant) and was frantically running around helping in any way I could. I was smart enough to stay out of the way and speak up when needed.

I met most of the crew except one, the cinematographer/camera op, who was the busiest on set. The exception being Jack, who was the director. I heard the camera OP was only there because he had the nicest camera, but my mind may have tainted what I heard about him that day.

With only an hour to spare we had finished the film. All of us dehydrated and starving, sleep-deprived too. I was cradling a horrendous migraine from the lack of water and was ready to leave before someone suggested we go to Cookout. Which is arguably the best food at 3 am.

Against my will, I was dragged to the fast-food restaurant with the rest of the crew. At that point, I was barely conscious and sat in the back seat of Jack’s car. The stranger cinematographer who I hadn’t noticed was next to me until he tapped my shoulder. With a concerned look, asked me if I was okay and needed anything. Which was nice of him considering we’d never spoken.

After the short exchange of words, he never seemed to fully leave my side. May it be his glances from across the table with the same concerned look, or him bring me cups of water, which I still don’t remember him getting up for.

After that night it would be months until I see him again.

I didn’t expect him to be in my Post Production class, but I was definitely happy to see him. It was my first day of classes and to see a familiar face was a nice change of pace compared to whirlwind of a day. Though it wasn’t too long after that that my feelings for him changed.

If you’re a film student you’re going to edit a Gunsmoke fight scene, it is basically a right of passage. Anyways I was an experienced editor and of course, was going to cut the fight scene to the beat of an Ennio Morricone song. If we were going to work on a western scene then Ennio was a must.

I was damn proud of my work, I seemed to be one of the best editors in the class, josh being right there with me. We didn’t exchange many words, but we kept each other company by simply sitting next to each other.

Then came the critique day, when everyone watches your video and gives you notes. Usually its never good notes.

After our class watched it everyone had a lot to say, mostly over small slip-ups I didn’t notice, that’s normal. Josh’s video was next and the moment the music played I was livid, he had used the same exact song, even cut it the same way I did. The worst part was that no one had anything bad to say about it, all good comments. I kept it contained, for the most part. I didn’t verbally say anything, but my constant tapping and dirty looks in his direction said otherwise. I don’t think he’d noticed.

I waited until everyone left and simply gave him a piece of my mind. Maybe I snapped at him… either way, it led to us getting into our first screaming match. Josh saying he “didn’t” copy my video and me disagreeing. I honestly don’t remember how it ended, but I do remember us getting kicked out of the building for it.

Anyways that was three years ago, and we still hate each other. Yet here we are still in all the same classes, but the difference is we have silent warfares. Constantly competing with each other, showing each other our higher grades, and besting each other’s videos. I can barely stand to hear him talk anymore, but I do have to say. He knows how to make a good line.

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Even with the cold chill of the November air prickling my skin and the wind whipping my hair, my mood couldn’t be damped. Maybe “chill” is an understatement. Living in “The City by the Lake” aka Chicago brings on the harshest of winters, and as crazy as it seems, I always weirdly miss it when I go back to Michigan. Sure it has it’s many feet of snow, but Chicago makes the wind weirdly dazzling.

This is my last coffee, I’ll switch to tea. Is something I say every morning when I get up before classes, but here I am again, with an out of place cold brew in hand and a raging caffeine addiction. In hindsight, it is better than my previous vice, cigarettes, but the headaches it brings on is just as bad as missing a cig. My one hand shoved in my pocket and the other is clutching the same cold brew as before. I may have said that I couldn’t be bothered by the weather, but I’m not immune.

As soon as I enter Columbia’s Media Production building everything becomes flush with warmth. Its a bit uncomfortable really. I remove my gloves and quickly checked my phone, affirming that I’m right on time as always. As I stroll through the halls I tune more into the music, enjoying my free time. There is just something about Chet Baker and Chicago that just mixes so well.

Todays a good day though, it marks my one year of quitting cigs. Did I mention that I quit? Because I quit. Anyways my roommate made a big deal out of it, I also figured out the coolest riff, I’m kind of shit at making music out of thin air so it’s a big day.

After taking the long way to my Directing class (Cinema Directing III if you want to get technical) I finally made it to the small class. Most of the class was there, luckily for me my two-year seat partner, Gwen, was already there, waiting where she always does. We met in our Single Cam 1 class and have been inseparable since, well actually Gwen, Cora (the previously mentioned roommate), and I have been inseparable ever since.

I made my way to my usual seat and peeled my overworn leather bomber jacket off, already feeling more comfortable. Slumping back in my chair I lazily grabbed my sketchbook and pencil out of my bag. Its become a kind of habit to draw my professors and classmates every day, something is just so fascinating about their compositions. I got to work on Gwen who was hunched over, focusing on her book in front of her. I got to work and as soon as I finished up on the basic shapes she quickly sat up, focusing on me.

“You ready for the final project?” She questioned, stealing my coffee in the process.

“I’ve been working on a few ideas already, but then again I don’t know the assignment yet. I do know I will be grabbing the usual 4 of you the moment he says “groups.”

“Heres to hoping we can pick- Oh!” She almost spilled my coffee when she interrupted herself.

“I forgot to text you! Happy one year of being ciggy free!” She exclaimed, handing me back the bottle.

I took a swig from the bottle when she gave it back. “Well thank you, darling. I feel like having clean lungs shouldn’t be such an achievement, but I guess here we are.”

“Be proud! Besides gives us a reason to head to Jerry’s.”

“We’d celebrate over anything if it meant going to Jerry’s and getting pissed.” I smirked at her.

“Well. You got me there. Anyways you are right, we will be getting drunk out of our minds tonight. Bless the man who decided to open a bar directly next to your apartment building.” She said, with a playful smile on her lips.

“Bless him indeed.” I laughed.

At that moment I locked eyes with none other than the aforementioned, Josh Kiszka. It’s oddly enough what we do every time we see each other. Which is more often than I think both of us care for. But seeing him roll his eyes every time I glare at him is kind of fun.

I followed him with my eyes as he sat down in his seat, instantly sticking his nose in- wait what is he reading? I focused and realized he was reading the screenplay for Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs.” Where the hell did he even get that?

My eyes snapped up to the professor when I realized he started class.

“Alright, I’m just going to jump into this. Today we start on your final projects, and I think it’ll be very fun. A challenge for sure, but fun nonetheless.”

I slipped a sly smile to Gwen, already thinking of the best ideas in my arsenal to use.

“In groups, you all will be recreating a favorite film, but it should max be 20 minutes long. Now that’ll be your job to rewrite and format it so you can fit in the timeframe. Oh, and I swear to god if another person does Pulp Fiction I will actually scream. You can hold me to that.”

Oh Jesus okay this will be hard as hell, I guess something with a simpler plot will be easy. Ooh, or something that’s so overcomplicated I can rewrite it so it’s simpler. What’s something that’d be good for Gwen, she’s a good actress, but she can only play so much-

“I already have your groups picked out let me just put them up on the board.” My professor said, searching for the list on his computer.

Oh god. He’s never done this. We always pick groups. If Gwen and I aren’t grouped together I may just riot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him drag the document over to the screen, so I quickly directed my attention to it.

I searched all of the lists, finally finding my name at the top of group four. Rob, Eric, and- Oh shit Gwen! Wait. There’s one more. The moment I saw the J I knew exactly who it was. My eyes darted over to Josh’s seat and had the same look I could only guess that was on my face. We both glared at each other, if we stared any harder we’d burn holes in each other.

“Motherfucker!” I whispered to Gwen, trying not to raise my voice.

“What? We are in the same group.” she looked back over to me with confusion on her face. She followed my eyes to the equally angry man across the room from me.

“Oh, shit..”

“Oh shit is right! I can’t work with that guy, I swear to god… Damn it, I can’t think of an insult! Quick help me!” I stammered out, you could practically see the steam coming out of my ears.

“Um... You can’t work with that Frodo look alike?” She suggested, both of us whispering to each other now,

“I’ll take it. I can’t work with that Frodo look alike! He’s just gonna take all of my good ideas and throw them into the lava like that fucking ring. Wait is it Frodo or sam who throws it? Know what, I don’t care. Look at what he’s making me forget important plot points in movies. I can’t work with someone who hinders my thinking process.”

“First off, Gollum falls in with the ring in hand. Secondly, drink your coffee and focus on what movie we should do. Suggest something so good so fast that it’ll make his head spin.”

She put the almost empty coffee in my hands and I took a swig, still glancing back at josh, making the same face.

Gwen started to ramble on, her words in the back of my mind. All I could focus on was wanting to be in any other group than his, even Leonard. He refuses to watch a Tarantino film, and simply because he thinks he’s beyond that. Leonard is someone I talk to if only necessary.

I tuned back in to hear. “I mean if you think about it, as much as you and Josh are to Frodo and the Ring. You’re more like Billy Wilder and Ray Chandler. I mean they hated each other, but damn if they weren’t good writers. Plus, they respect a good line-”

Inspiration was swept over me. I knew exactly what we had to do. Before I knew what was happening my feet carried themself over to Josh’s seat. Same as before, we both had the same expression, except this time it was one of surprise.

“Double Indemnity!” I blurted out a bit too loudly.

He seemed even more confused. “Double insurance money?” He questioned.

“Fuck. No. It’s the film we are going to make. It’s a fantastic idea, and it’s happening. Not even you can argue with me!” I sped out.

He sat for a moment in thought, his brows furrowed together and a cliche hand positioned on his chin.

“Fine.” Is all he said, his arms were crossed. He seemed defeated.

I simply turned on my heel and headed back to my seat. An overexcited grin plastered to my face.

#greta van fleet #josh kiszka fic #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka x reader #double indemnity #my fic #double indemnity series

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ahnsael · 5 years ago

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@isparednoexpense replied to your post: “Just emailed my two direct bosses, their boss, HIS boss, and the owner...”:

Does your online bill pay work? My bank will send a check on my behalf. Worth looking into.

Our company isn’t set up for electronic transactions. We don’t even accept credit cards at the bar for people who are actually paying for drinks in a casino. And I stopped by my bank today -- their doors are locked with signs saying that they’re closed (the ATM still worked, though -- even though I knew I was only getting five pills in my prescription, I didn’t kow how much I was going to need to pay for it; apparently they were free, because after ringing them up, no dollar value showed and they had the pharmacist hand it to me after talking to me about the pills, and they never asked for money).

But I heard back from both HR and the Vice President of the company today. HR said I could send a check written by someone else, just put in the memo line that it was on behalf of me. So I paid my mom the cash and she mailed off the check today.

The VP said that he thinks that, technically, I was still insured yesterday (but would check; I think the fact that I wasn’t charged for my prescription probably means that he is right). And he offered to make arrangements to let me make a cash payment, whether it was me visiting the main office or him coming to me. But by then we’d already sent off the check so I just thanked him for his answer and for having my back, and told him the check is on the way.

I imagine that yesterday will still be expensive (this is the same insurance that covered $350 of my $21,000 bill two years ago and then said I’d hit my annual cap), but at least SOME of it will be covered.

The weird part about today (well, a couple weird things): I woke up feeling like “myself” for the first time in about a month. I have a feeling yesterday’s huge panic attack had been building up for the past month or so. Today I didn’t have the heart-beating-through-the-chest feeling that I’ve had lately (not only did I have the virus on my mind, but this was a feeling I had two years ago before finding out my blood count was 3 and the medical staff didn’t even know how I walked into the hospital under my own power).

But just knowing that it was a panic attack actually has calmed me down and I haven’t had that feeling today.

The other thing: after I was released from the hospital yesterday, my parents took me to Walmart to drop off my prescription. Everything seemed as normal as possible in there under the circumstances. People were standing farther apart in line, but...other than that it was the Walmart I was familiar with.

I went to pick up my prescription today. I parked near the door closest to the pharmacy. When I got to the door, it was locked, with signs telling me to use the other door.

When I got to that door, there were a bunch of shopping carts with caution tape. They were re-routing people at the entrance to keep them away from people who were exiting. And while the entrance/exit shares a lobby, that lobby was separated by more carts with shopping tape.

Once inside, I noticed that there were blue squares on the floor at each checkout line, spaced 6 feet apart. There were constant prerecorded announcements reminding people to not shake hands, not touch their face, and that if they felt ill they needed to not be there.

At the pharmacy, there were new plexiglass shields between the pharmacists and the general public.

None of this was the case yesterday.

I came home feeling a little anxious. I could feel my heart beat through my chest again (nothing like yesterday before I went to the hospital, though), and had to do some breathing exercises to calm myself. But now that I know what that feeling is, I just kept telling myself, “I’m okay. I’m just anxious about the blatant reminders, and that’s okay, but I can get this under control.” And I did.

I have five pills (no refills -- they’re habit-forming) to use if things get bad again like they did yesterday. If I start panicking, I take one of them, and it should help center me. But they’re really only for use if things get that bad again. And since this was the first time I ever got to the point I got to, I don’t foresee using them. But if I DO need one at some point, they don’t expire until November of 2022. So it may not be a bad idea to keep them nearby (even when I go back to work), but...just knowing that I wasn’t actually dying yesterday when I was convinced that I was is a load off my mind.

I just need to stay away from all but the most basic updates about the current circumstances. I’ve now blocked mentions of the virus here (both the words themselves and the tags). There’s nothing I can do to change the situation, but I can try to avoid exposing myself to a flood of information about it 24/7.

#isparednoexpense #coronavirus #COVID-19

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moon-yeongjun · 5 years ago

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We’re not saviors if we can’t save our brothers || Moon Bros

Summary: This is all the way back in November when Jun first receives the call from Tae that their father is dying.

TW: panic attack, talk of death, cancer

@moon-yeongtae

TAE:

If Tae never had to look at roasted seaweed packages again in his whole entire life, it would still be far too soon. His Appa had found an outlet selling them in bulk and he’d decided to buy them all up and turn them for a profit. Now they were the MoonLight Special and Tae had to painstakingly stack them up on one of their end displays every couple of hours. Because his Appa had been right. People loved seaweed.

It was at times like these that he wished he was doing literally anything else. He would even rather be doing homework or sitting in detention or feeding the fucking chickens and he hated that chore. Those fucking chickens were just so gross and dirty. He always stepped in their shit and they would run around his feet and get in his way like they had a death wish. Stupid birds.

Even if they were kind of cute.

Tae shot a glare over at the back of his Appa’s head as the man helped bag groceries for a customer. So dumb. Why did he have to work here every stupid day? His Appa even had his Eomma here today cashiering. It was like this Market /was/ the family. His Appa cared about it more than he cared about them.

Tae was hit by an overwhelming urge to throw all of the seaweed onto the floor and go stomping out of the store. He didn’t even know where he wanted to go. Just anywhere but here.

Maybe he would go see Nemo.

Well, maybe he would text Nemo and ask if he could see him. It wasn’t like he could just go marching into the hollow and knock on Nemo’s door. He was way too big for that and also he didn’t know where it was.

Nemo would make him feel better, though. He always did. Because Nemo was a cool breeze on a summer day. He was bright and bubbly whenever the fog threatened to settle around the day. Tae had gotten used to having Nemo around--used to his warm presence pressing up against his own anger and sadness and making them feel less real. Or at least further away.

Tae stacked the seaweed and listened to the hum of the refrigeration unit a couple aisles down. The seconds stretched out in front of him, thick and goopy like molasses, and he trudged through, huffing as he went.

Only two more hours and he could go ho—

“Yeong-tae!”

His Eomma’s voice sliced through the lazy atmosphere like sharp steel and when Tae looked up, blackness started to creep in around the edges of his vision.

It was only the sound of his Eomma’s voice, yelling again, that reminded him to breathe while his world was crumbling beneath his feet.

“Call an ambulance!”

But Tae couldn’t do anything. He was frozen. Stuck. He tried to move his hand to his pocket--he thought he had--but when he tried to grip his phone, he realized his hands were still full of seaweed and his Appa was still lying on the floor, not moving. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.

Appa is feeling a little sick right now, but everything will be okay.

Are you going to tell Jun? Is Jun coming home?

No, Tae. Jun is busy with his studying. We shouldn’t bother him with this. Appa is alive and breathing and he’s going to be fine.

Okay, Eomma.

Breathing.

“Hey. Hey kid, are you okay? Hey.”

Tae was aware of something shaking him--a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looked up (how had he gotten on the floor?) a woman was looking down at him, her brow furrowed in concern, and she held a phone to her ear.

“Yes, I need an ambulance to Moon Market. A man has collapsed.” A pause. “No, I don’t know him. His wife is with him. I don’t know if he’s breathing.”

It was suddenly too hot. Beads of sweat rolled down Tae’s forehead and into his eyes, stinging. He needed to get out of here. He needed to move. Why couldn’t he move? God, if his legs would just move he could run and run and maybe he could run fast enough and turn the world backward on its axis and maybe this would’ve never happened. Maybe his Appa would be yelling at him to stack the seaweed better and he would be grumbling and oh god were those sirens?

Just like that, Tae’s body remembered how to move. He also remembered Jun. He remembered how Jun didn’t know Appa wasn’t feeling well and maybe this sickness was worse than his Eomma had said. Maybe it was really bad. Maybe their Appa was—

Tae shot up like a rocket and ran for the back office, nearly tripping on scattered seaweed. His fingers fumbled in his pocket for his phone as he ran.

Jun. Jun. Jun.

Each thud of his heart.

Each slap of his feet.

His fingers found the contact right before he slammed the office door shut and he listened to the ring. It drilled into his panicked brain and he collapsed into his Appa’s chair, his legs shaking and his chest heaving.

“Answer the phone, Jun,” he begged. “Please, God, let him answer the phone.”

JUN:

Jun was working

This was not surprising to anyone, least of all to Jun himself, whose last vacation had been an extended weekend home to Swynlake through Easter Monday roughly seven months ago, during which he still technically had worked---helping Eomma with the Easter Dinner, working with Abeoji to put down a fresh layer of mulch over the garden, and weeding around the tomatoes and strawberries from 5 in the morning to well past noon. Working with his hands in this way had nevertheless been a break for Jun’s brain, if nothing else. It was his brain he used here in the pediatric ward and his brain that only shut off when he was asleep, and occasionally between the hours of midnight and 3 in the morning, when he logged onto Overlands and decimated the enemy army with his biotic rifle.

But right now it was 4pm and Jun was supposed to work until 11pm tonight after which he needed to pick up food for Tiffany before she began the night shift. They were scheduled for a dinner date in the cafe on the first floor of the hospital. He would get home around 11:45 p.m., where he would probably pass out, since he was scheduled to work from 8 to 8 tomorrow.

Jun kept this calendar in his mind at all times. If it was not in the forefront, it was in the back, as he reviewed blood tests and reorganized this charts and bounced from room to room—

This schedule did not account for a 4pm call from his dongsaeng.

He’d been on the way to a patient’s room. He was fifteen minutes behind all his appointments, which he knew was quite annoying. But when the phone rang with his special Tae ringtone, he’d nearly smacked right into a bathroom door as it opened.

Tae hadn’t called him from his phone in...

Jun couldn’t remember. Ever? Possibly ever? Ah, and that meant whatever it was, it was not good. A thousand horrible possibilities flashed through his brain as he ducked into an empty room at the hospital: Tae having been arrested for some public disturbance and needing bail money, Tae having hijacked a car and driven it into Atlantis Lake and needing money for the damage, Tae stranded in Bristol needing Jun to wire him money—

“Tae-yah,” he answered the phone in a rush. “Agh, I’m in the middle of a shift, what did you do now?”

TAE:

The phone rang and Tae was trapped.

He was trapped in this sort of space where nothing was happening yet everything was going wrong around him. It was like he was pushing and pushing to do something and the brrrng of the phone held him back. It laughed at him and told him how useless he was--how utterly useless. And Tae knew it was right. That incessant ringing knew his darkest secret. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do to make any of this right.

He couldn’t fix his Appa.

He couldn’t make hyung answer the phone.

He couldn’t—

Jun’s voice came over the line, low and rushed, and all of the breath in Tae’s lungs was pushed out in a shaking sob. When had he started crying?

“Hyungie.”

It was more of a whine than anything really. He sounded so small and scared. He was so small and scared. “Hyungie, help. I don’t know what to do.”

Jun:

Hyungie.

Before Jun could say anything else, his brother’s breath hitched across the line. And as easily as that, Jun felt himself time-travel— leap back years and bridge the distance, so it was himself and Tae in the front yard, Jun holding a sobbing Tae to him as he gently cleaned dirt off his scraped knee. It was the first day of school, Tae’s tears dribbling down his cheeks, clinging to Jun’s trousers. It was Jun leaving for Oxford and Tae refusing to talk to him until the train pulled in and Jun took the first step toward it. Hyungie, he’d cried out to him. Hyungie, wait!

The letters on the chart in Jun’s hand all blurred together. The hospital murmur bled into cold static.

He couldn’t hear anything but his brother.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tae-yah, what’s going on—” Jun’s eyes darted toward the door he’d left ajar. He reached for it, pulling it shut. “Deep breaths, yeah? Deep breaths for me. Can you tell me if you’re okay?”

Please tell me that you’re okay. And Eomma, and Appa, and Sky and Star and Sunny… The pager at his waist went off, but Jun ignored it.

TAE:

Now Jun sounded worried and Tae panicked even more. Jun wasn’t supposed to be worried. Jun was supposed to know what to do all the time. Jun was his rock--his constant--and he never wavered, but his voice went cold and calculated which meant he was scared. Jun was scared just like Tae.

“I’m—” he gasped into the receiver. “It’s--we called the ambulance and I dropped all the seaweed, hyungie. I was supposed to be organizing it. Appa said organize the seaweed Tae-yah and I was doing that and then everything crashed and Eomma was screaming for an ambulance and Appa--hyungie, I don’t think Appa was breathing.”

His Appa hadn’t been breathing.

Tae couldn’t remember seeing the rise and fall of the man’s chest. “I was so mean to him, hyung. I talked back to him and what if it was my fault? What if I did this?”

Jun: We called the ambulance.

Icy panic gripped Jun, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

Appa said organize the seaweed—

Everything crashed—

Eomma was screaming—

I don’t think Appa was breathing.

After his hal-meoni had died, Jun had stopped having nightmares. He had stopped dreaming altogether. Either he slept like he was dead, buried so deep in exhaustion he couldn’t even remember falling asleep, or he didn’t sleep at all. His exhausted eyes stayed peeled awake, like someone had nailed them open. He stared at the ceiling or he logged on with half his brain into an Overlands server, where he killed the after-midnight hours by adding new rooms onto his growing fortress, building block by block one click of his keyboard at a time.

If he had nightmares though, they’d come to him like this phone call. They would be about his family— about Abeoji and Eomma and Tae and Sky, Star, and Sunny. He wanted desperately to sit down, and he looked at the patient’s chair near the computer screen, and then at the examination table, where his eyes found a wrinkle in the sheet paper stretched across it. Something about that wrinkle grabbed him and he couldn’t look away. He stepped toward the table, smoothing his hand over the wrinkle like he could iron it down.

He did not know how to deal with nightmares, you see, he was desperately out of practice, but he knew about the body, and what to do— he knew what to do, he was a doctor, he knew what to do.

“Tae-yah, no, no, it’s not your fault,” he told his brother very calmly. He pressed down on the wrinkle of the sheet. “You didn’t do anything, but I need you to listen to me. We can help Appa together. Can you do that with me?” He had to go home. He had to go right now. Jun tugged the sheet of paper, the paper crinkling as he began to straighten it out. He kept talking. “I’m coming home. I am coming right now, but until I get there, you must be hyung, okay? I’ll stay on the phone with you-- go back to Appa, can you check his pulse for me?”

The paper was straight now, the wrinkle just a faint line, like a pencil mark. Good enough? Good enough.

He had to go home.

Yes, he had to go home.

Jun swept out of the examination room, his chart still tucked under his arm, his hand pressing his phone still close to his ear. “Is there a pulse? Is the ambulance there? Talk to me, Tae-yah.”

TAE:

It suddenly got very hard to breathe as Tae's throat closed around Jun's words and his palms started to sweat. There was no way he was going back out there. He couldn't do it. Even if he wanted to his body was frozen solid, incapable of moving from where it had burrowed away from all danger.

Jun spoke again and Tae shook his head, a whine slipping through his lips. "I c-can't move, hyungie. I can't do it. Appa was bagging groceries and he was fine. He's fine, right? He's going to be okay."

A million miles away he heard his Eomma calling his name. She was calling for him to come. Why did nobody understand that he couldn't move?

"Come home, please. I need you to come home. Why aren't you here? I need you, hyungie. Please." And now he was sobbing into the phone, his words barely coherent.

Jun:

There was a good chance that Abeoji would not be okay. Every worst case scenario presented itself to Jun as he sped through the clinic toward the front desk, the other half of his brain split off and thinking about the steps it would take to get home. The two were in precarious balance: medical disaster on one side, and everything that he needed to do on the other. And so Jun thought resuscitation-- chest compressions-- need to be doing chest compressions-- as he simultaneously thought-- cancel on Tiffany, reschedule my appointments, book the train, I need Tiffany to water my plants--

Tae cried on the other end, each gripping sob like the buffering wheel on Jun’s macbook. It got in the way. It was not helpful. With each gasp of Tae’s breath, Abeoji could have no breath at all.

A brain could last six minutes without oxygen.

“Yeong-tae!” Jun snapped-- loud. The receptionist startled the front desk and looked up at him.

The phone left his mouth for one moment. “Family emergency, cancel all my appointments, tell Dr. Karev-- page Dr. Schmitt to cover--”

He brought the phone back to his mouth. “Yeong-tae, listen! Stop crying. Stop it. Go to Abeoji right now and do what I say.” His voice then softened. “If you do exactly what I say, Abeoji will be okay. Eh? Would I lie to you? I’m a doctor. Go, now.”

TAE:

Chaos.

So many thoughts, fears, what-ifs and if-onlys scattered around haphazardly over his consciousness. His Appa was dying. He couldn’t stop it. His Appa was dead. He couldn’t fix it. Tae’s body flooded with warmth--everywhere except for his chest. His chest was ice cold and his heart hammered at his ribcage, threatening to break out. He was going to be like that dude in Alien--just a giant gaping hole where his chest used to be and he would deserve it because he was letting his Appa die.

He couldn’t--

Jun’s voice, sharp and clear, cut through the fog in his head. Suddenly, Tae’s lungs remembered how to breathe and his feet remembered how to move. Jun was a doctor. Jun knew what to do. Jun wasn’t here but Tae was here and Jun was yelling into his ear--telling him to do something that might help, something besides hyperventilating.

Appa would be okay, Jun said, if Tae could just listen and maybe Tae wasn’t always the best listener but he could listen now. He could listen to Jun and save his Appa.

His feet carried him back onto the sales floor and toward the register where his Appa lay on the floor, his Eomma shaking him and screaming.

“Eomma, move,” Tae said, his voice hard and cold.

“Hyung, tell me where to start. I see him. I’m so scared. You have to tell me what to do.” The fear was in his voice again, but he could be stronger than his fear. He could hold it back until his Appa didn’t need him anymore because Jun was there. His brother was helping him.

Jun:

Jun knew every way that this could go terribly wrong. He heard each one, repeated ad infinitum, in the harsh voices of every doctor who had supervised him. This IS life or death, they’d bark after exercises that went less than perfect. There is no room for error. You make a mistake, someone dies. You make a mistake, someone dies. One more time-- say it-- you make a mistake, someone dies.

This mantra, on a loop, pushed Jun faster out the door. His brain opened like a textbook.

He could only hope that their abeoji’s heart had not stopped-- that Tae was overreacting. He could only hope that Pride University’s hospital would be there within the next few minutes, not only to save Abeoji, but to save Tae-yah as well.

You make a mistake, someone dies.

“Check his pulse,” he said it again. “Make sure he is breathing, make sure his heart has not stopped. Feel his wrist for the heartbreat, Tae-yah. If you don’t feel it, you will do chest compressions, one hand on top of the other. You must use all your strength, Tae-yah, when you do this, do you understand? All of it, do not be afraid to hurt him. I will help you keep count.”

TAE:

Feel his wrist for a heartbeat.

Why was his heartbeat in his wrist? Why couldn’t Tae feel his neck or his chest or--Tae needed to listen to Jun. He needed to do exactly what Jun said because if he didn’t his Appa could die.

“No, nononono,” Tae whimpered. His fingers pressed into the skin of his appa’s wrist, trying to feel something, anything, that would tell him that he was alright, but Tae didn’t feel anything. Was he doing it wrong? That had to be it. He had to be doing it wrong because his appa wasn’t dead. He just wasn’t. It was impossible because appas don’t die. Appas live forever.

“Hyung, I don’t feel it. I don’t--he’s not dead, hyungie he’s not!” The last part of his sentence came out as a screech, searing his throat painfully. “He’s not he’s not he’s not. NO. Okay no. He’s--let me just--”

Tae leaned forward, placing his face right up close to his appa’s face, ignoring the fact that maybe he wasn’t his appa anymore. Maybe he was just a body. And that’s when he felt it. A tiny puff of air.

“JUN!” He screamed. He screamed it again and again. “He’s breathing! I felt it! Jun, he’s not--he’s--tell me what to do now. What do I do? He’s not moving but he’s breathing. It’s really light.”

Jun:

Jun looked up at the sky and let out his own breath.

Finally. The last few minutes had torn through Jun’s life like a bullet. Now his brother’s scream of joy was a wall he crashed into. Time stopped again, just as it had when the phone call came, only now maybe it would stay still like this, just long enough for Jun to figure out what to do next. All those important steps, all these things he had to do, they must be organized--

At least his abeoji was breathing, at least his heart had not stopped, at least Jun still had a father. He was not alone, even if he stood apart from the world, one figure paused standing in the middle of the parkway. Even then, his brother wept in his ear, Jun could hear the sirens on the other end-- the ringing of the Moon Market’s door as it opened--and his father was still alive. These were blessings. Jun must count each one, the same way he counted his grams of sugar and counted to ten with his young patients when drawing their blood.

When time started again, he was thinking of those little patients of his, so brave in the face of ten seconds of pain.

It was an old lesson, but a true one. You can do anything for ten seconds.

For the next ten seconds, Jun was going to go to his car. The ten seconds after that, he would turn it on and pull out of this parkway. On and on, he would build a road home to Yeong-tae and his family out of individual ten-second blocks. And at the end of this road, he’d greet his father again.

“I can hear the paramedics. Liten to them, Tae-yah,” instructed Jun. “I’ll be there soon, yes? Listen to the doctors, hold Eomma’s hand. Give me an hour, Tae-yah, and I’ll call again soon.” One hour, sixty minutes, 3600 seconds. Count to ten 360 times.

“Saranghaeyo, Tae-yah. You’re brave. You can do this.”

The phone clicked off, and Jun began to count to ten.

Hospitals were never quiet.

Train rides could be. Taxis often were. Swynlake’s streets, especially in the evenings, were often more full of crickets than people, and the spaces between the whirring allowed for plenty of time to think and prepare. In every step of his journey, Jun had used all this quiet space to create a list and then execute it. His plants would be well-tended by Tiffany; his shifts were covered; a real estate broker was contacted and his flat’s listing was already posted on a website. He called movers and he wrote his resignation letter on the train, then cracked his knuckles as he stared at the send button, before finally saving the letter as a draft and stowing his laptop away. All these steps Jun arranged like a game of chess, until he arrived at the hospital and the noise blasted through him again.

Machines beeping and chuggering and screeching; crying down the hall; footsteps on the tile; phones ringing off the hook.

It was all very familiar to Jun, who knew how to cut right through it and find his abeoji’s room number and the name of his doctor, all before he found his family.

But this was another thing on Jun’s list: find out what was wrong. Because no matter how busy Jun had kept himself on the journey here, the lack of answer stretched wide. It was the ultimate hole that he kept falling down. His abeoji was sick-- badly, badly sick. He hadn’t known. Eomma kept it from him, confessing to him only now, over the phone, that she and Abeoji had decided to keetp this secret together, that it was best he did not know because he was doing so well in his program. You know how he is about these things, Eomma sobbed. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He said it would get better. But the treatment. Not working. Getting worse. Help, Yeong-Jun, you must, I don’t understand what they are saying to me. Help, please.

So he hunted for answers, and after cornering his abeoji’s oncologists, Jun bullied his way into his father’s files. He flipped through every listed appointment. He studied page after page of test results from blood work, his eyes tracking the rising and falling of his white blood cell count. He looked at the scans and then he went to the radiologist and barked at him until he explained them to Jun, then explained them a second time.

Jun did not need to be an oncologist to know that the picture assembled from these disparate pieces was dire.

He did not need the doctor to tell him, but still he asked. Still he asked, what have you tried so far? And then is there anything else we can do?

And then, and only then, did Jun find his family in the waiting room.

Eomma lifted from the chair first and rushed toward him. She was a tiny woman-- no taller than 5’2, like his three sisters. She clutched him as a fresh wave of tears filled his eyes.

“You look so skinny,” she said, because this is what mothers say to their children when they cannot control anything else. “Have you eaten? There’s food here. There’s pizza in the cafeteria--”

“Eomma.” Jun rubbed his mother’s shoulders. “We should all sit down.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting Tae-yah’s. He’d come home in the beginning of the summer but the past few months had still added another inch to his brother’s frame. Or was it just the taekwondo that made him look bigger? Jun was struck every time he came home by just how much changed without him. He kept waiting for his baby brother to come toddling around the corner, shouting his name.

That boy was long gone now.

#para #moon bros

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writing-in-the-tiny-house · 3 years ago

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Preptober Has Begun!

Become a patron today! Visit patreon.com/writinginthetinyhouse

Also, for all of your editing needs, to go www.littlesyllables.com

Krissy Barton offers free sample critiques, and she is a wonderful professional to be involved with for all of your line editing, copy editing, and proofreading needs.

The following is a transcript of this episode. For a complete transcript, please visit the show’s website.

[00:00:00] In all of your time writing the works that you're doing, did you ever think to try to crank out 50,000 words in a single month then perhaps you are gearing up for the national novel writing month that happens every year in November, also known as NaNoWriMo. And we are talking about preparing for that today on Writing in the Tiny House.

[00:00:34] Hello. Hello. Hello. And welcome back to the show. Welcome to Writing in the Tiny House. I am your host Devin Davis, and I give you the tips and tricks to writing that work of fiction that you have in your brain that you think you are too busy to write, but I'm here to show you that it's completely possible.

[00:01:14] And here I am in Northern Utah living in my tiny house. We had a hiatus and we went to Hawaii not too long ago. And I have said in a few episodes that we are going to be hitting NaNoWriMo pretty strongly this year. I missed out on NaNoWriMo last year. I missed November and NaNoWriMo is a great time of the year. It is where we celebrate making progress in that work of fiction that you're doing or whatever it is you're writing.

[00:01:46] Today in order to make sure that NaNoWriMo is successful, we have what is called Preptober where we go through, we organize our notes. We figure out our schedule and we do all of the things as a way to make sure that NaNoWriMo is going to be successful. That is what we are going to be covering today. But first I need to say a couple things about my current work in progress. Many of you know that I have been working on a novelette the, it is Tales from Vlaydor, Installment One: Brigitte. And it has gone to the editor and the editor has kicked back the edits.

[00:02:30] And so I am doing the final cleanup before laying it out, sending it back to my editor for a final proofread and then releasing it on Amazon. Some of my writing is going to be available for all of you to read and destroy. If you want to, it can be really nerve wracking, releasing something like this.

[00:02:54] But I just need to give a shout out to Krissy Barton, my resident editor for this project with Tales from Vlaydor. She runs a business called Little Syllables editing, and she is great. She is fast. She is in constant communication with the author of whatever she. Editing and she has incredible customer service. She does line edits and copy edits, and then the final proofread.

[00:03:28] So if you want prices, she is affordable. Go ahead and go to little syllables.com and I will have the website in the show notes of this episode. Krissy Barton is amazing. Please send her all of your business.

[00:03:44] Let's talk about Preptober. Let's talk about making NaNoWriMo count. So the whole goal of NaNoWriMo is to do a 50,000 word manuscript in one month. It is to make 50,000 words of progress in whatever work you are doing in the month of November. And I have interviewed people on this podcast or at least one person specifically AJ Mac who did that.

[00:04:10] And he cranked out his first novel because of NaNoWriMo. He had the idea already, but he didn't have the push to get it finished. And so he did his Preptober correctly so that he could do his NaNoWriMo most effectively. So NaNoWriMo is technically a competition, but it is a self paced competition.

[00:04:33] Meaning you are not actually racing against anybody unless you join a Facebook group that is racing against something. And it is all about just accomplishing things. And so if you manage to write 50,000 words and NaNoWriMo, nobody is going to question your work, but they give you a thing to print out, to display like a certificate, and it can be a super fun way to bring like-minded people together who enjoy the craft of writing and storytelling.

[00:05:03] So let's talk about what Preptober gets to be in order to understand what NaNoWriMo can be, which will be in a future episode. First of all, to write 50,000 words in a month means that you need to crank out about, let me hurry and figure this out. Let's see, 50,000 words divided by 30. That means you need to crank out an average of 1,667 words every day. Now I'm going to be upfront with you. I'm going to be very serious about NaNoWriMo, but I don't think that I am going to make a 50,000 word progress on anything just because I am on this release schedule with these short stories and novelettes for Tales from Vlaydor.

[00:05:53] Which means there are automatically going to be some days that need to be dedicated in my case, that needs to be dedicated toward revision and toward editing. And so that is already built into the month. I don't have a way to really change that. And it's important to me to stay on this schedule because I want to release at least two of these short stories by the end of the year. if you have not written 1,667 words in a day before, but you want to do NaNoWriMo, I highly recommend that you find some time in Preptober to try it. Set some time aside, have some notes ready, have an outline ready for whatever it is t hat you're going to be writing. I recommend doing it in 25 minute bursts, and then you recover for five minutes and then you do 25 minute bursts again. Those are called writing sprints. It's something that a lot of people do in order to make good progress and to stay on task and to not be overwhelmed by your writing. But you need to measure that baseline for how fast you write and how much of it at a time you can tolerate. So for me, I personally prefer setting aside at least one hour, if not, two hours to write.

[00:07:14] And I know that in two hours time, I can crank out 2,500 words. If I set myself to a clock and do these writing sprints, and I don't get caught up in editing too much. If you have never written things before, or if you have not written things in a long while, or if the things that you have written have not been on a computer and they have been long hand in a journal, or in some other medium like that, you may want to set some time aside to see what your rate is and how much of it you can tolerate.

[00:07:51] So once you have that figured out, you can then look at your month of November and see what your schedule is for the entire month of November. Just because if 1,667 words is all that you can handle, which is perfectly fine. I know plenty of published authors who write half of that every day or in the times that they choose to write and they do just fine with what they're doing.

[00:08:23] They usually don't do a big push for NaNoWriMo also, but if 1,667 words is the limit, then that means that you need to do it every single day. If you're hoping to reach 50,000 words in November. And so that means that you get to look at your schedule and you get to set that time aside.

[00:08:42] If you live alone and you are completely reclusive and you don't have any obligations outside of your bubble, then it should be easier to set time aside to do this. If you want to. However, if you are like me and you are juggling a family and you are juggling a full-time job and other things, I still have this podcast to do during November and realistically, I don't think that I'm going to be recording four episodes ahead of time.

[00:09:11] So that I don't have to record anything in November. I just don't foresee that happening. Then it means that you need to set aside a time to do that. And. You can do more than 1,667 words every day. Then you can figure out when you need to take your days off, or if there are other obligations that come up that need to be considered so that you can reach that 50,000 word mark.

[00:09:38] By the end of the month, I told you with my podcast and with writing these short stories and being on the release schedule that I'm on, I'm not going to be able to honor a 50,000 word. By the end of November. However, I think that I can get close to half of that and considering all of these other things that I'm doing during that month, I think that's pretty.

[00:10:02] Okay. So we'll see, I will fill you in as it goes and it's going to be an awesome thing, guys. I'm excited to do NaNoWriMo. Excited to have you guys I'll do it with me. So know your schedule, know your limits, sit down and plan out what you're going to be doing with your schedule and your limits. And then guys, November is a time to bust out words.

[00:10:29] If busting out words aggressively. At a very reckless, rough pace that is going to require hella revisions at the end of November is not your style. Then don't participate in NaNoWriMo. However, if you want to go all out and make a ton of progress in your novels. The thing is I find most of my magic in revising what I've written anyway.

[00:10:58] And so it's okay if my first drafts are really rough, I like to crank out larger volumes at a time. And so this totally works for me, but in order to be prepared for that, I know that I need to have at least something outlined. I'm not much of an outliner. I don't like to have an outline. Like the outline that I prepared for my novels was like three pages long.

[00:11:23] And this was back when the two novels that I'm writing were in one manuscript. And so this was going to be at that time, a 200,000 word document, and I had like a three page outline. I prefer to revise, revise, revise. It all just depends on what you prefer. And there is no right or wrong answer. I love revising, but I also know that unless I understand what I am about to sit down and write, I will struggle with the writing sprints.

[00:11:59] So it is really, really valuable to me. To at least have some notes to have at least a skeleton outline of what I'm going to be doing so that I don't encounter writer's block or I don't encounter writer's block as much. There is always a chance that in the middle of all of this frantic fever, Writing a pounding on your keyboard and staring at your word processor.

[00:12:28] There is always a chance that you're going to need to take a second to step back and outline a little more. I do it regularly with my books. My outlines tend to be pretty dynamic and. It is important to understand that the more you have outlined the less you are going to encounter the possibility of writer's block.

[00:12:49] And that means that you can push through every single day until you reach that 50,000 word count at the end of NaNoWriMo. So with that, I intend to finish the rough draft of at least one short story and have well. I intend to finish the first and second drafts of at least one short story and have the rough draft of a second short story finished.

[00:13:18] I'm also going to be staying up to date with this podcast. I'm not going to be skipping episodes in November, and if I choose to get my crap together, I might, pre-record a few things so that in November, I have more time to focus. Writing and less on talking about writing. So we'll see what I managed to actually do. I am envisioning and I am purposefully creating time in November to revisit the novels that I was writing earlier this winter, this previous winter and spring, just because it has been a minute. And I feel that I am ready to make some more progress with that. And I'm excited to revisit some of that and to add some parts that have been bubbling around in my brain and.

[00:14:07] I'm eager to make more progress with that. So it's going to be a first and second draft of one of these short stories, a rough draft of another, and some more headway in the novels that I have not finished. And like I said, I will touch base with you every single Wednesday. If you are a patron, it will be on Saturdays.

[00:14:31] Just to share with you the progress. This episode is going to be released to the public October 15th. And so that gives us two solid weeks to fit in a good prep Tober so that we can be prepared. And have all of our notes together so that we don't encounter writer's block during NaNoWriMo. And that means that even if we are furiously writing and composing and drafting and all the other words that mean writing in November, it means that what we write will be more focused and it will be more clean and it will have a better plot.

[00:15:12] It will have a better structure, without doing all of that work beforehand, you risk having a plot that doesn't make sense. You risk having some very fundamental problems. So do your prep. Tobar guys. Thank you so much for tuning in today. I love every single one of you, people who subscribe to this show, even if I don't entirely know who you are, if you wish to become a Patron and support this show. It is because of the generous donations of my patrons that this show is possible. Please go to patreon.com/writinginthetinyhouse and sign up to become a patron today. Also follow me on my social media. My Instagram handle is @authordevindavis and my Twitter handle is @authordevind. Again, thank you so much for tuning in today and have fun writing.

Check out this episode!

#writing #writer #author #fiction #am writing #wip

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queenofthyme · 7 years ago

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November Third (part ten)

@o0o-chibaken-o0o you have waited so patiently so you deserve all the drarry (and smut™)

bingo l part one l part two l part three l part four l part five l part six l part seven l part eight (a) l part eight (b) l part nine l part ten l updates to come..

Draco knew he was very junior still, but he felt a strong sense of pride and importance in his position. After just a year and a half of training, he was already in placement as a Healer at St Mungo’s. Yes, he had Healer Gibbons supervising him constantly but she usually didn’t interfere and allowed Draco to work with minimal guidance.

It’s not like he was doing any actual healing yet, just assessing patients with non-urgent conditions and passing them onto the appropriate specialist, but it was a start. And much more than Draco thought an ex Death Eater would ever be entitled to.

The days in the Hospital usually went quickly as there was always a constant stream of patients to be assessed. Draco was hoping this particular day would be the same, as it was November third, and as soon as he got home, he was going to call Harry Potter.

He supposed it was rather bold, but it was just as bold of Potter to give Draco his phone number the year before. A tidbit Draco had worked out months after the fact, thanks to Pansy being nosey (as per usual) and discovering the number in his contacts.

Since the discovery, Draco had been painfully waiting for November third to swing around again so he could actually use Potter’s number. If he called him on any other day, there was no telling what would happen, but if he called Potter on November third, then it would at least be something. Something worth embarrassing himself over.

And now it was the day, and despite his nerves, Draco already wanted his shift to end so he could make the call.

Draco’s first patient of the day was a charming older witch who couldn’t stop casting summoning spells with every word she said - spell malfunction ward. Draco’s second patient was a young father who claimed his whole family couldn’t stop reenacting their ancestors - historic curses ward.

Draco’s fifteenth patient of the day was Harry Potter. And there was no ward in the hospital appropriate for Potter’s...requirements.

A small part of Draco was relieved that he didn’t have to call Potter after all but a much larger part was already panicking at the prospect of assessing Potter. How could he remain professional with a patient who had once sucked his - well, he would just have to call on his professionalism training and do his best.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Potter,” Draco said formally, aware of Healer Gibbon’s eyes on him. “Please take a seat.”

Potter’s smile covered a laugh as he followed instruction and sat down - he didn’t look sick at all. “Good Afternoon, Healer Malfoy,” he said in a serious voice that only Draco could tell was mocking.

Potter handed over the form they made all non-serious patients fill out at reception and Draco skimmed over it quickly. “You haven’t ticked any symptoms,” he observed.

“None of them applied,” Potter said with a shrug.

Draco made eyes with Healer Gibbons, hoping she might take over, but she just gestured for Draco to continue. “So, what symptoms do you have?” Draco asked.

“None.” Potter raised his eyebrows - he was trying to get a rise out of Draco, Draco knew it.

“If you have no symptoms, then why are you here?” Draco said slowly, keeping his voice in check for Healer Gibbon’s benefit. If he lost his composure in front of her and it affected his career, Draco wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving Harry Potter plenty of symptoms worth visiting St Mungo’s for.

Potter’s eyes darted over to Healer Gibbons and back to Draco. Then he stood up and walked to Gibbons, beginning a conversation with her in a hushed voice, as if Draco wasn’t even in the room!

What the fuck, Potter? Healer Gibbons was there as a supervisor. Draco was the acting Healer. He wasn’t there to be ignored. Just as he was about to say something, Potter pulled back from Gibbons and winked at Draco. Oh Merlin. What the fuck had he said?

When Draco moved his eyes over to Healer Gibbons to assess the damage, he found she was blushing. Oh shit. “Given Mr Potter’s condition is sensitive, I will wait outside. Healer Malfoy, I am sure you can handle this on your own.”

Draco watched her leave and waited until the door was firmly shut behind her before dropping his professionalism. He turned to Potter. “What the fuck did you tell her?”

“Language, Healer Malfoy!” Potter chided, the cheeky bastard. "I am your patient.”

Draco snorted. “I assess patients with symptoms. If you’re not sick, then I can’t do anything for you.”

Instead of leaving Draco’s office, Potter dropped back into the patient’s chair, leaning back with an infuriating pout. “What about if I’m sick of waiting for someone to call me? Does that count?”

Draco blinked. Potter had been waiting? For a year? He spoke without thinking. “I was going to call you tonight.” Shit.

“I know.” Wait, what?

“You know?” Draco repeated. Potter knew? “Then why - “

“I didn’t want you to.”

Draco couldn’t keep up. Maybe Potter did need to be in St Mungo’s. “None of this makes any sense, Potter. You want me to call you. You don’t want me to call you. What’s your problem?”

Potter sat up straight in his chair, staring up at Draco where he stood, but somehow making Draco feel as if he were the shorter one of the two. “My problem is you always make me wait too long.”

Draco gulped. Potter was training to become an Auror and it showed. Draco felt as if he were being interrogated, and yet he had been the one asking the questions! “I didn’t realise you were waiting.”

“I’m always waiting.” Potter dropped his gaze, and his Auror likeness along with it. “You never returned the favour, you know?”

Potter was being especially cryptic today. “Returned what favour?” Draco asked, glad Healer Gibbons wasn’t around to hear him speaking to a “patient” with such undisguised frustration.

Potter still couldn’t meet his eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. It was only two years ago. Eighth year. Charm Class. I - “

“Yes, yes!” Draco yelled, quickly cutting off Potter, his face reddening instantly. “There’s no need to broadcast it to the whole Hospital.”

Potter looked up - his face was red too, although it wasn’t quite as obvious on his dark skin as it was on Draco’s paleness. “It’s just you and me in here,” he said quietly, with the hint of something more to his words.

Draco caught on (or leapt on) immediately. “You aren’t seriously suggesting…”

Potter smiled, sweet and innocent, and absolutely maddening. “I haven’t suggested anything.”

Draco took a step closer so he could actually look down at Potter, Auror training or not, and regain at least some control over the situation. “Don’t play coy with me, Potter. Here you are, at my place of work, begging me to give you a blowjob.”

Unfortunately, Potter didn’t seem phased. “I’m not begging,” he said simply, leaning back into his chair and spreading his legs the tiniest fraction.

Draco’s eyes darted down - at the movement only - but it didn’t matter. Potter had seen him looking. He had essentially trapped Draco. And any hope of Draco denying his interest was gone.

Huffing, to convey his anger at Potter for tricking him, Draco crossed this arms. “I can’t just give you a blowjob in the middle of a work day!”

‘Why not?” Potter said, smirking. Smirking. Did Draco need to remind him that it was Potter who seemed so desperate for a bloody blowjob in the first place? Draco was just here trying to do his job, of the non-blowing variety.

“Because -“ Draco started, reaching for an excuse. “Because - because that’s unethical,” he landed on. “You’re a patient!”

“I’m not sick so I’m not technically a patient - “

“You signed the forms - “

“- stating I was perfectly healthy with no symptoms,” Potter finished smugly as if he had planned the - Had Potter planned this whole thing? “Not a patient. So if that’s the only thing stopping you -“

“Fine,” Draco interrupted loudly, hoping the soundproof charms on all the rooms at St Mungo’s really did hold up. “Since you’re so desperate for it, I’ll suck your stupid dick,” he said, hoping to convey the right level of indifference.

Although perhaps he’d gone a little far because Potter’s face twisted into uncertainty for the first time. “Malfoy, if you don’t want to, that’s fi - “

“I want to!” Draco interrupted, with more eagerness than he intended to show. It would be such a waste, after all this work of feigning disinterest, if he didn’t get to suck Potter’s dick. “I mean,” Draco clarified, trying to downgrade his obvious interest. “I don’t not want to.”

“Malfoy,” Potter said seriously. “Do you want to or do you not want to? I’m not going to let you give me a blowjob unless you’re completely into it. I didn’t mean to be so forward, I thought that you would want -“

“I do.” He wanted to even more so, now that Potter was being so considerate about it. Fuck. He was so attracted to Potter’s goodness, it was embarrassing.

“Are you sure that -“

“Are you trying to make me beg for it now, Potter? Would that make you feel better about your own desperation?”

Potter’s smile returned - finally. “In my defence, two years is a long time to wait.”

“Then stop stalling and let me get on with it.”

Potter laughed. “What brilliant begging, Malfoy. Really gets me in the mood, ‘getting on with it’ does,” he teased.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco said, placing himself gently on the ground in front of Potter’s chair, thinking the action would do just that - shut him up. It didn’t.

“Is that what gets you in the mood?” Potter continue to joke, but his voice had taken on an excited edge. “Would you prefer me to be quiet?”

Draco placed his hands on Potter’s knees, and Potter’s legs immediately fell further apart without prompting. Draco let his eyes casually flick over Potter’s crotch - was he hard? His trousers were quite loose fitting but it certainly looked as if he could already be hard - as he looked up to meet Potter’s eye. “Right now I would,” he said in answer to Potter’s question.

Potter mimed locking up his lips and throwing away the key - very unoriginal but Draco found it charming all the same. Potter could do anything really and Draco would be charmed. That was the problem. For no one else would he get on his knees after such a shameless request for a blowjob.

The floor was hard and not terribly comfortable, but at least it was clean. The Hospital had constant cleaning charms in all the wards and rooms to protect against contagious conditions or curses. The witches and wizards who originally arranged the spells probably hadn’t given much consideration to the act of giving blowjobs, but Draco thanked them silently all the same. He’d hate to have to explain to Healer Gibbons why his white pants were dusty at the knees.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, clearly not having thrown away the key to his lips at all. “Are you making me wait on purpose?”

Draco realised his terrible mistake. Here, Potter was in front of him, legs spread, and he’d been thinking about the floor and his white pants! What was wrong with him? Although, he did delight in Potter’s impatience. It would have been nice to hear him really beg, and since he couldn’t seem to keep quiet anyway…

“Perhaps I’d be more inclined to move a little faster if I knew you were completely into it too.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy. You know I am.”

“I don’t know any - “

Draco’s words dried up in his mouth as Potter stood up, incidentally thrusting his (unfortunately clothed) crotch in Draco’s face. And that wasn’t all. Potter was - Potter was loosening his belt. And unbuttoning his trousers. And - holy shit - Potter was yanking his trousers down, right along with his pants, right here, right now, in front of Draco’s face.

And before Draco even had time to blink - and he certainly wasn’t about to do so now and miss the sight in front of him - Potter’s cock, his naked, hard - Draco’s earlier suspicions were correct - cock was ready and waiting. And Draco didn’t think it was fair that Potter, as eager as he clearly was, should have to wait any longer, so he put the whole fucking (impressive) thing right into his mouth, totally forgetting his pretence of indifference.

Now, Draco had sucked cock before. He hadn’t just been sitting around pining after Potter for two (nine) years or something ridiculous like that. But he’d always wondered about Potter’s cock. Potter’s cock sucking skills had popped into his head the first time he’d received another blowjob - he was always comparing of course. But with giving one, he had no comparison, and he wanted one, desperately. If Potter hadn’t acquiesced and brought them to this point, Draco knew he would have been reduced to begging eventually. Begging to suck Potter’s cock.

And with Potter’s cock in his mouth now, he decided it would not have been unreasonable. Potter was doing things. Draco had always though giving a blowjob was about giving pleasure and receiving just about receiving pleasure, but he was starting to see how wrong he was. One of Potter’s hands was curled so tight in Draco’s hair that it made his scalp tingle. The other, quite the opposite, was tracing gentle delicate patterns below his ear, sending lightning fast shivers across his whole body, reminiscent of the dared hickey(s) Potter had left on Draco’s neck two years ago.

And then there was Potter’s cock. It was moving. As in, Potter was deliberately twitching the head beneath Draco’s tongue. And maybe that shouldn’t have made Draco go wild, but it did. It did. It did. Because if Potter had that much control over his cock, what else could he do with? What else could he do with it?

Draco was mortified - absolutely and irrevocably mortified - when his mouth, with no prior warning, moaned around Potter’s cock. Like moaned moaned (moaned™). And it was not something he could easily cover up. It was an all-out, no holds barred, moan.

Potter heard. The bastard actually laughed. Draco was on his knees, giving him a (life-changing) blowjob, and Potter had the audacity to laugh at him. Well, Draco did not appreciate that at all, and soon Potter would realise just how colossal of a mistake he had made laughing at Draco Malfoy. Because Draco was going to pull away and leave the evil bastard with blue balls. That would teach him.

Except when Draco went to pull back the first time, he decided that perhaps he’d give it one final suck up and down, for his own benefit, not Potter’s of course. After that, he figured there was no harm in staying around for just a little longer. Besides, the more he sucked Potter’s cock, the closer he could get him to the edge before stopping. And that would surely be the best form of revenge.

Except the closer he got Potter to the edge, the more enthusiastic Potter became. And Draco’s will to leave Potter hanging, grew smaller and smaller, with every laboured breath that came out of Potter’s mouth, with every clench of Potter’s fist in Draco’s hair, and with every twitch of Potter’s fucking cock.

And Potter wasn’t laughing anymore. No, Potter was the one moaning at the command of Draco’s tongue, and really, that would have to do as revenge. It certainly drove the laughter far from Draco’s mind at least. And when Draco allowed himself to moan again, Potter certainly wasn’t laughing then either. No, both of his hands were clutching onto Draco’s hair now, and he was whispering words so quietly between his own moans, that Draco couldn’t understand them.

It wasn’t until Potter finally let go - coming into Draco’s mouth - when one of the words became clear. Malfoy. He repeated it again and again as he came. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. And that was almost enough to make Draco come as well. Almost. Two years ago, definitely. Now, he just needed Harry to -

Potter started pulling his pants up, barely a second after his cock popped from Draco’s mouth. His come was still trickling down Draco’s throat and he was already pulling up his pants! What kind of atrocious etiquette was that? Draco wasn’t expecting to be spooned or anything - but now that Potter had gotten off, his next priority should be giving Draco a hand - either literally or figuratively - not adjusting his belt buckle!

Draco stood up, his dick achingly hard within his trousers, hoping Potter might be reminded of his presence and proceed with the expected sexual favours in return. But Potter seemed to have very different expectations. Because as soon as his clothes had been fully righted - he started walking to the door. Walking to the door!

“Potter!” Draco yelled at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Potter turned around, one hand on the door. “See you again in a year, I suppose,” he said with the exact indifference Draco had been attempting all throughout their encounter. “Unless you’re free tomorrow?”

Draco couldn’t believe it. Potter was leaving him with blue balls. After he’d just - after they’d just - How dare he. Tomorrow was no consolation. Nothing good ever happened with Potter outside November third. And it seemed like Potter was catching onto that as well - so the empty gesture was pointless. And insulting.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Despite his words, Draco was still disappointed when Potter did exactly that.

Bingo Progress...

Okay, you were on a roll and you LOST it. But I understand why. It was misleading. And it was ALMOST phone sex. But I had to put Healer!Draco in too because I also <3 Healer!Draco. Although he is clearly not the most professional...to be fair, Harry did goad him into it.

Anyway, guess again, I guess. Unless you want to go double or nothing and try phonesex again? Am I bluffing? Or double bluffing? Or triple bluffing? You tell me.

#drarry #november3 #o0o-chibaken-o0o #birthday #queenofthyme #silent eggs #always silent eggs

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