#thanks for reading my salty opinion on their designs.

[vagun1ka]

I'm testing some design thoughts on women of liyue.

I wish both Yelan and Keqing didn't have such horrible in-game outfits.

[sailorpurr]

☆ Riley: Voice-Overs

About the Vision: “My Vision is Cryo. It is very useful on hot days at sea. But if the Gods asked my opinion, I would prefer Anemo. Then, with the blessing of Anemo Archon, our ship could sail even faster.” More about Riley: “Reading the constellations is important knowledge for any sailor. You will never get lost if your map is always above your head.” More about Riley II: “Believe it or not, as a child, I was afraid of swimming. It's even funny to be reminded of it now.” About Tartaglia: “Sparring with him was one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me. This man reminds me of the sea, whose waves are also calm, but sometimes they are really difficult to conquer. Did you know that if you freeze his blades, they become even more dangerous? No wonder I lost that duel. But it gave me the inspiration to improve my cryo abilities in a more creative way. I've learned a couple of new tricks since then, so hopefully I can last longer than 10 minutes in our new duel.” About Lisa: “Miss Lisa? Well, who doesn't know her? When I was a child, she recommended to me the legendary series about the adventures of the sailor Salty, and I read them until late into the night. Perhaps this gave me a little inspiration to become a sailor. This and the desire to see the world.” About Venti: “The music of this bard is very inspiring. When I come back to Mondstadt I like to go to the Angel's Share and enjoy his performance.” About Albedo: “Albedo, huh? I have heard about the talents of this alchemist, but I do not know him personally. But his assistant, Sucrose, is a kind soul, and I always bring her plants from all over the world.” About Sucrose: “I have five older sisters, but I consider Sucrose to be the sixth. She is a shy girl, but if you are patient with her, she will reveal her kind heart and sharp, inquisitive mind to you.” About Bennett: “This guy is always unlucky, but I consider myself lucky to know him.” About Thoma: “I had a friend when I was a kid, we used to be neighbors. We were inseparable, but one day he left to visit his father in Inazuma and we haven't seen each other since. I miss him, I hope he's okay.” ☆ Personal details Riley's Hobbies: “You're asking about my hobby? Well, I like to draw. People's smiles when I hand them their portrait is my greatest reward. Each person is beautiful in their own way. I like to notice people's kindness and portray their inner beauty with the help of my drawings.” Favourite drink: “It's wine. Why are you so surprised? I'm from Mondstadt, after all.” Favorite Food: “I love pies. I like the fact they’re easy to prepare and transport, and that they’re very tasty, of course.” Least Favorite Food: "I often get tired of seafood on long voyages.” Special dish "Smoked Meat Pie": "My mother always makes me this pie on those rare days when I come home."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thanks to @rayanaworks for the art ♥ Thanks to Venefica Vespera for the card design ♥

[ran-orimoto]

I want to know you bettah. A favourite character and ship for each Digiseason

Funny, Anon!!!!!! ~~~~~ I don’t really have defined opinions on the series that come after the first four, with the exception of Appmon and Ghost Game. So, sorry if I will skip those other three!

Adventure 01

• Mimi: My princess💕. Along with Katara from ATLA, she’s my own definition of what a girl character should be written like, but I don’t think you want to read long explanations😂.

• Michi: Mimi was a second mc by Taichi’s side. I feel like she had a mirror role in comparison with Taichi’s, as if she’s some sort of girl icon for the franchise. I don’t know how to explain it, but she has got so much presence in the anime, in the merch, in posters; she is voiced by AIM which allowed her to have her own ending, and somehow it feels like this fact makes her omnipresent in the history of the Digimon anime. Wishful thinking, but I like them together because of so many other reasons. THEY JUST CLICK SO WELL.

-Adventure 02

•Miyako: I know I know, she’s not that jewel of character when it comes to her writing, bur her concept has always intrigued me even when I didn’t know Digimon that well. She’s funny, clever, she’s connected with Mimi, she’s also got such a cute design ngl. Can I say she’s my favourite because of these shallow reasons? I think I will find many others when I rewatch 02.

• Daiyako: MY GUILTY PLEASURE. They’re so precious in each other’s regards, always being in the middle of teasing sessions but eventually showing to care about each other so much ? They can work platonically too, and I love pairings that are amazing both platonically and romantically.

-Tamers

KINDA HARD, I will admit it. I like the characters from Tamers but I don’t feel that connected to them. I used to have a huge adoration for Jenrya but it faded somehow. I like Ruki and Hirokazu but not that excessively. I relate to Juri sometimes but she has got so many moments that make me cringe out. It’s … A complex relationship…

• Takato: Again, I’m not THAT attached to him but he is a huge cinnamoroll and a great new beginning for the franchise. I like he’s so ordinary and creative, because…I can relate🤣. And I admit people often call me a girl Takato, sooooo🤣. Like you can see, I don’t have anything to say ahahahha.

• Rukato: MY BBIES, my bbies who are so pleasant at the sight too, thanks to their matching palettes. I confess I come from being a huge Jenruki shipper. Then, I’ve grown bored of those two and I’ve started getting so attracted by Ryouki and Rukato, but the latter eventually won especially because of Runaway Locomon. How could I keep myself from shipping those two after that film? I know there’s Jurato, but the future dramas made me dislike the way things develop…

-Frontier

• Junpei: my only prince son💕

• Junzumi.

.

SHOULD I REALLY SAY SOMETHING, C’MON🤣💕💕💕💕💕

- Appmon

• Eri: I like how she finally brought back a kind of digigirl who could be considered a real character with an interesting story, a nice and quirky personality, meaningful relationships. I had got tired of so many sexualized and pretty uninspiring digigirls (starting from Frontier era SIGH).

Eeeeh I don’t know. I liked Eri and Torajirou but I’ve discovered he’s 11 and she’s 14, so ehmmmmm. Even if the anime pushed it a bit, maybe it’s not the case to ship them ahaha.

I’ll go with • Haru x Yuujin because they are a parallel Jurato✨.

-Ghost Game

• Emma: I KNOW SHE IS NOT PART OF THE TRIO AND SHE APPEARED FOR LESS THAN AN EPISODE, but she ensnared me and makes me salty whenever I see her, because she would have been a perfect four member. Leave me alone, I need to cry and mope.

• Ruri x Kiyoshiro: The total flop this shipping was because in GG the kids had 0 interesting interactions and I want to cry again, because why is that anime so unfair. Still, I ship them, I don’t care. Ruri had her small teasing moments with Kiyoshiro and their personalities CLASH. Idk Ruri would take him to the worst night trips in forests, parks and he would tag along because Jellymon’s and Ruri’s personalities are so perfectly aligned!

Thank you for the ask!💕

[r3ylf]

I won't return to you until. I have all of these traits. I'm sorry for how long it might take. It could be soon it could be later. But I love you. If the feeling is mutual you'll feel what I'm saying. I'm being stronger than any excuse I could give you. I found out I was not even remotely correct about you. I hope you're not gone. But if you are. Thats my fault. I'm so sorry I didnt trust you or listen. I was never even a person. Addiction and trauma will make you not even notice yourself anymore being so cruel to people. If I say nothing I know you'll just create a reason so here's for you the truth. What is real. I hurt you worse than you ever hurt me I didn't even try and see you as you were. I assumed the worst. I was a bad person to you and I don't want to think that I went my whole life not realizing it. I learned a valuable lesson. Stop talking so much and look and listen. Noone who doesnt mean what they say will stick around you if you figure them out cause they aren't getting anything out of being there and not somewhere where they can succeed in being dishonest. You were an angel and I'm ashamed I hurt you I feel like I lost everything but that's not true you were my everything but you shouldn't have been life is suppose to be big. Not locked on to one person so hard we lose focus on our responsibility to ourselves. I know I'm not who you think i was right now. But sometimes I slip back in a little. Like right now. I do feel awful I just don't want to get passionate about it because I'm afraid to be without you but it's Been almost a week and I know you're feeling angrier everyday. At me for this separation. I can't blame you for me not being able to stop losing my mind but let me tell you I fucking miss you and am salty and paranoid as hell that your being held by someone else becau3 fucmekfjjrrje i hate myself.I am wrong you were right please please be strong and safe and listen to me. Never again will I question if you're my enemy. This is for comfort if it makes you feel anything else it is not real give it some time and then read it again. Don't ask for others opinions make your own choice and don't look for proof I'm right or wrong feel how it feels if it's true and then feel how it feels if it's not. I can't hurt you from a place like rehab. I can't flip and change my mind. This is final. I made the choice finally . I'm gonna focus on me now you are not inept it's me I'm 10 years behind you babe

Give me chance prove what I'm saying. Just be safe and love yourself like you have a love so warm it's gonna keep you you.

Always welcome to not need anything. To be permitted. You are enough I'm sorry I fucked up I hope you okay. I'm goin to replace the property I damaged. Even if you hate me no matter what. Thats what I get for putting myself in a position to hurt the only person I could want even though they were a perfect imperfection designed not completed, I'm the hypocrite. And everyone fucks up and you did but it was me who is gonna just validate what everyone says doesn't matter. Only misunderstanding someone is because you are looking at them wrong or not looking at at all. And either on of those things means I'm not gonna give it attention as something i need around me. Drugs and mental illness make me what to cry but that's my Ted talk thanks for finishing this long bullshit excuse for why simply you were right I was a fucking piece of shit. And you didn't deserve any of it. I miss you. You're never alone cause Trevor I never stop thinking about you for long so I'm there in spirit. My intentions are positively conclusive. I am not giving up on you. Just gonna level up with training and try again. If you wanted. One day. Idc what you do with you. I won't demand you to do anything but be wherever you are in life and I won't rush you to even be something else again. You are not gonna see my conform to the belief that we can't do this and make it work idc idc. I'm not that weak. I don't even believe in Helen keller they made that bitch up. She never knew sign language or existed what the fuck. but neither does the concept of me abandoning you. You weren't hurting me really my reaction was tho. If you think I'm dope as hell when I'm down. Baby. Watch me get a fucking reality check don't need rehab advice need sobriety tho. Need them meds can't make myself do it alone need to be away to b3 a better thing you would give a chance in your life shit if you sent me to jail I can't even cry you were such a fucking real person man I fucked up please just know what you know and carry on I'm doing me you do you. You're too strong for me to tell you this but I didn't believe you were bad dude I always think different thats why nobody likes me and i like you. Dont care if people want me be anything but not shitty. I sometimes that's not cool to never be teachable I'm only 25 what I know is nothing and fuck you know more than I'll ever know but that's cause youre smarter though.

You're my only reason for being a better human being. Oh and.

LAWNMOWA

ARE YOU GONNA TELL ME THAT IM WRONG????

SHE CAME DOWN IN A BUBBLE DOUG! A BUBBLE!

BBQ sauce is so good and

Is that grape sprite?

You mean this?

Yeah yeah.

I miss you man I finally want to feel good and. Have fun and not decay. Rehab sucks I'm sorry I'm not already a pro at riding this life bike but his name is biycle he cooh. If you didn't laugh at that you're being stubborn it's your own joke don't be lying that biycle shit had ME crying. I miss your jokes. See you later Trevor. You're gonna be excited when I pop out of rehab and pull up yeah I'm not gonna tell you either. People that love you just prove it. Even if I gotta take you from a hoe I'll do it. Im jp if you're happy I'll leave you alone. Cause you deserve that and I should've known. I always have too much to say. Shit I wouldn't read messages either annoying as fuck. But maybe when its sinking in those people fucked up both our heads and used us as weapons. You'll want to see what I said and this is my reality honestly you cab roll the dice of you want to but I. Willing to be better and stop making it out like I was the only one who even existed I. The world relationship or country who had something bad happen to them . There's a whole lot out there I love you I wish I could stop typing but I miss you. Dont worry have faith I'll be back my original not this way. I'll have shorter answers and patience and love If you aren't wanting it thats OK it wasn't for you but it was yours to try and see what I can prove about being a bullshit person to you. I just want it to goddamn stop. But im addicted to the bop. Ha. Back to the original meaning. I love you but I don't treat you well. So I'm gonna go remix my brain and autotune it or something to be better and work more efficiently at being pure and not so fucking BLUE . Idk how to stop I'm just gonna end this I think you get it. Im gonna shut up now. See you later lover sorry I made you hate me you and the world. If you don't find a way to make the rehab TV ring or something I'll assume I deserve this loss and cope. And let go of someone I'll miss. Fuck. I suck. And like words.

The Sign Of Good Character Is In Ten Qualities

Al-Haafiz `Abdur-Ra-oof Al-Munaawee [رحمه الله] [D. 1031 H] said: Yoosuf Ibn Asbaat said:

❝The sign of good character is in ten qualities:

1. Rarely arguing,

2. Treating others fairly,

3. Abandoning seeking out people’s faults,

4. Seeking to rectify and improve any evil qualities which appear,

5. Seeking excuses for people,

6. Bearing harm,

7. Blaming oneself,

8. Occupying oneself with awareness of one’s own faults and not with the faults of others,

9. Having a cheerful face,

10. And being mild in speech.❞

[Faydul-Qadeer, (3/464) | Translated By Abū Talhah Dāwood Ibn Ronald Burbank]

[legendofzoodles]

LU Character design Analysis 7

Hello again! In case this is the first post you’re seeing, I’m doing this thing where I analysis all the chain’s character designs in LU and rank them against each other. It started off as a fun analysis post, but then I wanted to do a list so it became multiple posts, and then I decided to quantify my opinions, so I created a score system. 

I’ve been doing it a member at a time and this is post number 7, so I suggest you go read the others before reading this one if you’re not caught up. Links are at the bottom! 

For those who are caught up, let’s get onto...

3rd place: Hyrule

This is the most basic design before Wars; it is pretty much just a stylish take on his attire from LOZ and LOZ 2. But it’s this far up the list because it’s superbly practical and feels fresh yet old school.

Pros: His deal is that he’s this lone wandering cave gremlin, always on the move and having an affinity for exploration and getting lost in the natural world. This design communicates that almost perfectly. The browns are ideal colours for the great outdoors as they are easy to keep clean while on the go and combined with the slightly subdued green make sure he can traverse the woods or grassy plains relatively unnoticed. They are also are well placed, the different shades are complimentary, and they don’t get in the way of each other thanks to the yellow trim on his undershirt separating them. 

Where in Wars’ case the yellow trim highlighted the exposed parts of his tunic and therefore drew too much attention to his torso, these do the opposite in Hyrule’s case, drawing the eye to his arms, legs and head. Nice. They’re also fairly subtle but against all the dark browns, stand out enough where if you look for him you’ll spot him- which is advantageous for him and his allies. 

The whole outfit is practically saying, “nothing interesting to see here folks”, which fits Hyrule’s semi introverted nature. Yet the colour palette is warm, showing that he’s a total sweetheart if you take the time to get to know him. 

He’s wearing a belt! No hanging ends, no waist blankie, no fur pelt to awkwardly tuck in, it’s just a simple ‘straight to the point’ belt. A belt that fulfils its purpose splendidly, for it is simple, securely fastened and it has useful items hanging from it. 

The leather arm guards seemed strange to me at first- having it be wrapped around his middle finger looked uncomfortable, seemed like it was too much tension to put on one finger. But now that I’m analysing it I think they’re pretty neat. From a superficial stance it’s a nice change of pace from the sea of fingerless gloves, but they’re still very protective. I like the cross stitching detail running down and it is reflected in the stiching pattern on his trousers. The strange shape is due to him possibly hiding his red triforce mark (I don’t know the backstory, but it must be important to him)- and this was a pretty unique way of doing that.

A couple more things: I love the long wide sleeves of his brown undershirt since it gives him a more androgynous look (like Wild, and coming off as slightly gender neutral was also part of his original pixel design) and I like the cross stitching pattern on his green tunic (echoes the stitching on his trousers and armguards). His clothes have a similar vibe as Twilight, that being they have a run down and homespun look to it, very fitting for a rogue traveller.

Cons: For the top three in this list I’m hard pressed finding any meaningful faults. I guess Hyrule’s only major fault is that he’s not wearing armour. But then again his outfit is very good at not drawing attention (it’s kinda like, medieval style camouflage) and he’s the main spell caster, so armour wouldn’t really be a priority for him. If anything it might give him trouble when casting lightning spells. 

His head looks a little bland. I’m salty that most of the chain aren’t wearing their hats because it’s such an easy way to spruce up their designs, plus the hat is iconic. The other’s have enough going on that they don’t need to wear their hats, but Hyrule’s design is a little too bland without some sort of head accessory. 

Wishlist: I wish he had a green cape with a yellow stripe around the rim. There’s no reason for him not to wear one. 

If not then some green accessories in his hair would be nice nonetheless, maybe some leaf looking things that could be woven in his hair (if it were longer).

Not essential, but I’d also kinda like to see some Christian imagery in his design, as it was something that was featured a lot in the first couple of games in the series. It can be something small like a cross necklace, or a cross accessory on his belt. 

Score:

Aesthetic and visual score (/10): 8 Character representation score (/5): 5 Practicality score (/5): 4 Total (/20): 17

I’m here for the simplicity. I adore what he’s already got going on and he really doesn’t need more than that. 

~~~

Thanks for reading! What modifications would you make to their designs? And do you agree with me or not? I’d love to know :)

Masterlist

9th place in the character design ranking

8th place

7th place

6th place

5th place

4th place

1st place

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

[baebeyza]

re: transformers opinions: would you rank each canon’s version of Ultra Magnus from favorite to least favorite??

Thank you! ~

SURE THING- No. 1 WFC Magnus This is the Magnus that made me love the character as much as I do. I loved his short part of the story, his dynamic with Megatron, and his ultimate wish to simply have peace again. I especially loved his belief in Megatron's good heart and his attempts at re-sparking their lost friendship, tragic as it was to see Megatron reject him. The fact that Megatron himself seemed very attached to him and even felt immense guilt added to this. My only complaint is that Ultra Magnus didn't get a moment to talk to Megatron at the end, like Elita and Optimus. Megatron deserved such a moment more than Optimus and I will forever be salty about it- 2. G1 Magnus He's funny, heroic, down to earth, strong, just sweet to see on-screen! ~ I loved his dynamic with Roddy, his personality, and his role in the story!

Can't forget his super sweet rivalry with Cyclonus UvU

He's not that deep since this is G1, but he's everything I'd wish for.

3. RiD01 Magnus He's the outlier-Magnus, the bitchy one, you might say. And I still love him because he's such a fun character and because he brings much needed excitement into the show! He's mean, arrogant, proud, a lone wolf, tsundere, and also gay for sweet bois!

Also, I love that he is Optimus' brother! Adds a lot to Optimus' character as well ~

4. Dreamwave Magnus Couldn't do much with him at first, but it became very clear that his heart was in the right place. He started being a bit of an antagonist at first, especially towards Optimus, his brother, but it was clear that he did what he thought was right.

And then he and Optimus got to finally fight together and save each other's life! Reconciliation! THE GOOD STUFF-

He ultimately aint that high because I found the story in general a little weird and hard to follow. Dreamwave itself wasn't that much of a fun read to me. Magnus was my favourite part honestly.

5. TFP Magnus I don't have much to say about him, honestly. Like his design, like his general personality, but he simply doesn't do enough to make me love him.

6. Headmasters Magnus Sadly, he just doesn't do much apart from establishing a rivalry with Sixshot and then dying 24 episodes later x'D I mean I like both scenes, but its not enough.

7. TFA Magnus Eh? He just aint doing much, less than TFP Magnus. And I'm not a fan of his role in the story. I enjoy Magnus mostly for his second-hand role, and I think he works best when paired with another character. All on his own, he's just meh.

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

+

MY MASTERLIST.

+

The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

+

The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

+

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I ���"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just—I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

+

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

+

My inbox is here

[lunastars21]

Gets out my book which is pretty small since they are very insignificant and only appear like

Once or twice in some volumes before getting killed off

Imma just tell ya don't worry about reading Archie at all fam, I GOTCHU home slice bread alice

NUMBER ONE:

So Jeff (the only one with facial hair he has a beard woah! And honestly looks better in the art with fang than the concept art one in my opinion!), Konor (beanie very cute I know his concept art says conor by his wiki says Konor, I just stick with Konor!) and Karl (silly boi definitely), when being made they are actually named after staff members who worked on that volume of the comic! Karl bollers (Writer), Jeff Powell (letterer), and Conor Thomas (Inker). Their names are only told in the fuckin encyclopedia though it's never mentioned in the comic itself.

They first appear in issue #122 okay

And ya know what they do in their first appearance

RUN OVER WOMEN

THESE BOYS HAVE SUCH An

ENTRANCE

Very sad that's not the marvelous queen fang is riding it's just a random bike but like

RUN OVER WOMEN, I mean, fang did warn he was incoming tho lol got em

NUMBER 2:

Uh they kidnap Sally, yada yada yada

But they capture Jeff, he's the only one that doesn't escape.

SLAMS TABLE, AND THE ONLY ONE WITH SOME KINDA PERSONALITY

The trio are just..thugs they don't have much but being bad

But ya know what Jeff has that the other two DON'T

ABSOLUTELY UNFAZED WHEN BEING THREATENED TO BE DROPPED OFF A TOWER!

Like ignore the last two fuckin

Beating him down images, THIS MAN YAWNED AT THEIR ATTEMPT TO MAKE HIM TALK,

AND HE LAUGHS AT SALLY'S DAD FOR LOOKING PATHETIC, LAUGHING AT ROYALTY THIS MAD MAN, HE MAY NOT LOOK ATTRACTIVE BUT BY THE GODS HE HAS GUTS

And that Influences my Jeff, god's speed you fuckin mad lad jerk!

NUMBER 3.

Left page they do look very SCRUNKLY, look at them with their little guns, awww, baby men trying to be threatening, daww uwu

Uhh sadly sonic finds them, beats them up, save Sally, yada yada yada love triangle bullshit whatever, Fang is the only one that escapes okay, the trio are all captured now and kinda pissy at fang for ya know, him being the only one out but what do you expect him to do, get caught at the same time as you guys come on NOW, I bet they would've left the same way if given the chance.

NumBer 4.

Anyway fang gets Captured eventually and oh no

LIKE IDK WHY THEY STILL MAD

If anything they should've worked together to escape and we could've gotten interesting character development but NOOOO. Ahem my salty self aside, fang escapes on his own and

Poisons their food according to the encyclopedia. And that's the last we ever seen of them.

Closes book.

So basically

Characters with good designs that COULD'VE had a good relationship with fang, but instead Archie threw that away and didn't use them later. With Jeff being the one I find that had a ton of potential!

So that kick-started off my attachment to them and basically adopted these weasel's

And like try to get the sonic community to adopt them and give them something! So yeah!

I wonder how the staff feel to basically being killed off...I mean having a character named after you in a comic only for them to vanish..man!

Also God this is very long sorry whshsj thanks for reading my ramble if ya gotten this far

Okay actual question from moi today

Do you have a version of Karl, Jeff, and Konor in your fic/universe, are they just background characters or..

Not important since they aren't really important in Archie either being their only appearance and

They get killed...

Sobs

Why must I get attached to underrated characters

I know nothing about them except they exist. 😭

I'm open to learning about them though!

[ask-spider-man-61610]

So I think you’ve talked about your Doc Ock a bit on here... but have you ever encountered any other Ocks in other dimensions? How do they match up to yours?

Yes, I have. Doctor Octopus might not be exactly a universal constant, but it's certainly a common enough title that I've crossed paths with a fair number of them. I'm going to give a short little rundown of each of them, and why they should go to hell. This is gonna be a salty list. If you didn't want that, you should've come to someone else.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-1512 was the first alternate Ock I ever encountered. Unlike most of the Ocks on this list, I don't know or care what his deal is--I just spent an hour in my first ever alternate universe before I saw a man in armored green and yellow throwing cars around with mechanical tentacles. He was also working with the Green Goblin and holding civilians hostage at the time, which in my opinion is reason enough to put him in the ICU like I did. I've never been back to this universe and never will, but presumably he's just doing the same shit every month or so.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-8363, colloquially called God Ock because I guess we can't fucking help but stroke his ego, was the Ock I met during my first outing with what'd eventually be the Cluster. He's a weird edge case. First we fought a robotic duplicate of him, then his actual self after he'd done the dumbest thing I've ever seen an Ock do and integrated an extradimensional energy source into his fucking body in a bid for omnipotence. I suspect he was already basically dead when Gwen ripped the Shard out, but he had a backup personality on a secret hard drive and so we've met his AI self. He agrees it wasn't his smartest move. Still, fuck this guy. He apparently stabbed my alternate self in the back so he deserves what he got.

Oliver Octavius, of Earth-42711a, isn't a doctor. I refuse to call him Doctor Octopus, but he's calling himself that because he claims to be the son of Otto Octavius. Knowing Otto, I'm more than a little skeptical of that claim, but that doesn't change the fact that in a bid to be just like Daddy he dropped out of college to become a supervillain. When Melly noted that this plan was less than stellar he interpreted that as a personal betrayal and has sworn revenge on her. He's temperamental, idolizing of a man he's never met, and has an ego more fragile than sugar glass--and he's not even good at villainy. I walked into his lair, kicked his ass, and walked out again in less than five minutes. Oliver's pathetic. And he knows it, because he's scrambling to compensate with a desperation that anyone with half a brain can see is going to kill him very, very soon.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-22701 needs to fucking leave Morgan alone. The Peter Parker of that universe died like a century ago, and that Otto's engineered a way to stop aging so he doesn't even need to fight superheroes anymore. But no, he reads about a kid in New Orleans with my powers and decides that that's obviously his dead enemy having, I dunno, reincarnated or something. Instead of being the result of the spider-related experiments that he funded. I don't have a lot of respect for this Otto's intelligence. I've only met him in-person once, when I was going on the warpath and beating up everyone who's ever tried to kill Morgan, but for some reason having an actual Peter Parker knock two of his teeth out wasn't enough to deter him from his theory about Morgan being me. I'll try again as soon as I get a chance.

Odyssia Octavius, the Ock of Earth-777, is probably the least scientist and most mad of all the mad scientists here. Also the one who leans the hardest into the Octopus aesthetic, because alone among the Ocks she's a marine biologist. Now, unlike certain counterparts of mine I could mention, I actually don't give a fuck about her decision to serve an eldritch sea monster for power. Nor am I opposed to her overall goal--obviously we gotta save the environment, and obviously we're gonna have to fuck up some industries to make that happen. That's fine. My problems with her are more related to her habit of painfully twisting people she's got a grudge on into horrific monsters and then siccing said monsters on the populace. Even if that wasn't fucking abominable and evil beyond all recompense, it doesn't exactly convey the green message she's trying to go for. Maybe the Writhing One is modifying her logic to suit its own ends, using her as a puppet to get what it wants. Maybe she just fucking sucks. I've only ever spoken to her through the Internet, but if we ever meet face to face I'll be sure to ask which one it is right after I kick her ass and rip off big handfuls of that magic tattoo.

October Otto, the Doctor Octopus of Earth-2, is the only person in this list who I'm not inclined to attack on sight. It took me a little while to get to that point--when the me of Earth-2, Pax, introduced us I was pretty suspicious. But out of all the Ocks I've ever met, this is the only one who's not...nefarious. They're a little eccentric, more than a little shy, but overall a very well-meaning and selfless biologist. I'm glad I met them, even if their tentacles make me a little nauseous to think about. They and I still communicate occasionally, and after what happened to Pax I've been checking in with them to ask about their progress on a cure. This is one of the few people with whom I've ever felt the need to share my files on the Oz virus. I hope it does them good.

With the exception of October, all of these people are fucking awful. But none of them are as dangerous or as detestable as the Otto Octavius of Earth-61610.

The Otto I know is an unrivalled genius. His entire existence is devoted to biorobotics, and over the years he's integrated man and machine on a level that makes the Iron Man armor look like a remote-controlled action figure. He's modified his tentacles to counter my super speed, he's designed and redesigned a zillion different personal helpers, he's made himself the center of a technological superpower controlled solely by his mind. And unlike a lot of Ocks, he's not being manipulated by his tentacles. Nor was he driven insane by the accident that fused them to his body. No, this is a perfectly sane, rational prosthesis engineer who got so frustrated with the bounds of the law that he decided he had the right to start snapping necks.

He's a futurist, is the thing. A man with a grand vision of the technological utopia he could turn the world into, who thinks without a shadow of doubt that he knows what's best for the world and everyone in it, and who's decided that if you try to stop him from realizing that vision that the best thing to do is Remove you from the equation. Worse, he's written off massive swaths of the human race off as expendable--as little people whose lives are a perfectly acceptable sacrifice to bring about his future, who maybe even should be thanking him for the chance to finally mean something.

Every Octobot contains at least a few pieces of human brain. He kidnaps people, lobotomizes them, and integrates parts of their central nervous system into his systems to make his robots more adaptable and independent than purely mechanical systems could be. He's seeded mass-produced medicine with nanotech that hijacked the nervous system of the people who took it and turned them into unconscious parts of a worldwide neural network. On more than one occasion, he's tried to turn entire cities into his own personal laboratories, and everyone inside into lab rats.

Otto Octavius is a monster. No other Ock I've ever met even comes close.

[lordlexion]

Thanks for the tag; @gingaaaaa

1. 3 ships: Honestly when it comes to ships I'm not at all particularly great with them, most of them I can't remember by name, however if I had to name 3 then definitely:

USS Enterprise (NCC-1701) - first ship I ever saw

USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D) - favourite vessel

Jem'Hadar battle cruiser model - a starship that, in my opinion, has one of the most interesting designs

2. first ever ship: Spirk - my adventure started with star trek tos, so that's where my first ship comes from, which over time has been complemented by the character of Bones (McSpirk). I have no idea when exactly I started to ship them, but one thing is for sure, it was my first ship and to this day I am still a huge fan (although not as much as Qcard).

3. last song: Rush E but phonk - but honestly, I listen to so much music that it's hard to tell exactly what I've been listening to lately

4. last movie: Yyy... I have no idea how long it's been since I watched anything… maybe it was Star trek IV?

5. currently reading: My analytical chemistry and inorganic chemistry textbooks... and The Q Continuum

6. currently watching: Re-watch of Star Trek tng

7. currently consuming: Too much caffeine and not enough of anything with adequate nutritional value

8. currently craving: Passing my exams or burning down my university…. In terms of food, just something salty.

Okay, tag time (no pressure to play):

@the-qussy @landfilloftrash

Thanks for the tag, @diddys-bong-quest!

1. 3 ships: The Enterprise D, Enterprise E, and the Valdor type Romulan Warbird (they're the ones in Nemesis). I know this is about relationships but I'll explain in however long it takes for your face orbs to move down to question 2.

2. first ever ship: Picard/Crusher. I was 12. I accidentally clicked on a fanvid of them with the song "Far Away" by Nickelback and my brain chemistry permanently rewired. They are basically my only "ship" but I've started watching X-Files and lemme tell ya, there's some vibes with Muldy and Sculz that are RESONATING.

3. last song: "Alone" by Coco and the Butterfields. It's a good one. Nice build up.

4. last movie: Erin Brockovich. I'll be honest, not as good as I was led to believe but still interesting. Difficult to crunch real stories into 120 minutes.

5. currently reading: Making my way (downtown) through the Shatverse Trek novels and I love them so much. They are ridiculous and exactly what I'd expect from Shatty's brain.

6. currently watching: Lower Decks, X-Files, and Ghosts (BBC version)

7. currently consuming: Costco chocolate chip cookies. They are deadly and divine.

8. currently craving: Pho with udon noodles. Also, the ocean (not to eat)

Okay, tag time (no pressure to play):

@cleverlycrusher, @dustydahorse, @gingaaaaa, @superilovejeanluc, @driftwoodthrone, @grissomesque

[dangan-millie-madness]

Makoto Naegi Headcanons

⚠!STOP RIGHT THERE!⚠

This DanganMillie Madness post will include spoilers for Danganronpa 1: Trigger Happy Havoc, Danganronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls, and Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair. If you haven't played through or watched a playthrough Danganronpa 1: Trigger Happy Havoc or Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair, or just don't like headcanons in general, then please click away from this post! Thank you ~ !

Hey there! DanganMillie here with some Makoto Naegi headcanons! I provide explanations for my headcanons, explaining why I headcanon it and why it potentially makes sense. Please remember that these are just my opinions, and I don't want to start a fight over something silly like this, so even if you disagree with my headcanons, do not start any drama over it. And I'd love to hear your Makoto Naegi headcanons as well if you have any so feel free to share them!

Normal/General Headcanons

~ Makoto's luck doesn't actually interfere with his life that much. I know that in the series a big deal is made out of Makoto and Nagito's luck, and Makoto's luck appears to play a big role in the first game and part of the Future Arc anime, but I don't think that it actually plays as big a role in his life as the series makes it seem. My first reason for headcanoning this is because of how luck works in the Danganronpa Universe. It is heavily implied and even stated by the other lucky student from SDR2, Nagito Komaeda/Hope Bagel/Why do people ship him and Sans together wtf, that people with luck and talent are born with luck and talent. This is how the Danganronpa universe sets things up to seem, so it's safe to assume that Makoto has had his SHSL/Ultimate Luck all of his life. Assuming that this is true, why didn't his luck make his life all crazy like Nagito's luck did to him? Throughout the Danganronpa series, Makoto's luck is made out to be a great thing, even saving his life a few times, so why didn't it do anything else? Other than saving him from a few dicey situations where his life was put at a heavy risk, his luck really hasn't done anything in his life to be considered a big interference.

~ Makoto is used to the heat and prefers it over the cold. If you look at Makoto's character design, you'll see that he's wearing a hoodie over a sweater. He literally never takes off the hoodie or sweater. Wearing a hoodie and sweater constantly is already enough to make someone hot, but added with the fact that Makoto didn't take off his hoodie or sweater while trapped inside of a school that didn't seem to have any air conditioning or fans, he really must like the heat. I'm also sure that this means he wears really good deodorant because there's no way he wasn't sweating underneath all of that. Or maybe his sweat smells like cotton candy so the others didn't mind the smell of his BO or some shit like that. Who knows.

~ Makoto likes to read more girly type manga. This is a headcanon that I have purely because of things that Komaru from UDG has said. When her and Toko/Touko/However the fuck you wanna spell her name come across manga and talk about it, Komaru will most of the time mention a time that she was reading manga with her brother, which is none other than Makoto. Komaru has stated that her and Makoto read a lot of the same manga and liked to read it together, which has led to salty remarks from Toko/Touko/However the fuck you wanna spell her name. Another thing that is shown in these conversations and sometimes mini arguments about manga is that Komaru likes girly type manga with either an action spin or just being a girly type manga. This means that Komaru and Makoto most likely read this type of manga together, and it also means that Makoto liked that type of manga, either that or he just didn't want to upset his sister's feelings by not reading it with her.

~ Makoto's parents taught Makoto how to be a gentleman at an early age and it still sticks with him. I headcanon this because of the way Makoto talks and acts. Makoto is generally a kind person, he's gone out of his way to help other characters and did things like help the elderly across the street according to his backstory. He's also generally respective to his classmates, especially the girls. This is shown in a few scenes of the game, such as him trying to let Kyoko/Kyouko/Again, however the fuck you wanna spell her name go up the ladder to get out of the garbage when she came down to save him after his execution failed as it should have thanks to Alter Ego. It's also shown when some of the girls in his class accuse of him thinking dirty things or planning to do dirty things to them, he assures them as much as he can that he won't, and he literally never has those kinds of intentions in the first place. A lot of teenage boys aren't this polite, so his parents must have done well teaching him manners and how to be a gentleman.

Those are my headcanons for Makoto Naegi from DR1! Thank you for letting me share them and I hope to see you back on this Tumblr soon!

[eirenical]

5, 15, 23 for the salty asks!

Thank you, @diddelysquat! (...don’t know why it won’t let me @ you. :P)  I wasn’t sure which fandoms you’re here for, so I just went with the biggest two.  If you had different fandoms in mind, though, please let me know and I’ll answer for those, too.  ^_^

[If anyone else wants to send asks, you can find the ask meme here.]

(Remember guys... this is a salty ask meme.  So... I tried to keep it polite, but I am salty.  VERY salty.  But keep in mind that these opinions are IN NO WAY judgments of people who like the things I don’t like.  You’re all free to do fandom in your own way and so am I.  But yeah... salty!eirenical is salty.  Read at your own risk.  ^_~)

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?*

OMG, yeah.  TT^TT  More than once, at this point.  It's usually my first step out of a fandom, actually.  I end up stepping away from the main ship into the fringes of less popular characters and less popular ships and if I can make a home there, then I stay in the fandom, but if not… it's on to greener pastures.

The three biggest ships this happened with in recent times for me are e/R and Courferre from Les Mis and Wangxian for TUD.  I'm STILL holding on to Courferre with tooth and nail because I LOVE THEM, but I hardly ever read fic for them anymore, because infantlized Courfeyrac is NOT my cup of tea.  e/R is… it's done.  I'm fried. I don't even find them interesting anymore.  Like… no thank you, moving on.  

And Wangxian… *sigh* …I still love the ship, but many of their shippers scare me.  And it's not even the kinky crowd that scare me.  It's the anti/purity crowd that scares me.  So I generally don't engage unless I trust the source, but my encounters with that crowd DEFINITELY put me one-foot-out-the-door on TUD, in general.  But I'm happily living in the fringe land of stanning JC and LXC and NMJ and Wen Ning and all my favorite juniors and JZX and Wen Qing and MIAN MIAN and JYL and there are SO MANY OTHER SHIPS OUT THERE, so I'm not totally gone, yet.  ^_~

15. Unpopular opinion about the manga/show?

I… don't think I have one? Les Mis is SUCH a sprawling media set and there are absolutely versions of it that NEED TO DIE (like… DUDE.  Denny.  WTF, man. WTF.), but on the whole I love most versions of it I've consumed (YES.  EVEN SHOUJO COSETTE.  I STILL STAND BEHIND THE FACT THAT THAT'S ONE OF THE BEST ADAPTATIONS AROUND. XD).  And kind of same song, smaller verse with MDZS/TUD?

…oh wait.  No.  No, I have an unpopular opinion if we step outside of novel and dramaverse canon.

…I don't like either of the animated versions.  (THIS IS JUST A PERSONAL PREFERENCE ISSUE.)

I just… there's something about the character designs that just… rubs me the wrong way?  IDEK what it IS, but my eyes nope away from it. It's not even the animation style. It's literally the character designs. And MDZS Q?  NOT FOR ME.  Like… it's cute and all, but I just can't watch it.  Again, I don't even know WHY.  It's just this visceral NOPE reaction every time I see it on my dash.  :P

23. Unpopular character you love?

I just answered this for LM above (though, honestly, I could go down the list of forgotten amis pretty easily ;D), but how about one for TUD?  I don't know if they're unpopular as in people don't like them, but I don't see a lot of content for Wen Ning?  Maybe I'm just following the wrong people, but he is THE LITERAL BEST BOY and I love him SO MUCH and I wish there was more of him on my dash.  TT^TT

[kaitycole]

Kryptonite

Summary: Jackson thinks back to their last few months in Cordonia.

Word Count: 3620

Pairings: Constantine x Eleanor, Eleanor x Jackson, Jackson x Bianca

Warnings: Mentions of s*x, Mentions of adultery, Mentions of cheating, Betrayal, Mentions of divorce, Mentions of unplanned pregnancy, Mentions of panic attacks

A/N: Thanks to @sirbeepsalot every time I reference a flower I now check the symbolism. This is the site I’ve used if you want research the flowers mentioned :https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers

Song Choice: They Don’t Have to Know by Tri Starr

Part 16 of WP. To catch up, read here.

Tag List: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ @kingliam2019​ @texaskitten30​ @glaimtruelovealways​​ @bobasheebaby​​  @bascmve01​​  @burnsoslow​​  @the-everlasting-dream​​  @ao719​​  @sirbeepsalot​​  @janezillow​​  @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​  @kimmiedoo5​​  @choices97​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​ @lodberg​​  @edgiestwinter​​  @marshmallowsandfire​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​ @iaminlovewithtrr​​  @cordonianroyalty​​  @rafasgirl23415​​  

Panted breaths come from within the study, both Eleanor and Jackson stilling clinging to each other. They had originally planned to wait longer before sneaking around in the palace, limiting their interactions for at least a month, but both caved within two weeks of returning. Most of those two weeks were spent apart while Jackson was away from the palace, but it proved hard for the two to stay apart. The pull is practically magnetic between them;  it’s clearly obvious by the clothing littered from the closed door to the desk.

There’s a faint salty taste as Jackson kisses her neck, the scent of arousal surrounds them as they both slowly come down from their highs. A cold chill runs down her spine and he pulls her closer into his bare chest.

“I missed you.” She whispers into his ear, running her fingers through his hair. It’s gotten a little longer and she’s loves it.

“I missed you too, El.” His hot breath lingered on her skin as he mumbles the words in the curve of her neck. With a final kiss, the two pull apart and begin gathering their clothes from the floor.

“I could stay here all night,” she says as she finds herself in his arms again. Pulling on his shirt, she drags him back into her for a kiss.

“I agree, but I think we’d both be missed.” He chuckles as he kisses her back.

She lets out a sigh before giving him a small smile. They both look at each other, silently agreeing it was time to part ways. She squeezes his hand one last time before he slips out of the study.

As she stands there waiting, the reality of it all comes crashing down on her. That no matter how long you played pretend, eventually you have to go back to reality.

*                      * Before the king had gone to Portavira, he contacted several contractors to possibly work on Eleanor’s garden idea. It was originally an act of love, but now it was just another palace project to him. Just another way to leave a mark of his reign on the palace.

A few weeks after her return from Valtoria, Eleanor is finally working with the contractors to get the plans started. She welcomes the work load, anything to keep her mind off of her current situation.

“I think the hedge maze would look nice,” she spins around and then points, “over there.”

“There you are, dear.” Constantine comes up behind her, kissing her on the temple before wrapping his arm around her waist. “How are things going?”

“They are going fine.” A few of the workers notice her change in attitude and how she tries to slip out of his grip. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Constantine but he doesn’t speak on it.

“Which types of flowers are you thinking of adding?” He asks, walking over to see which design she picked.

“Yellow roses to the east, facing our suite and gardenias to the west. I haven’t figured out the rest.”

“Any particular reason for the type or location?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Blame it on my mood, I guess.” She shrugs before directing her attention back to one of the workers. No one in the palace has been safe from Eleanor’s sharp tongue; at first everyone chalked it up to being normal monarch stress, but lately she is entirely out of character. Usually if and when she ever snapped at anyone, she’d quickly apologize, but now she would publicly snap and then just walk away without so much as a second thought.

Constantine stands closest to Timothy and Bastien, the latter has been assigned to watch over the contractors in case of any accidents as Eleanor continues to rattle away demands.

”I prefer the Cherry Laurel for the hedging detail. Is that an option that we have?” She asks the man in charge of writing down the plants needed to be ordered.

“Yes, your majesty.” He quickly nods his head towards her.

She catches a quick glimpse of a shaggy brunette-haired guard walking into the courtyard. A quick blush covers her cheeks as she clears her throat to prevent a smile from spreading across her lips. The obviousness is caught by only the senior staff, who also try to discretely look at the king. His face is stoic and the only motion he makes is when Timothy leans down and whispers something; causing the king to just nod.

Jackson quickly scans around the courtyard, biting the inside of his cheek when he sees the king; the one person that he didn’t expect to see. He knows that he’s treading on thin ice, especially considering that he’s nowhere near his stationed spot for the day, but he wants to see her. She’s the only thing that has been on his mind as of late and he struggles to show restraint when it comes to staying away from her.

While rumors and gossip spun around between the servants and guards, it wasn’t reported to higher up as somewhat of an unspoken rule. So typically, Jackson didn’t have to  have a reason for wandering around the palace until he found Eleanor since no one too important was around. However, right now he needs to find a reason, but he can’t.

“Walker, fancy seeing you here.” Timothy hits the back of Jackson’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen much of his friend lately, but that was mostly due to assignments. Timothy has recently been in charge of training a few new guards to take over positions within the king’s guards. But he isn’t convinced that’s why he and his friend have been running in different circles.

“Ah, yeah,” Jackson nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Just looking to get some fresh air.”

Timothy scrunches his brows, “But this is in the opposite direction from where you’re stationed today?”

“A bit of exercise never hurt anyone.” He’s getting annoyed with Timothy real fast.

“You sure it wasn’t just to see the queen?” He nudges Jackson’s arm with his elbow.

“You really need to get a girlfriend.”

Timothy rolls his eyes as he walks back towards the palace. A quick look around shows that during his talk, the king had walked back over to Eleanor, who is looking in his direction.

“Officer Walker, afternoon.” She says, waving him over.

“Your highnesses,” he bows in front of Eleanor before turning to Constantine and bowing to him as well.

“Officer Walker.” Constantine says with a straight face, masking his irritation. He’s not oblivious at how one of his guardsmen is looking at his wife and what really pisses him off is at how he doesn’t seem to try and hide it. Constantine isn’t so out of touch that he didn’t know men’s eyes wander and he knows his wife is beautiful, but the lack of decorum is what eats at Constantine.

“Say, do you have any flower recommendations?” Eleanor looks over at Jackson, not seeming to care about whose eyes are watching.

“Me?” He looks around, making awkward eye contact with Constantine.

“The queen does seem to value your opinion. Surely you have some ideas for her flower garden.” For the first time Constantine shows his hand by giving Jackson a once over with a slightly disgusted look.

“What about Honeysuckle? The kids would enjoy it,” Jackson just shrugs. He really wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate choice, but he loved eating Honeysuckle growing up and felt the children would enjoy it as well.

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Eleanor smiles, turning to make sure the man wrote the suggestion down. Jackson couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep across his cheeks as she looks at him with her bright smile.

One of the newer guards walks up and whispers something to Constantine who then address his wife, “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes like the one towards Jackson does.

Constantine walks back towards the palace before stopping right next to Timothy, who has been standing near the entrance, “I take it everything is in place,  Timothy?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Then I trust you know what to do.” Constantine takes one last look at the courtyard before heading to his office.

*                      * At first, the Walker-Rys affair is contained to their usual meet-ups on Fridays in the west-winged study of the palace; allowing their guilt to stay at bay. But as the weeks slip pass them, their courage grows and soon they both find themselves wanting variety. Eleanor begins to monitor Constantine’s schedules, aligning his meetings with times she can slip Jackson into her suite. There’s been several days where Jackson volunteers to pick up overnight guard shifts, allowing him the opportunity to sleep in the guards’ suite. That arrangement allows Eleanor to sneak over in the middle of the night without worry of being caught.

With Constantine away on business, Eleanor finds herself alone in the courtyard. The project is taking a bit longer than she originally thought it would, apparently being a reigning monarch can’t get you everything you want when you want it. She’s sitting on the same bench Constantine had sat on when he confessed he wanted to start fresh. Part of her felt guilty for what she was doing, she knew it was wrong. Not only morally, but also ethically. Yet and still, here she is, waiting for Jackson.

The sound of a small twig snapping brought her from her thoughts and she smiles. Jackson steps closer to her, holding something behind his back.

“What do you have?” She quickly gives him a kiss, trying to peak behind him, but he swiftly turns.

“You are awful when it comes to surprises.” He smiles, kissing her again.

It’s late, so she’s already taken her hair down, make-up off and is wearing a pair of jeans with a sweatshirt. This was the Eleanor that Jackson prefers, her just being her; not dolled up and on show.

“I am not.”

Rolling his eyes, he hands her the red tulips from behind his back. Instantly her face lights up and she throws her arms around him. He stumbles backwards a few steps before he’s able to regain his balance.

“I take it that you like them.”

“I love them.” She holds the flowers close to her face, “And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It’s not the first time they’ve exchanged those three words, in fact it was after the first time that Jackson realized Eleanor is his soulmate. After that revelation, it became clearer to him why the affair was so easy for him. He knows that it’s wrong and that Bianca deserves better, but if he divorced her it could cause suspicious. Suspicious was the last thing that the palace needed and as selfish as it was, he didn’t want to risk losing what he and Eleanor had.

They find themselves in each other’s arms; a rush of adrenaline and arousal overtakes them both, caution thrown to the wind. They’re desperately tearing the others’ clothes away and pawing at bare skin. He gently lowers her to the ground; the cool evening grass sends goosebumps across her skin.

It’s not long before they are completely lost in the moment, lost in each other; forgetting all about their surroundings. It’s not until a flash appears that they both freeze, Jackson quickly pulling the queen into his chest to shield her.

“What was that?”

“Shh.” He places a finger on her lip before rolling her off of him. He sits up slightly, trying to look around when he sees another guard. He throws his shirt back on and sits up just enough, his lower half hidden behind some foliage.

“Everything okay?”

The man with the light turns, it’s Michael, “Walker? What the hell are you doing?”

“I just needed some air.” He discreetly pulls Eleanor’s sweatshirt to her.

“Did you hear anything? A few maids reported some kind of noise disturbance around here.”

Eleanor covers her mouth so she doesn’t laugh and Jackson just shakes his head.

“No, must’ve been some animal.”

“Alright, well I’ll head out.” Michael nods before turning and leaving. When he’s a safe distance away, Eleanor bursts out into a fit of laughter.

Quickly they finish dressing, speed walking hand in hand back to the palace.

“I can’t believe we almost got caught!” Eleanor says between laughs.

Jackson shakes his head once again, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

*                      * Bianca lets out a deep sigh as she tightly grips her coffee mug; the heat radiating from the mug reddens hers palms as the morning sun warms her skin. Her mind is full of doubts and second thoughts regarding her husband. While the ball seems like just a distant memory, what she was told by a Duke is fresh in her head. Jackson had told her that he wasn’t sleeping with her, that it was just his job, but his words have lost their comfort.

At first, it was easy for her to believe him because in all their years together he had never given her reason to distrust him. His fluctuating attitude wasn’t helping put her to ease. For a while after the ball, he walked around al doom and gloom causing her to walk on eggshells around him. He acted as if something terrible happened, but nothing had changed on their end. Then when he decided to take a vacation he acted like a totally different man; he was an attentive husband and father.

But ever since her Texas trip, she can’t help but feel something was up. Maybe it was the gossip she heard about how the queen and king were sleeping in separate chambers or how Jackson was the only guard that went with the queen to Valtoria. What really didn’t help was Tonya’s projection of her situation on Bianca’s. Yes, the Walker marriage wasn’t ideal or originally an union of love, but it worked and that was mattered. But Tonya didn’t agree, saying that since Cash was Jackson’s friend there was a chance Jackson would do the same as Cash.

Bianca knows that she should just confront Jackson about her thoughts and fears, but she has seen him maybe a handful of times since he came back from Valtoria. First, he was sent to Applewood for a few weeks which she couldn’t fault him for but since then, he seems to never come home. Saying that it’s easier to just stay in the guard’s suite due to late night patrols which would’ve made sense, but Constantine had given Bastien and Michael the overnight shifts after Savannah was born to allow him to be home more. And the longer she tries to think about it, the more she tries to make sense of it, the more jumbled her thoughts become and the worse her headache gets.

She clicks the pen in her hand repeatedly; a divorce is an option, but the fine details make it more complicated. She wouldn’t want to stay at the cabin or even in Cordonia, but it isn’t just her feelings and wants that are to be considered. She has Drake and Savannah to think about, but remembering how happy they were running through Texan fields made her think moving just might be a good idea.

Over in the palace, a certain king is also clicking the top of a pen as he debates how to handle a very similar situation. He too has picked up on not only Eleanor’s but also Jackson’s attitude and behavior. At first, Constantine wanted to believe that maybe he was just being paranoid. That maybe he wanted to believe something was up so he had a reason to keep his heart closed off. Then another guardsman came to him with suspicion and everything became clear to him.

Unlike Bianca, Constantine couldn’t just file for divorce; there’s certain things that the royal family couldn’t just indulge in, divorce being one of them. They have been together too long for an annulment. Plus, if word of the queen’s less than discrete behaviors got out, Liam’s legitimacy could be called into question and he refuses to allow his wife’s choices to tarnish his son’s reputation. With all that said, he also wasn’t so sure she’d act as Liana did and leave her son, which would leave the throne unstable and Constantine in the same predicament as before.

Opening the third drawer on the right side of his desk he pulls out a thick manila envelope. He has a pretty good idea of what’s inside there or more so what’s on those photographs. He isn’t sure if the thickness and weight is from diligence or there was that much to report. He’s had it for weeks now, part of him hoping that he’d never have to open it; hoping that things could go back to before when they were both happy.

*                      * “Oh, do we have any of those sour lemon candies? The ones shaped like lemons?” Eleanor asks one of the servants placed the royal family’s dinner in front of them.

“If not, I will get some immediately.”

“Thank you.” She smiles sweetly as the servant bows.

Constantine snickers at the other end of the table, taking a sip of his wine. The boys and Olivia seem unfazed, going about their dinner as if the room is silent.

“What?” Eleanor cuts her eyes at her husband.

“It’s just the only time you ever wanted sour food or candy was when you were pregnant.” He stops, the weight on the word sitting on both of them, “Wait, are you?”

It feels like she sits there for hours, trying to do the math but failing. Time has nearly stopped completely, trying to see if there’s any way she could be. If there was a chance that it was either an heir or…or the product of adultery.

Constantine picks up on her hesitation, but remains stoic. With Liam, there wasn’t this kind of hesitation, she instantly knew the answer, but here she just sat; almost horrified. Had their intimate affairs been within the window needed? He had asked her once before to explain how she kept track, but when she said to counted certain days and excluded other, he became lost.

Eleanor sits there, “I...” Could I be?

“Are you okay, Momma?” Liam asks, picking up on her unease.

“Of course, sweet boy.” She scrunches up her nose, making a funny face at her son, “I’ll be back in just a moment. If you’ll excuse me.”

The king watches as his wife all but runs out of the dining room. Before when the prospect of an heir was mentioned, he was all but full of joy. The idea of more children was never what he planned, but he warmed up to the idea. Eleanor warmed him up to the idea, but now, he has a sinking feeling there won’t be much joy this time around.

There’s a wave of sickness that washes over her as she rushes down the halls. Her head starts to spin and ache as she feels sick. She wasn’t sure if it was sudden morning sickness or if the queasiness came from her fear.

Quickly, she ducks into her suite; rushing into her bathroom. When her and Constantine became intimate, long before her trip to Valtoria, she had her servants to buy a couple pregnancy tests. Her hands tremble as she rips open the pink foil, the plastic test in her hand feels heavier than she remembers.

*                      * Jackson steps out of the guards’ suite and quickly sees the queen pacing just a few feet away from the door. He’s unsure why, the watch on his wrist tells him that she should be at dinner.

“El?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears him.

“Jacks—” She can’t finish before she’s in tears; her eyes raw and red. She rushes over to him, throwing her arms around him as he rubs his hand across her back.

“What’s wrong?” He tries pulling her back so he can look at her, but she clings to him. Her tears soaking the fabric that covers his shoulder. All of her actions are out of character for the queen, but he knows something is seriously wrong. She has never clung on to him like this, in such an intimate way in a very public setting.

Eleanor tries to speak but all that comes out are half choked out sounds. She’s practically shaking like a leaf, he’s never seen her this shaken up or scared before and he is panicking. Jackson knows that they aren’t safe there, there’s nothing stopping anyone from walking in on their embrace. Carefully he walks backwards and pulls her around the corner, secluding them from prying eyes and concealing them from potential scandal.

“El, I need you to talk to me. You’re scaring me.” He walks closest to one of the couches, pulling her off of him and helping her sit down. She’s finally leveling out her breathing when she looks up at him, tears pooling heavily in her eyes.

“Two…two lines…” Her breathing picks back up and she’s a mess all over again. Wringing her hands together as she tries to catch her breath.

“Two lines? Eleanor, you aren’t making sense.”

With shaking hands, she pulls the tests out of her pocket and hands them to him; she had taken four of them. He looks at them, unsure of how to act and he feels himself unable to breathe. The unsureness of what this meant left him with a mixture of fear and unease.

**A while ago I wrote some character profiles, you can read them here.

[protectwoc]

um... wow

welp, it’s happening. your girl has 500 followers.

the idea that 500 people care enough about me and what i have to say is mind-boggling (and based on the number of porn bots on this site statistically improbable). but anyway, thank y’all so much for 500 followers. it really means a lot to me.

i’ve been waiting for 500 followers to make a few... announcements? requests? idk here you go.

1. some of you may know this, but I am a writer, and i have finally (for myself, nobody has been asking for this or anything) created a writeblr! follow me @heyraewrites if you’re into that sort of thing, especially if you are also a writer/writeblr of color. all my wips and essays can be found over there, but I just made it so it’s still a work in progress (i.e., don’t judge me for how bare it is.)

2. my inbox is always open. come talk to me, engage with me! i’m going to post 100 “get to know me” asks at the bottom of this post, please send me some! 

3, but really 2b. look, there are a lot of black bloggers on this platform who are tired. they’re tired of “allies” asking them the same questions over and over again, tired of having the same fights with dumbasses on this platform. i sympathize, and that is entirely their right. i made this blog for them, to take some of the weight off their shoulders.

that is to say, if you are a white or nb ally with questions, you can come ask me. look, everyone is required to do their own research, and i’m not advocating for allies to shunt the responsibility of learning and growing on their own. but some people were never taught how to do their own research, or want a personal opinion over a google search, or just would feel more comfortable having a discussion instead of reading an article. whatever the reason, the point is that y’all are allowed to flood my inbox with questions or thoughts or concerns or whatever. no black blogger is required to be your teacher, but i personally and specifically am making the decision to be a resource for y’all if you want. this is subject to change of course, i might get tired and i reserve the right to change this policy at any time, but the point is that y’all can ask me stuff. i want you to.

4. blogger appreciation. these are some people who i love and appreciate and y’all should too! even if we’ve never talked i love seeing y’all on my das! @halfthealphabet @lesbianmaxevans @theautisticjedi @capsgirl19 @bobbisnose @korysdrew @dreamyblackchild @maliciastarling @carlyleverdeservesbetter

anyway, pretty sure that’s all i wanted to say. i’m going to add 100 get to know me questions below the read more, please feel free to send me one or two or twenty. thank y’all again for 500 followers!

1. What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

2. Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

3. What song really gets you going?

4. Where do you usually eat your meals?

5. Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

6. Most embarrassing habit?

7. Chocolate or fruity candy?

8. Soft or hard tacos?

9. Worst way to break up a fight?

10. Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

11. What color/design are your bedsheets?

12. Any hidden talents?

13. Favorite thing to drink out of (mug, glass, etc.)?

14. Socks or bare feet around the house?

15. Favorite board game?

16. Do you sleep with the fan on or off?

17. Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

18. Do you sing in the shower?

19. Favorite song to belt out at the top of your lungs when you’re alone?

20. Last thing you cried about?

21. At what age did you first have alcohol?

22. Relationship status?

23. What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

24. What do you typically wear to formal events?

25. Favorite memory?

26. Gum or breath mints?

27. Favorite shoes?

28. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

29. What is the natural state of your hair?

30. Have you ever had braces?

31. Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

32. Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

33. Last time you had an orgasm?

34. Celebrity crush(es)?

35. Windows or Mac?

36. How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?

37. Makeup or natural?

38. What color do you wear the most?

39. Favorite season?

40. Umbrella or rain coat?

41. Have you ever fallen out of a tree?

42. First car you ever owned?

43. What time do you usually go to bed?

44. Are you a competitive person?

45. Least favorite color?

46. First pet you’ve ever owned?

47. Sweet or salty?

48. Favorite pasta dish?

49. Favorite kind of chips?

50. Talk about something you’re passionate about.

51. What are some of your hobbies?

52. Caffeine? If so, what kind?

53. Favorite kind of pizza?

54. Fast food or sit-down restaurant?

55. Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

56. Something that ruins your appetite?

57. Favorite labels about you?

58. Are you a religious person?

59. Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

60. What size shoe do you wear?

61. Favorite thing about yourself?

62. Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

63. Have you ever had sex on the first date?

64. Heroes or villains?

65. Favorite fruit?

66. Least favorite fruit?

67. Favorite vegetable?

68. Least favorite vegetable?

69. How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

70. Favorite dessert?

71. Do you play any sports?

72. Age you learned how to swim?

73. Tell a funny story.

74. What’s one interesting thing about your culture?

75. What’s one annoying thing about your culture?

76. What job would you be terrible at?

77. Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

78. What’s your favorite compliment to give?

79. What’s your favorite compliment to receive?

80. Has your opinion changed on something recently?

81. Do you always order the same thing at a restaurant or order something different each time?

82. What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?

83. If you could learn to do anything right now, what would it be?

84. Favorite physical feature about yourself?

85. Least favorite physical feature about yourself?

86. What’s one amazing thing you did that nobody was around to see?

87. If you could change your height, would you?

88. What’s something you would rate 10/10?

89. Heels or flats?

90. What’s something you wish you had more knowledge about?

91. Would you want to be famous?

92. What’s something you would get arrested for?

93. What’s your spirit animal?

94. What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

95. Are you the type to have an organized mess, or no mess at all?

96. Do you tend to make decisions based on the past, present, or future?

97. Are you a planner or a more spontaneous person?

98. Thoughts on the oxford comma?

99. What do you hope never changes?

100. How would you celebrate your 100th birthday?

[whitleyschn33]

22, 23 and 14 for the salty ask thing? rwby or any other fandom you want lol i’m not picky Also 14?- i for one have tried to distance myself from the rwby fandom after the last volume cause it can get really annoying and tiring. But at the same time i’m too curious and attached not to lurk a little bit lol. And i do love me some good whitley content

Ooh, interesting choices.

(I apologize for any mistakes, I'm on mobile and its 4am here)

22. Popular character you dislike.

Uh, quite a few in the last couple volumes, but honestly, I'd say Blake and Nora. Blake had been one of my favorites the first 3/4 volumes; I was the anti-social loner that read books in the corner, so i saw a lot of myself in her. Around V5, though, her character just fell flat for me. Her segments were the least interesting of the volume, her personality just took a nose dive in the tolerability department, and I just got so bored with her. V6 did not help things. Nora, I really liked the first 5 or 6 volumes, even if she started getting less and less funny in V5 and 6. However, hate only happened in V7 with the Renora kiss. I can't tell you how uncomfortable it made me to watch the character that should know Ren better than anyone notice that he's having difficulties that are affecting his relationship with her and tell her that he can't talk to her about it suddenly kiss him - like pushing their relationship further along is going to help anything. It seemed obvious to me that Ren is in a bad place emotionally, and pushing her feelings onto him when he's not able to communicate the way he wants... Lord, it rubs me so wrong. Add on a healthy dose of hypocrisy, and yeah, not happy with Nora.

23. Unpopular character you like.

....*gestures to this blog*

Okay, but seriously, outside of the obvious (Whitley, Ironwood, Ozpin), I'd have to say a character I like that I don't see get a lot of love... probably Oobleck and Neptune. Oobleck has wonderful manic energy and was a real standout in V2 - I'd love to see him again. Neptune just radiates cool, and I'm not ashamed to say that I'm shallow enough to buy into it. Goggles are just great character design, what can I say?

14. Unpopular opinion about the fandom

@itsclydebitches has the only brain cell, and that includes me.

Otherwise - while I think the main RWBY tag is pretty crappy to the point of being willfully ignorant in terms of critical thinking skills, RWDE is just as bad if not worse a lot of the time. Seriously, I have my grievances with the show, but some of the RWDE tag is just straight up delusional.

I get what you mean. The only character tag I search for any more is Whitley, since Ironwood and Ozpin's are pretty full of hate and ice cold takes that I just don't want to deal with, and I never search the main RWBY tag. My experience with the FNDM is limited to a few blogs I follow (mainly Clyde, @ironpines, and a few other Whitley/Schnees blogs), and its honestly far better for it (though my block on a few certain members doesn't seem to be working anymore, since their content is still winding up on my dash via reblogs).

Thank you for the ask! It was nice to vent a little~ Have a good night!

[rabbitsparklez]

Cassandra⭐

This will be pretty long, so grab some snacks.

*breathes* Okay. At the end of the show, I think I can just plainly say that I don't like her. (If you don’t want to hear negativity on Cass, don’t read the rest of this).

It took me forever to warm up to having a new main character in a show that follows my favorite movie, especially since she and Eugene didn't get along in Season 1. I'd say I had warmed up to her by S2 and thought she was a fun addition to the "adventure squad", but she dropped down again for me at the midseason. From that point and throughout Season 3, I just got more and more frustrated with her. There are 3 main reasons why I don't like her:

She’s toxic and a bad influence to Rapunzel.  I don't think I have to go into much detail about this, since it's probably already obvious. Ever since the beginning, she's had a toxicity towards Rapunzel by telling her who to and not to trust, what to do, how not to do things - and she wasn't "politely correcting her", she was nagging her and making her feel bad about everything she did wrong. Eugene accepted Rapunzel for who she was, and saw a good person in her instead of the object that Gothel saw her as, but Cassandra needed solid appeasement to make any peace with Rapunzel, and the show called that "friendship". Let's not get started on Cass blaming Rapunzel for everything bad that's happened to her when it was clearly not her fault in the least. Rapunzel didn't need any more toxic influence in her life, and here we have Cassandra, who she calls her best friend. Don't get me wrong, Rapunzel was also unhealthy by desperately wanting Cass to come back when she made it clear that she wanted to have nothing to do with her, but I think that it has something to do with Mother Gothel's influence on her. Since the beginning, I've strongly suspected that a lot of the reasons Rapunzel was so drawn to Cass was because she was used to being told who to be and what to do. I'm still salty over the fact that the are called "best friends", when it's so poisonous from both sides. And I hate, hate, hate it when people ship them. 

She cost too much. So they added a new main character to a three-season spinoff of a movie - and made half the show about her. That alone is wrong, but I'm angrier over the fact that they pushed everything out of the way to clear a path for her. There are so many explanations and plot points that they could've talked about, but they decided to make the show all about her instead. The fact that she was a bad influence on Rapunzel, as I mentioned before, blockaded Rapunzel's character development and made her a weaker character. In the midseason of Season 2, I was so happy to see Rapunzel standing up for herself and not letting Cassandra tell her what to do, but Season 3 was like that never happened. I had hope in "Cassandra's Revenge", seeing that she had moved on a lot, but in the finale, after all of the horrible things Cassandra put her through, she's still pining on to her. Rapunzel is supposed to be a resilient and independent character, and this situation was poison for her character development. Even at the end, Cass' redemption was incomplete. She just said "I'm sorry" and left. She paid no consequences, and that made Rapunzel look bad, because she could've sent her to prison but didn't. The worst thing of all is how Cassandra effected Eugene in the show. She practically replaced his character importance and I will NEVER be okay with that. So many times he was sidelined so that Cassandra could be focused on, because the writers knew that Eugene would handle things differently - but again, Cassandra took up half the show and Eugene was sidelined so many times that it's like he doesn't even matter. But let's face it - Eugene is the most influential and critical character in this entire franchise.  Rapunzel wouldn't be here, Gothel would still be around, and so much more would have happened if it wasn't for him. Moreover, he is one of the most complex, unique, and most carefully designed Disney characters - but the writers basically threw all of that to the dumpster so they can focus on a different character. I hate everything about that. Of course there's going to be someone who argues with something along the lines of  "Eugene is one of the main characters and is in almost every episode! He gets plenty of focus!" .... but they completely miss my point. Any character who adds humor and a reason for dialogue to take place can be around for many episodes, but they turned Eugene into that character. Why? Because he's the "dorky boyfriend". But more importantly than the "dorky boyfriend", Eugene is the foundation to Rapunzel's life. He saved her in many ways, and even died for her. "No Time Like the Past" is an abomination and should be destroyed. Eugene said something valid and reasonable, but of course they had to show that Cass was still redeemable, so why not change his mind to make him agree with her? They literally invaded a character's mindset to make him agree with something. That's wrong on so many levels! (Well "Flynnpostor" made a point that showed that this episode technically never happened, so I'm thankful for that). So much potential was wasted in making Cassandra a main character. Everything was bent to make the story about her - Rapunzel's mental health, the safety of Corona, Eugene's persona, and a large portion of the plot. And she’s not even an original movie character.

She’s Uncharacteristic. This is probably just in my opinion, but I don't like the fact that she doesn't fit into the theme of the show. One of the things I've always loved about Tangled is that it's so unique. It is very distinguished from other Disney movies by it's character aspects and gags, such as magic hair, criminals, frying pans as weapons, a hilarious duo of animals, friendly thugs, and so much more. But Cassandra just.. isn't Tangled. She's a character with little sense of humor, who wants to be a warrior. I won't judge anyone who likes her personality or the fact that she's different from the theme, but it annoys me because, as I said before, she's almost the main focus of the show. Also, she judges some of the other characters for their personal characteristics such as Rapunzel's optimism and energy, and Eugene's witty charisma and waywardness. 

In conclusion... She's taken too much of a show that's she's completely different from. She not only stole characters' roles but was a bad influence on them. I know that people are going to disagree, and that's okay because we've all got different opinions, but please leave this as it is. Saying otherwise will not change my mind. Thank you again!