#(i really hope the people who inspired this post change enough to one day cringe at themselves.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

j0kers-light · 6 months

Note

You know what🧐 I wouldn’t mind a “A Day in the Life of Frost/POV I ain’t gonna lie he has been growing on me😭 he really be there for reader and joker like he’s giving mad father figure vibes😭 plus I want to see him and his daughter’s interaction some more

His Lighthouse: A Frosty Outlook (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

A Frosty Outlook- Oneshot

In this house we stan Frost. I was inspired to write this by this post lol. I hope you enjoy!

Side note: I suck at writing first person so its not a true POV but its still good. I had too much fun with this one but when don't I have fun?

There is a slight irregularity with this fic being canon with His Lighthouse. In the series chapter Fear Is the Only Way, Joker told Frost “I didn’t know you had a family...” to which Frost fired back saying “I didn’t know you had a girl.”

This is pure sarcasm, people. Joker knows that Frost has a daughter and Frost obviously knows that Joker has a (future) girlfriend. But denial is a river in Egypt. Once again, I hope you enjoy I made myself cross eyed trying to edit this in the dark lol.

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher @ins0mniac-whack @spaghettificationandpretzels @reneisance @alittlesmartcookie @ninacutebee16 @carydorse

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist!

There was no such thing as a day off when you work for a literal madman.

Frost knew that better than anyone as the right hand man to The Joker. Work never stopped. There was always someone to kill, money to collect, a city to burn, on top of personal errands and/or favors to run on Joker's behalf. There was always something to do.

There was hardly any time for a personal life which was why majority of the people under Joker's employ did not have families or loved ones. It interfered with work, made a person distracted, and Joker did not like distractions. However, Frost was an exception.

Frost and Joker went wayyy back and he was the closest thing to a friend that J had. Frost was the first henchman that Joker hired and a decade later, he was still the man to call on in any situation.

Trust and unwavering loyalty were forged from their mysterious bond and so rules that would normally apply to Joker's employees became more lax when it pertained to Frost.

He received a higher pay, had actual benefits and health care, and most importantly.. Frost was allowed days off. Not in the traditional sense– he never turned off his phone, but he was given time away from the gang to spend time with his family.

Joker would always be a priority in Frost's life but his little girl came first.

In the beginning she was a mistake. Frost was prepared to walk out on his lover at the time until she slapped a sonogram on the table.

The second Frost's eyes laid on his baby girl; he was a changed man. He thought about quitting Joker's gang but no one ever quits and remains alive, so he confronted Joker about his current dilemma.

"Who's baby? Eck, get rid of it." Joker cringed and kept walking into his office but stopped when Frost spoke up.

"She's mine, Joker. She's... I never asked you for anything so hear me out. I ain't giving her up and I'm not leaving your employ so.." The office was quiet as Frost's words tapered off.

Joker nodded and sat down at his desk. He knew Frost long enough to know the man's mind was made up. No ounce of torture was going to sway him and bribery didn't work on the guy.

Joker decided to compromise to keep his best employee.

"Fine. Keep it, buttttttttt on one con-dit-ion." J picked up the sonogram and tried his hardest to identify it as a human being. To him it looked like a grey blob but this blob meant so much to his fellow comrade.

"I get to name her." Joker said.

Frost quickly protested but after one look into Joker's demented eyes, he knew he had no say in the matter.

"It'll be my uhh, bargaining chip just in case ya ever try to walk away. Don't you think that's fair Frost-y? I name the kid and she and her.... uh mother don't wind up in a ditch. Deeeeal?"

Frost was making a deal with the devil but he couldn't lose his unborn girl. He'd explain this to his baby mama later, right now he leaned forward and shook hands with his boss.

He just hoped Joker didn't pick some outlandish name.

"Don't forget your lunch, Gen."

Frost held up the overly decorated lunch bag outside the car window for his daughter to grab. She smiled in thanks and leaned forward to peck Frost on the forehead.

"Thanks Dad!"

He watched her disappear into the school with a rare smile on his lips. It quickly faded away when his phone rang. He had the ringtone memorized and answered it with a heavy sigh.

"Come. Get. Her before I.. I... shuT UP, Y/n!"

Frost heard you in the background shouting at his boss but he couldn't pick up anything you were saying. Regardless, you sounded upset.

The two of you were having another lover's spat and if Frost didn't come and break it up, Joker might do something he'd regret for the rest of his life.

Frost cranked up his truck and held the phone to his ear, "Don't commit any acts of murder, I'm on the way."

Times like this Frost truly believed he had three children instead of one. And just like that his rare day off was gone.

He arrived in the private apartment garage exactly twenty four minutes after he received Joker's call. Frost wasn't allowed up to your floor– no one was anymore– but this was an emergency. Frost would deal with getting yelled at later if it resulted in saving your life.

Hopefully you were still alive to save. Joker might be in denial but he loved you unconditionally. If he hurt you during one of his mood swings— Frost shuddered at the thought.

Frost nodded at his fellow henchman in passing as he called for the elevator to come pick him up. Joker took your safety very seriously and assigned a few of his most loyal men to work at your residence undercover as a first line of defense.

It would take a calculated and deliberate attack for someone to reach your private floor without Joker knowing about it.

Frost was walking off the elevator on your designated floor when the front door flew open.

You emerged dressed to the nines with a purse flung over your shoulder. Joker was hot on your heels until you spun around and told him off.

"Screw you and the plane you flew in on! Call me after you get some act right and not a minute before!!"

Frost interpreted his boss's glare as you boarded the elevator. Joker might be upset with you right now but the warning was clear.

Guard her with your life or I'll kill you.

Frost didn't need to be told to do his job. You gave Joker a purpose in life other than destroying the world. Frost respected you greatly and held you in high regard for that.

Frost would protect Joker's Light to his dying breath. You didn't need to know that though. Frost did have a reputation to uphold.

There was an awkward silence as the elevator door slowly enclosed you inside the lift with Frost. He covertly glanced down at you and met a head full of curls.

Today your voluminous hair was untamed and wild about your shoulders. The only thing styled was your baby hairs swept back in a carefree, but deliberate fashion with gel. A fitting style for your fiery mood. Your overall sense of fashion always fascinated him.

"Wanna talk about it?" Frost asked somewhere around the tenth and ninth floor down.

You sighed while shaking your head. "I'm sorry that he called you. I know today's your day off." You laughed at Frost's curious frown.

"I figured since it's his day off as well. You know I tried to get him to go out and do something legal with me but he just snapped saying, 'he's not normal so why bother? He doesn't do normal. I guess he's having one of those days today."

Both of you knew Joker's mood was unpredictable and his bad days were atrocious to deal with. Half the time you left the clown to his own devices until he was calm enough to tolerate, but today just your presence in the apartment set him off.

Joker needed alone time and you were okay with that. However you wouldn't let him talk to you any kind of way.

The floor numbers ticked lower and lower as you and Frost stood in silence. You glanced up at him lost in thought.

On the outside he was a terrifying guy. Tall, bulky frame with a permanent scowl on his face. His dark eyes and the deep scar that split his eyebrow made him appear unapproachable but you knew Frost had a heart of gold. He cared about Joker and subsequently you when he didn't have to. Frost lived up to his nickname but there was more to the guy. The writer in you could tell.

"Enough about him. I don't wanna ruin the day. Hey? What do you normally get into on your day's off?" You playfully nudged Frost's arm. The man didn't move an inch.

He was quick to reply. "Nothing."

The doors dinged open and he didn't wait up for you, he just started walking towards his truck. You were left behind to marvel at the giant vehicle that Frost expected you to climb into.

You were a short thing; even wearing heels, how did he expect you to...?

"Grab onto the sidebars and hop in. Geez.. if my daughter can do it, you can too." Frost grumbled from the driver's side.

You did as you were told with great difficulty and managed to buckle into your seatbelt. Then you ran back what Frost said.

"Daughter? Oh yeah! I remember you saying I'm stubborn just like her long ago. How is she?"

It was quiet in the cabin. You looked over at Frost finding that he was already staring at you. "What?"

His frown was deeper than normal. "Why are you asking?"

Granted no one in the gang knew about his daughter except you and Joker, it was still a shock to hear someone genuinely ask about her well-being. Frost made triple sure that no one knew about his little family of one.

But you were different. An aura surrounded you— heck it was the reason why Joker named you his Light– that just oozed out of you. You truly cared about people and you weren't going to let this go.

You rolled your eyes as Frost cranked up his truck. "Uh because I want to know how she's doing? That's why I asked. You never did mention how old she is."

Frost gave you a side eye as he drove out of the garage and onto Gotham City streets. He honestly had no idea where to take you. Joker didn't say where to go, just to come get you.

Frost waited until he was at a red light to answer your question as vaguely as possible. "I know I didn't."

You hummed and glanced out the window. It didn't take a scientist to understand that Frost's daughter was not a topic he wished to discuss but you weren't about to spend the rest of the day in absolute silence with him.

Frost was a difficult man to read. He was a man of few words and lived up to his descriptive name. You'd rather take a chance of Joker strangling you to death back at the penthouse than be stuck with his six foot something iceberg all day.

"Can I at least go shopping?" You ignored the low irritated sigh you heard from the driver. "If I had a female companion we could shop together and not bother my annoyed bodyguard on his day off."

The light turned green and you felt the truck shift gears as it moved. "No."

"Oh come on! She's fully aware of what you do so it's perfectly fine if she and I meet! Is she young? Still in school? Ooh, maybe in college? What's her major? You can at least tell me her name. C'mon Frost, give me something to work with!"

You faced him with a pout but then realized he wasn't Joker and that wouldn't work. You had no leverage with Frost. He was just as mysterious as J like two peas in a pod.

So you applied the same logic! Joker hated when you became quiet and closed yourself off.

You crossed your arms and continued looking out the passenger window in silence. It took a couple of city blocks but before long, you could see Frost glancing your way every odd minute or so.

"What're you over there thinking? Hey."

You turned your head so he couldn't see your grin. He couldn't see anything with your natural curls in the way.

Frost growled to himself as he kept driving. It had been no more than fifteen minutes since he picked you up and he was already at his wits end. No wonder Joker couldn't say no to you. You had to possess some kind of powers of coercion. There was no other explanation as to why Frost wanted to keep you happy.

"D__n you woman.." Frost said under his breath. He hoped he wouldn't regret this.

The truck veered roughly to the side as he made an illegal u-turn. Your body collided roughly into the door and you were about to give Frost a mouthful if not for his grumpy frown and death grip on the steering wheel.

You did not want two men angry at you on the same day so you sat back and let Frost drive you to who knows where.

He pulled the truck into a parking spot at a public school forty five minutes later.

You glanced around and arched an eyebrow in intrigue. He turned the truck off and made a show of pocketing the keys. Like you could drive this beast of a truck if you wanted to. You had on vintage platform heels. There was no way you were scuffing them up.

Frost faced you to sound off his rules. "Stay here. Don't get out. Don't talk to anyone. I'll be back." He ordered.

He didn't wait for your response, he just got out and stormed across the school lawn towards the entrance. And just because he was cruel, he mashed the lock button on his key fob, locking you inside.

First period wasn't over when Frost walked through the school's main entrance. Not many students were in the halls— most likely in class, but a few facility members stared at him in passing. It was hard not to.

Frost was used to the stares. He didn't necessarily blend in with the whole school aesthetic. He wasn't a PTA member or a doting father dropping off forgotten lunches.

He was a tall, burly man who screamed of trouble. It would be common sense to be wary or to call the police. His stony aura created a bubble around him and everyone kept a wide berth as he navigated the halls towards the admin office.

There was a woman seated at the front desk but shockingly she wasn't afraid when Frost walked up with a permanent frown carved on his face.

She just looked up and greeted him warmly. "Ah Mr. Myers! Did she forget her lunch this morning? I can take it to her after first period."

Ms. Tammy was always nice and never judged Frost by his appearance but rather by the way he cared for his daughter. Frost was a better father than the white collar dads on the school's chair board. He was alright in her book even if he didn't appear 'father material.'

"No. I want to pull Gen out for the day. Family emergency or whatever." Frost grumbled.

The school only allowed an allotted amount of excuses per school year, but his girl was an A+ student and never missed class. Today would actually be her first offense.

Ms. Tammy nodded and grabbed a form for him to fill out. "I understand. They deserve their days off too. Just sign that dear and I'll go fetch her for you."

Frost nodded and clicked a pen to use. Most of the fields didn't apply to him but it couldn't be left empty. He made up some passable excuse and half hardly signed his fake name on the dotted line. It only took him a minute to complete.

He was forever grateful that his daughter carried her mother's maiden name.

It was the only favor his ex managed to extend before she left without a trace. Legally, Gen wasn't tied to Frost and he preferred it that way should something bad ever happen and his enemies try and find a weakness of his.

In the meantime, he glanced around the admin office to pass the time.

The school wide bulletin board caught his eye. Nothing of importance was posted on the overly bright eyesore, but he did acknowledge the annual Father-Daughter dance that was scheduled in two month's time. He wondered if his daughter would like to attend before she got too old for the age requirement.

Probably not since she didn't want her friends knowing about her criminal dad.

Each year prior she made up an excuse to not go. Studying for a test, being too tired, etc. but Frost knew the truth. She'd be bullied and harassed if it came out he was her father.

Frost wished he could go to school events and be more proactive in her academics. He never missed recitals or science fairs but he was forced to watch from the shadows and not be seen as the supportive father he was.

It was the only drawback of his profession. Frost wasn't allowed to be normal, not even around his own child. Either way, he ripped a flyer off the board and shoved it into his pocket to bring up later.

He was brought out of his musing by Ms. Tammy returning into the office with a student in tow.

Frost's cold facade cracked at the sight of his daughter. She was the only thing in this life that could get a reaction out of him.

"Omg dad what's wrong? Ms.T said there was an emergency!"

Ms. Tammy giggled and returned to her post behind the desk. She noticed the dismissal form and tucked it into an organizer bin for later.

"Have a good day you two!" She waved them goodbye and resumed her work.

Frost said nothing as he nodded at his daughter to walk out the office. She rolled her eyes at her father's lack of response. It wasn't uncommon, he always explained things in private.

He made sure no one was watching as the both of them walked out the school and out to the parking lot. Gen was heading towards the front seat when Frost finally spoke up. "Get in the back." He urged.

"What, why? I always ride shotgun. Ooh! Does this mean I can drive today then?" She grinned in delight.

"No."

Gen pouted but hauled herself up to open the backdoor. One of these days dad was gonna say yes.

She froze the moment she saw someone in the passenger seat and her gasp made you turn around in shock.

You were jamming out to music playing from your phone when they came back. Your coloured eyes clashed with her brown ones. Frost watched the staring contest unfold with a sigh. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. You were the first to break the rift.

"SHE IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL! ARE YOU SURE SHE'S YOURS?" You asked Frost.

He took offense to your question even if the resemblance was non-existent. It wasn't the first time someone questioned if his daughter was his and it wouldn't be the last.

"What the f__k is that supposed to mean?" He argued. You sucked your teeth and eyed the young girl again.

"Well..." You were going to state the obvious until the teenager in the backseat finally got over her shock and spoke up.

".... Dad. Who's this?"

Frost stared at the two females in his truck. It was best to get this over with. He sighed and turned to face the backseat a little better.

"Y/n, this is my daughter Genesis. Gen this is..." Frost stalled and the two of you looked at him, patiently waiting for an explanation.

You knew what Frost wanted to say and shot a nervous glance at his daughter. Genesis looked about seventeen yet wise beyond her years to know the truth. There was an uneasy gleam in her eye and you didn't want her thinking ill of you or her father. So you quickly came to Frost's defense.

He wasn't one to communicate delicate topics like this anyways.

"I'm his Boss's partner. It's nice to meet you!" You smiled at Gen and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh bet. I thought you were f__king my dad. You are way too pretty for him." She turned to fasten her seatbelt and didn't notice her father's reaction. He was catching strays left and right today.

"Again. What the f__k is that supposed to mean?" He asked no one in particular.

"Nothing dad it's just.. I mean. Like you're an attractive guy..."

You noticed her struggling and added in your input. "8 of 10 would smash." You nodded. Frost looked at you in horror. Then you realized what you just confessed. "Oh God. Please don't tell him that."

"Do I look like I want to be murdered with a vegetable peeler?" The truck got awkward real quick as everyone imagined Joker killing someone with such a common kitchen tool. It was doable..

Genesis coughed. "Anyways.. I'm just glad there's nothing going on between the two of you but it doesn't explain why you pulled me from school today."

You raised your manicured hand. "Guilty! I wanted a shopping partner for the day!"

The truck was silent for a long stretch of time before Genesis turned to her dad with a serious expression. "Dad, is she like his bimbo or... what?"

Frost huffed and it was the closest thing to a laugh you ever heard from him. You were sitting next to a stranger right now. Frost never smiled. Ever. Much less laughed at something that was said.

You were seeing him with brand new eyes. It was refreshing to know his frosty exterior could melt to a normal human being underneath.

The comment was a bit funny since Frost thought the same thing about you the first time Joker invited him to your apartment.

Surrounded by luxury and on the top floor no less, Frost thought that you were just a run of the mill bimbo that Joker was taking advantage of. He'd seen you from your tv appearances. You were just a waft of a girl, always dressed up in pretty things– batting your long lashes and drawing silly hearts next to your signatures.

If Frost went by appearances only he would have labeled you a bimbo and kept it moving.

Frost was ready to kill you off the second Joker snapped his fingers but then you showed your true colors and captured everyone under your spell.

Whether he admitted it or not, Joker fell in love with you and Frost hadn't seen his old companion this happy in decades. You unlocked something good within Joker and as a result, you earned respect in Frost's book.

He'd do anything to keep you safe and happy so you could continue to shine a light on Joker.

You were a perfect match for the Clown Prince of Crime even if you acted like an airhead sometimes. It was a part of your character; however, you were educated behind your designer threads and jewels.

Frost had to give you some credit.

"No. Y/n is actually a Gotham City's best selling author. She wrote that novel you like. The one with the archer I think." He cranked up the truck.

They wasted too much time chatting. It was time to go. Gen's jaw dropped and she leaned over the console to stare at you more closely. How could she be so dense not to notice you?!

"Wait? You're that Y/n?! Omg, WHB was such a page tuner! And like Hunter is so hawt! Like, chase me in the woods anytime papi, hot! Ugh and that cabin scene when he—" She glanced at her father distracted by driving before stage-whispering to you.

"The smut was immaculate." She giggled into your ear.

You burst out laughing and had to cover your mouth when Frost sent you an annoyed glare.

He drowned out the sound of you two gossiping to focus on the road. He only interrupted the 'juicy' book discussion to ask what store you wanted to go to first.

He already knew your favorites from previous trips and from his time on security detail, yet you surprised him by picking one of Genesis' favorites.

Frost glanced through the rearview mirror at Gen. She was none the wiser given that she was too busy smiling and getting along with you. It was as if the two of you were lifelong friends catching up on old times.

Frost assumed you two would click since the age difference was less than ten years.

He just was happy that his girl had someone to talk to, at least for the day. Genesis didn't bring home any friends (for obvious reasons) nor did she talk about any. If she didn't excel in her academics, Frost would've been concerned. It was only natural for a father to be worried about their daughter's social growth. He didn't want his occupation to stunt Genesis' upbringing.

Frost was turning into a parking space in the mall's parking lot when he heard your probing question.

"Genesis, is there any special occasion coming up you wanna shop for?" Your kind smile was gentle and patient, knowing the teenager was hesitant to answer. You were her age before, you knew why.

"Well um..."

"Come on, 'Sis, don't be shy! It's just you and me and the grumpy chaperone pretending not to listen." You turned to glare at Frost. "Can you not?"

He narrowed his brown eyes and tried not to bare his teeth at you. He knew that tone. You wanted him out of the picture.

Like that was happening. He honestly didn't like having you out at such a public place. This was gonna make his job all the more harder trying to protect you and his little girl but it wouldn't be impossible.

He thought you would know the rules by now, "Boss's orders. You don't leave my sight."

"Frost, we will be fine. If I feel like I'm in danger, I'll scream. Go.. I dunno, check out some knives or whatever men do at malls." You snickered and Genesis joined in from the backseat.

She didn't understand why you needed security but that due to her being in the dark regarding Joker's gang. She knew her dad was a criminal, the worst of the worst, but he was still her father in her eyes. The level of danger you could be in went right over her head.

Knowing that her dad was technically on the clock right now was a hard concept to grasp. She glanced at him, noticing his guarded glare and sharp eyes already scanning the area as everyone got out the truck.

It was cool to see him in his element of sorts.

Although she felt wholly underdressed in her jeans, graphic tee, and chucks standing next to you.

You looked like a dark skinned doll wearing a light colored pleated skirt that fluttered in the wind. Your ensemble was preppy chic teetering on Lolita and it didn't help that your hair tumbled down your back just like a doll. She admired your soft aesthetic with your winged collar, lace bow ties, and pearl accessories.

Everything just worked perfectly to create an adorable outfit.

You adjusted your cardigan better and checked your lip gloss in the truck's back window. Your naïve humming floated in the air.

Both Frost and Gen looked on in a mixture of intrigue and exasperation.

"You look fine. Let's go." Frost grumbled.

He averted his eyes from your adorable pout. He was not Joker, he would not crack under your charm. Frost did crack a smile when you and Genesis walked into the mall linking arms like two high schoolers.

With your dumb outfit and short stature, at least you looked the part.

He didn't let the two of you out of his sight but he took your disapproving glare as a sign to back off some. People were beginning to stare at the scary looking guy following two girls around.

Frost became a shadow as you and Genesis filtered around the mall, ooh and ahhing at every little thing that caught your eye. He lost count how much of Joker's money you blew through. Quite frankly Frost didn't care. His job was to hold the bags that the two of you couldn't carry and keep you safe.

Frost wasn't too upset about his current degrading role.

Genesis' happiness was his only concern and today he got to see a rare smile brighten her face. She was laughing and having fun like someone her age should. She needed female bonding time and you were definitely making up for years of neglect.

He lost sight of the two of you during his musing and quickly went into a calm but panic induced mode.

You watched Frost rush the opposite way of where you and Genesis were currently hiding.

"Um. I don't think this is a good idea.. Dad said to stay in his line of sight." Genesis' brown eyes shifted down to the potted plant she hid behind. You waited until Frost was long gone before standing up and brushing off your pleated skirt.

"It'll be fine 'Sis! I remember when I was your age. Sneaking off at the mall to shop at specific stores was virtually impossible with my parents around. Now! Are you going to that Father-Daughter dance your school is having?"

Gen quickly grew defensive, "How did you know about that?" She hadn't mentioned it in conversation but you waved off her concern.

"Your dad sucks at hiding things. I saw the flyer when he got in the truck. It's formal attire so you need a jaw dropping dress that he totally won't approve of but will make all the girls in your class jealous! I know just the store too."

Your e/c gleamed under the mall's bright lights. It had been a while since you got to dress someone up. Gen's hesitant hum though made you pause.

"Well actually I don't wanna make her jealous. M-More like I wanna impress her, like really impress her.." Genesis winced at your stupefied look. She honestly didn't expect you to understand.

It took you a few seconds to process her statement.

"Oh." You said. "Okay, that changes things. You need something eye catching, I gotcha! Same store so let's–"

You were about to walk off when Genesis grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. She was still rather bashful yet somewhat hopeful when she met your eye.

"Woah wait a min, Y/n! Don't think that's like... weird? I just said I wanted to impress a girl? Not a guy." Her hand fell from your arm as she picked at her nails. It was a nervous habit she was trying to grow out of.

One you filed away for later. Your heels clicked sharply on the mall's linoleum floor and your mess of curls fell off your shoulder when you tilted your head in confusion.

"And? Genesis. I'm dating a psychopath who frequently dresses up in a nurse outfit, wig and all. I'm in no position to judge your preference for a partner." You laughed but quickly frowned when Gen groaned in frustration.

"No no no! That's the thing!! I read your trilogy and I'm attracted to Hunter. Strong, dominant, alpha guys are hot but I also like how Jordan makes me feel. She's... ugh. You remind me a lot of her. Bubbly, confident, always wearing pretty outfits like she's going to GC fashion week and not English 1 at eight o'clock in the morning. She's so pretty and I probably don't stand a chance but I wanna try!"

You eyed Genesis differently as she stood before you coming out yet still unsure of herself. Your lips parted to speak but she cut you off, going on another nervous rant.

"I'm just so afraid and not about asking her out but of what my dad will say! Like, I'm his perfect girl! I get perfect grades, I don't get into trouble, and I'm home before the street lights come on! I already have pending scholarships! Y/n, what if he doesn't approve?" Gen switched to picking at her lips.

Your heart went out to her but you still didn't see the problem. You playful scoffed and replied.

"Again, Genesis. Your dad works for that same psychopath who dresses up as a nurse. Frost has seen plenty of things in his line of business. I don't think he'll judge you. And guess what? It's your choice so if he shockingly disapproves, then tell him to shove it and move in with me. Now.. I think... blue is your color. I feel a rich indigo would bring out your melanin and I'm here for it. That is, if you want to wear a dress? I honestly don't wanna assume again."

You sent Genesis a sympathetic smile but jumped when she tackled you in a hug.

You almost lost your balance since the girl was taller than you even in heels. Just what were they feeding kids these days..

She sang out a string of thank yous and rocked you in her arms. You patted her on the back and wheezed out a 'can't breathe.'

"Sorry." Gen let you go. She watched your lashes flutter as you caught your breath. "Yeah, umm. I haven't worn a dress in ages. C-Can you help me find one?"

She regretted asking the moment she saw your eyes light up like fireworks. Shopping with you was both fun and exhausting.

The scolding the both of you received once Frost found you exiting a high end lingerie store was epic. Frost literally had steam coming out his ear, he was so furious.

"I thought since you're an adult you would have some common sense Y/n! I told you not to leave my sight and the two of you wandered off for two hours! F__k you're a terrible influence. If something had happened, not only would he kill me, he'd kill Gen for being involved. Is that what you want? Murder all around?"

Genesis felt awful but wisely hid her racy purchases behind her back until her dad was in a better mood.

She hated when he was angry but she had no dog in this fight. She told you it was a bad idea to shake off dad's surveillance.

You on the other hand were used to being yelled at. Joker gave you plenty of practice.

You simply rolled your eyes. "Frost stop overreacting. Nothing happened so don't dwell on the past. We got far more shopping done with you not slowing us down. Anyhoo we're done here and.." You glanced down at your phone vibrating in your purse.

It was a string of text messages from J beginning with an apology along with questionable promises on how he could make up for his mistakes.

You did not want him killing a prominent political member in your name. You did consider his offer on buying you a pig. They were cute!

"I'm needed back home. Can you drop me off?" You asked Frost. His right eye was twitching.

You gave him headaches. He strangled the air in front of you, "I don't get paid enough for this." He growled.

You waved goodbye to Genesis as you walked into your apartment building an hour later. Two workers followed behind you carrying your many shopping bags.

Gen crawled into the front seat as Frost shifted gears to leave. It was a long day and he just wanted to go home and relax after babysitting you.

"H-Hey dad. Can I ask you something?" Gen asked. His soft hum was the only acknowledgment she would receive.

"Do you know that Father-Daughter dance at school– the one we never go to each year? Well, I've been thinking.. I kinda wanna go this year."

She snuck a glance over the console but Frost was still focused on traffic. He didn't show any signs of listening but still, she continued.

"I know its kinda last minute being its like in two months away and your... boss? Master? He who shall not be named? Whatever you call him, he doesn't like last minute requests but I wanna go. Can we?"

Frost sighed as the truck idled at a red light.

It was then he glanced over at his little girl. He was so lucky to have her. Genesis didn't look anything like him and he was forever grateful. He didn't want to curse her with his shortcomings because her beauty was so refined.

Genesis was all aristocratic lines and sharp features, perfectly balanced by her mother's warm complexion and hooded eyes. Gen had the face of ancient statues with deep rooted secrets evident in her full upturned lips and mirth forever shining in her dark brown eyes.

Frost often thought back to the day Joker named his daughter. The psychotic clown snuck into the labor and delivery floor to claim his end of the deal.

Frost stalled as long as he could when the nurses asked what to name his child and they found it odd that the mother didn't offer any input. The birth certificate was left blank until the middle of the night for J to come fill.

His green eyes were unreadable as he glared at the bouncy baby girl wide awake, waiting for him.

Frost was beyond terrified when Joker picked up his unnamed girl but shockingly the clown held her right and entered a staring contest with the infant.

Not once did she cry and much to Frost's horror, she smirked at Joker as if she knew something he didn't.

"Genesis." J mumbled.

"What?" Frost probably heard that wrong. Was that the name Joker had picked?!

Frost was expecting something stupid like initials that spelled out TNT or a play on words like, Dianamite. Joker was full of surprises after all. One couldn't be too sure.

Joker purred as he tickled Gen's cheek with his makeup stained hands. She cooed back and tried wiggling out her swaddle wrap to interact with this strange looking man.

"She's the ahh, beginning, to something greaT, Frosty. It's up ta her to figure out what."

And so Genesis was named.

Times like this Frost could see why Joker picked it. She was confident in her decision as if she already foreseen the outcome. Once she arrived at the dance with her father, it would open up a can of worms and questions, but she was ready to tackle them head on.

He couldn't be more proud.

Frost nodded sagely. "Hm, Good thing I bought a tux already. Y/n said to make sure it coordinated with something blue."

Genesis blinked before bursting out laughing. Of course you planned this.

She wouldn't expect anything else from a remarkable woman like you. You unknowingly brought her closer to her father in just one day. And tomorrow Gen would have the strength to come out to him.

"Yeah. Blue is perfect, dad."

#thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#ledger joker x reader #joker x y/n #black!fem!reader #ledger joker #dark knight joker #joker x reader #reader insert #heath joker #i love frost too much #cross posted on wattpad #father daughter bonding #cross posted on ao3 #his lighthouse

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infifi3 · 1 month

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ok but actually. i know i said this in the tags on ur post but genuinely i love ur faggy infinites i love ur attitude i love how u post whatever u want and put it in the main tags bc u are unapologetically urself when it is so easy to try and fit in. u have the confidence i aim to have for myself and it's so refreshing to see somebody who embraces being Weird <3 i've never engaged because i am unwell about people being aware of me but i've literally been lurking on you and the dog and hog gang for at least a year (i never really spoke much about liking them despite having interest for years) and. just. you're all so chill. the critical thinking, lack of judgement, this world needs more of that shit fr!! i hope u have a great day – good vibes from a transfag autism brained freak (and thank u for ur tags on my essay. i'm so glad other people care as much as me <3)

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I IWISJ I COULS ANSWER TJIS AND KEEP TJIS IM ,MY IMBOX FOREVER RAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM SO GLAD U LOVE MY BOYSSSSSSS<33333 RAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! i usually try n segment my replys to address every beat but this is so much........ to my liddle tiny heaet........ im ,iteralkly cyinf rnn can you tell????? UIVTBJVJBJVBKJ. this means. the world to me<33333 im glad<33 im glad i can inspire some of that in u<3 like for the longest time i was literally larping as one of the normies :sob: like i get it 100% the want 2 fit in and b accepted esp in fandom is strong but in my case it is utterlly unsustainable 2 follow the crowd. i cant pretend i dont like what i like. i cant pretend to be normal r have normal relationships 2 things r have normal opinions jnkjjkjbjk. and its hard!!!!!! there rlly isnt a real tangible space to be fucking insane and into weird n gross shit n etc in fandom like there is for the sanitized kiddy friendly stuff or the hyper horny stuff, its an awkward middle line 2 tread.(n im wayy too autistic 4 fandom anyways.... lol) and ik im not the only one. i wouldnt b able 2 be so unabashed and real and freaky w/o the support of all the amazing ppl ive met in my little freak circle<3333(IT IS SOOOOOO cheesey n cringe-sounding but im being so fr when i say my weirdoes n infinite the jackal saved my life<3333333333 i literally probably wouldnt even b alive today w/o em<333 thanks 2 all of u for helping me grow stronger btw hehe....)

Every day i choose to be insane and gross and a freak and a transexual faggot and autistic and TOO MUCH !!! for meself obv<3 but also for the ones i love and ppl like YOU!!!!!!!!!! >:D i cant change the world w just my little paws. but i CAN b crazy on main. i CAN show everyone that you dont have 2 be afraid of your own interests for fear of not being accepted in the greater fandom<333 even if these ppl never rlly come out of their shell... theres always someone, someplace out there thatll accept u. theres always more freaks, theres always more faggots<3 even if you never come out and yell it to the world if i could inspire just a tiny bit of this love in ppl thatd be enough for me :)

anyways. lol. kjnobjbiubjk thank you<33 a lot<3333 i mean it<333333 so many words i wish to say in this moment but ik you get it<3 mwamwa<333333333

life is short babey!!! dont be such a stranger okay ^_^

#asks #inf1nyxw0rlds #infifi #literally just been chewing on this 4 an hour.............. lmao #RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!!!!!!! ily man<3333333333333 #n ofc!!!!!! yw 4 the tags<33 the real infinite freaks gotta support each other u know how it is<3333

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jakeyt · 10 months

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So, I’m going to go ahead and put this out there:

I will not have the next chapter of Covet done by July 12th.

I am on vacation, and I know I’m not going to have the time or attention to dedicate to Covet. I want to be able to focus on having family time. 🤍 (Vaca is also why I haven’t been responding to asks and such. . .I’m trying earnestly to *be in the moment* with my family, rather than *on Tumblr*.)

There is something else I need to be honest about that I’ve been really scared to say:

I’ve been on the fence about posting twice a month. I know that I have people who were so excited for this (as was I), but I’m just not feeling the best about rushing this story out. For one, I am a perfectionist, and I’ve gone back and read chapters (I felt like I needed to push out), and I found so many things that just made me cringe. I wanted to change things after posted, and I don’t want to feel like that. I know it might not be like that for everyone who reads it, but as the writer, it bothers me to post something I don’t feel 100% about. I also feel like I let people down when I post late (even though last time was only by a day, I felt terrible about it). So, rather than having a posting schedule of twice a month, I’m going to push it back to once a month. And, who knows. . .we may get the occasional early drop or teaser.

The most important thing is:

I love this story SO much. It is very close to my heart. I’ve had it on my heart and in my mind (and outlined in my docs), for months. I don’t want it to get any less attention than I feel it deserves. AND, I don’t want you guys (gn, sorry I say ‘you guys’ sm) to read anything less than something that has had *proper time and dedication* from me. I feel it’s important to the story, my readers, and myself to not rush.

I fucking love you guys so much, but I also love this story very much and I want to feel great about it when I post it (rather than only giving it an ‘eh, it’s okay enough to post’, and then posting it).

I understand it will never be PERFECT, and being a perfectionist is both a blessing and a curse. It is a lot, but I also want to feel proud of a story that has been so close to me for months on end. I think about it all the time, and I want to write it just right.

Again, I will be keeping my postings once a month. But who knows? Maybe after seeing the boys in Nash and FW, I’ll feel so inspired, I’ll want to drop whatever the hell I have after being downright assaulted by Jake’s magnetizing beauty irl (he has always had that effect on me after seeing him in person, lbr).

I hope you all understand how terrible I feel to be wishy washy with the posting twice a month thing. . .I’ve just been trying to figure out what feels best to do with this story.

I wish I could just magically write the whole thing, because there are some big things coming up that I can’t wait for people to read. . .but unfortunately, I can’t. 🙃 In a couple of chapters, we will begin experiencing the most pivotal moment in reader’s life (and no, it’s not sex, lol. . .you’ll get that sooner than a couple chapters from now 😉).

I love you all!!!!

Xo, Clair <3

#covet #text post #personal #I hate saying this because I’m afraid I’m going to make people upset to a point that they won’t want to read #I’ve been so scared to say anything #(((I have chronic anxiety and depression)))

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kuri-no-tani · 1 month

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JVC Post #30

Welcome to the NHK

This was one of the first anime I watched on my own, and at the time I loved it. I thought it was one of the best anime I had seen. Now, after watching it again after so many years, I still think it's pretty good, but not as good as I thought at one point. It's part of a slew of important anime that came out in 2006, which was a huge year in anime. Some other big names from that year are The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya(<3), The Familiar of Zero, Death Note, Aria, and Code Geass. There were also some cool OVAs like the Hellsing Ultimate OVA and Dai Mahou Touge. Though this anime is way too pervy. I think there's a lot this series could have done if it didn't have so much perv humor (even if I get why it was included).

Satou is a pretty well written character as well. He feels like a realistic portrayal of a shut-in NEET. This is a common point that a lot of people bring up when they watch this show.

That being said, Satou is also pretty clearly mentally ill (he doesn't have schizophrenia) which is part of the depiction of hikikomori. It's easy to tell someone that you just have to go out and talk to people or whatever, but it's never that easy for that person. For someone like Satou, something that simple is an insurmountable hurdle. Though, it's not just presenting Satou's issues. It also shows you (and Satou) that everyone struggles in their own way. This is harder to see in the 4 episodes we watched but I think the way this show presents mental illness and the complex situation someone Satou is in is something worth noting.

But all of this is really slapped around by the presentation sometimes. Particularly the way it jumps around after episode 11. The anime is a lot different than the manga or light novel, which are more focused. I feel like this anime would be better if it had stuck to what it was building up in the first half of the show instead of going off on a tangent in the later half. It would have been great as a 13-14 episode anime, even if they did change a lot of it from the light novel/manga. While I love MMORPGs, we didn't need 8 episodes about it in the show.

Its hard to get everything out of this anime with just a few episodes. Some of the episodes are just stuffed with great moments. Despite a lot of it being gross and weird, not a lot of shows have this sort of presentation of otaku culture to my knowledge so it's neat to see. It makes me cringe and look away but it's neat.

What I think the main point of this series is, is to tell people who identify with Satou that no one can go it alone, and to get them to realize that people like Misaki don't exist. You can't hope that someone is gonna knock on your door and rip you out of what you're going through. You have to put in work to make progress on your own; No one can do it for you. It also uses the NHK (Nihon Hikikomori Kyoukai) as a metaphor for blaming the world around you rather than looking inward. It's easy to imagine that you're part of some conspiracy or are in your situation because somehow everything is out to get you, but that's not (usually) the case.

However, I think the "message" of the show might be kind of murky and not well defined. Even with it's realistic depiction of an otaku shut-in NEET, it doesn't say enough about it or offer anything for Satou in the end other than a bittersweet, unhealthy relationship with Misaki. People who relate heavily to Satou aren't going to come out of NHK with anything but a lasting impression of that realistic depiction and will have nothing to go off of. It's a bit disappointing.

Lastly I wanna point out a cultural reference I noticed that I hadn't before. Though we didn't watch it, you can see in episode 3 when Yamazaki hands Satou his top 10 gal-games he hands him "Toki-doki Memorian" which is an obvious reference to Tokimeki Memorial (which is a great game you should play it). Pururin is also pretty clearly inspired by Di Gi Charat's Dejiko.

#doing this for a class

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prettyboykatsuki · 9 months

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hi fang!!

i apologise if this is something u get asked often, but ur writing is most definitely my favourite to consume and ive never felt feelings the way i do when i read anything you've written, and was wondering if you have (or have already posted) any writing tips that u could give me?

reading your creations for so long has honestly really inspired me to write too but i have no idea where to start in terms of anything. i've never attempted to write before, i've always been more of a reader, but if i could make anything even close to what you do for beloved characters and fandoms then it would make me so so so happy.

if you need me to be more specific about what i'm having trouble with i could try and narrow it down but honestly everything is pretty accurate T-T

anyways thank u for posting everything u do, i am eternally grateful! at this point im conditioned to get excited every time im scrolling on dash and see the green katsuki pfp <3 hope ur 8 hours wherever u are isnt too perilous >:(

this made my lower lip tremble how could u think so highly of lil ol me.... im very glad my writing could invoke such feelings you!! enough so to even inspire like how huge is that... im a very unpolished and messy writer by nature so im extra moved when people are kind to me about this kind of thing. like.. ough. i have moved u... what a world...

i dont know if i have any good writing advice to give you!! im very clumsy in my own writing. here is some advice i have given people before

my biggest piece of writing advice is stop worrying about it and do everything lightly. i think there is a lot of pressure and expectation on people who are trying their hand at any creative thing to hit a point of being objectively good. im a huge perfectionist in my normal life - but because of that, i always miss out things i could actually do. being that caught up on the details made it so that i never actually tried at anything

a lot of my writing has typing errors and things i could do better but i have to intentionally allow myself that grace because if i don't - i would've never finished a piece of writing in the first place. i only get better if i write and i only write if im not so caught up on the details. there is always going to be a learning curve. im always going to look back at old writing and wince a little at all the things i can do better.

but at the time, i had the confidence to put that out into the world. now that its out, i can look at myself critically. posting for me is a way of holding myself accountable if that makes sense. everyones already seen the flawed version, so there's no longer any reason to not improve or be embarrassed. its also why i dont delete fics even when i hate them later. there was one person who liked the cringe worthy sincere aspect of me. how nice would it be if i could make something even better than that.

writing can be anything you want. it can be the most important thing you've ever done or the thing you do on the bus ride home. it can change your life or you can forget about it the very next day. its yours. your voice is always all yours.

but you it can never be anything to you if you don't just give it your most honest try. do everything very lightly. pick an idea, map out a beginning middle and end, and write a story.

more practically - it will help immensely for you to observe the way other people write first. try to read critically instead of for enjoyment and see what you like. what inspires you? a persons flow, diction, dialogue? and emulate that in your own way. when you start your voice will not be much more than a mish-mash of all the things you love and that's okay. that's what all writers with very distinct voice tend to do anyways.

i know it seems counter intuitive and pointless to stress but really - the best thing you can do for yourself when it comes to writing is just sitting down and giving it a try. pick any idea, plot out a simple 3 point beginning middle and end, and just see what you can do. you can be critical and edit as much as you want after. just get it down on paper first the best you can and don't worry yourself sick over each sentence or nothing will ever get written

i can try and give you more practical advice if you let me know what you need!! ive given writing advice before but im very under qualified for that i fear. even so i hope it helps you a little to give it a shot. i know it sucks to hear u just have to try and see but it rlly is true

#return to sender #writing advice #hall of fame #you praise me much too highly sjhkfdkj

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l4verq · 3 years

Text

dumb theories | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you have an incredibly dumb idea in hopes of seeing him again

warnings : angst, fluff

fic : one shot

a/n : kinda inspired by new moon, yall DON’T do this shit lol Bella was dumb. and so is y/n 😳

|| gif by @love-ha-fge ||

The first time it happened, you thought you were going insane.

You had to take the subway that day cause your stupid car wouldn’t start for some reason.

It would be the third day in a row that you were late if you wasted any more time and you were already tottering a treacherous line of possibly being fired due to “mandatory cutbacks”.

So, you make a mental note to ring up your sister cause she’s always known her way around cars and rush towards the metro station.

It’s a Wednesday, quite possibly the busiest you’ve seen the subway.

You clump your way through the swarm of people, eyes on the ground, trying not to step on others.

But it’s hard cause you’re in these ridiculously high heels that you were sure you’d love during a late night shopping spree.

And your worst fear comes true when your ankle buckles, legs wobbling as you try not to fall.

But a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you on to your feet.

It takes you a spilt second to whip your head around because you know it’s him, his touch.

You look around frantically, searching for those blue eyes that you’ve missed so desperately.

Your hope dwindles with each bump into a passerby, harsh reality sinking in again.

Which hurts the same as when he left you, a solemn farewell on the rooftop of your apartment.

“It’s safer for you if I’m not around.”

You could only stand and stare as he left, metal arm glinting in the afternoon sun, hoping he’d turn around.

The second time, you’re black out drunk in a random club with your co-workers.

Not your best look but you were too miserable to be alone that night.

A pep talk to yourself about how you deserve someone better than him and five shots later, he’s off your mind which feels nice, for a change.

But you could never really take alcohol that well so you’re bent over a toilet seat, hurling next to a couple making out.

You just wanted to go home.

But home wasn’t where your apartment was.

It was in the arms of a grumpy 106 year old supersoldier, who looked way too good for his age.

The next day, you’d woken up in your bed, neatly tucked in.

Everything the same as before, only the window, you always kept shut, was wide open.

Sometimes you could swear, you see a tint of ivory out of the corner of your eye, while in the grocery store, in the park, on your way to work.

But you always find nothing when you glance over.

Your sister claims your misery is progressing to delusions, that you need to get laid.

You flick her off, half convinced by her theory.

Yet here you are, hands clutching on to the railings as you try not to look twenty stories down.

You had your own theory to test out.

Not your smartest idea, could possibly be the last idea you have.

But the consequences somehow seemed to dull at the thought of possibly seeing him again.

You teeter to the very edge, hands slowly letting go as you fall.

It’s all a blur of wind and glasses until everything goes black.

“You got lucky,” The man smiles, “Bucky took most of the hit.”

He introduces himself as Finnick, a pudgy man with thick rimmed glasses.

“Are you a doctor?” You croak, eyes skimming over the tubes jammed in your arm.

You were propped up against a pillow, a machine beeping next to you.

He gets up to leave, “Close enough. All you need is one more good night’s rest and you’ll be good as new.”

You close your eyes as your stupid decisions come rushing back to you.

“Is he-.”

“Pissed, yeah. He’s been waiting for you to wake up since Tuesday.” Finnick smiles, sadly.

Tuesday? How many days had it been?

You don’t have time to think cause he arrives at the door, in his daunting kevlar suit.

The stupid mask over his pretty face once again.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble as you brace yourself for him to chew you out.

But instead he storms in and pulls you in a tight embrace, stoically.

Your free hand limps around his waist.

You smile cause you’ve missed this so much and so has he.

But he pulls away and gruffs, “That was stupid.”

You avert your gaze to the floor, gnawing at your lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it. You could have died.” His voice breaks.

All the what ifs had haunted him for the past two days as you laid unconscious, regretting ever leaving you.

“I kinda did when you left.” You confess, unable to meet his eyes.

His rugged hand reaches to lift your chin to look him in his coarsened blue eyes.

It’s at times like this when he wants to run away with you somewhere safe, where he could tell you how much he loves you.

But he knew his demons would catch up to him, they always did.

And he couldn’t let them taint you too.

“You’re dramatic.” His face softens underneath the mask.

You smile and he smiles too thinking about how he’d fall off another building just to see that again.

Hand slowly reaching out to the back of his mask, he flinches slightly as you pull it off.

The only person he’d let touch his face willingly.

You notice a new ridged line leading from his mouth to his ear.

“S’nothing.” He assures you, your finger tracing the mellowed scar.

“Did it hurt?” You ask, already knowing what he’d say.

You never asked much about what he did, but you knew enough.

Why he couldn’t stay the night, why he sneaked out your window each time.

He shakes his head, kissing your hand.

“Do you have to go?” You whisper, heart sinking again.

He had to.

Hydra still did daily check-ins though the ‘treatments’ stopped years ago and he couldn’t risk anything.

Not when so much was on the line.

“Only after you fall asleep.”

“And when I wake up?”

“I’ll be right next to you.”

a/n : smone stop me frm commiting infidelity, tfatws is making me fall for bucky even more and steve’s pissed😳🏃🏻‍♀️ lol im still cringing as i post this👁👽

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #winter soldier #sebastian stan #mcu #marvel #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #bucky fic #bucky

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

Text

Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics. She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing. All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her. She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table. You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name. So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her. Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match. With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine. Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room. The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze. You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.” It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard. You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla. You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note. But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video. In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off. He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview. You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?” Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.” His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about. It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album.

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar. And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting. I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting! He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished. Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change. Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write. So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open. But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before. Red was country and 1989 was pop. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to. And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion. You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.”

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true. That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around! At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.” You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her. You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence. Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face. You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted. But not now. You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind. Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first. You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room. With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved. Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room. I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you. And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you. The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired. But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter. But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought. And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her? In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff. Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff. With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla. Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it. The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons. The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s. So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!” His eyes quickly darted down to your bag. You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have. I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?” Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?” He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach. He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you. But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio. And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment. Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words. But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number. Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla. And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written. I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio. There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch. You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.” He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up. You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him. You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs. There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat. It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner. Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee. And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned. He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you? Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking. But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.” You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything.

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one. Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.” The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.” Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar. Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord. So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar. So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem. Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place. So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well. He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her. And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him. It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light. His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change. You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you. Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little. I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related. You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write. With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine. He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang. He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory. And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before. You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn. And you knew she did it purposefully. She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her. She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop. You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla. You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first. And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page. He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.” He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it. But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad. You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.” And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin. You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air. You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough? That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was. In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal. She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist. And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen. He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See? You think it’s stupid. I––That’s why I crossed it off. It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability. Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability. It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip. And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him. You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more. You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album. And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other. And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself. Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album. That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her. You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it. Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined. It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart. It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting. You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter. It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere. It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen. No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day. He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release. Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off. And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands. And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break. While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour. You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.” Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours. It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out. You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous. Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands. You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off. Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing. It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position. Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other. You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her. You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired. But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight. You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated. You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him. Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before. Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it. She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze. All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing. You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her. You thought that no one caught her slip up. But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage. Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you. You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you. You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now. Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me. Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n? So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you. And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn. She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled. She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad. We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.” Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written. TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave. If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video. This was the Zilla you knew. This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years. She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract. When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was. But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter. Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud. And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract. When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching. In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow. Because everything about that sentence was a lie. The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you. She made that clear during the years you worked for her.

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal. Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world. And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him. You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts. You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner. As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text. It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant. But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door. After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind. Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio. You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter. But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table. He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug. Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.” Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head. You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase. Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums. But then you caught Zilla’s attention. And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people. I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.”

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?”

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?” The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name. I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.” Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table. At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes. You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

taglist (add / remove yourself!): @adelaidestreets, @alilovesshawn, @alina--jpeg, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @now-that-i-saw-u, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsreputation, @turtoix, @vinylmendes, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks @musicalkeys, @madatmendes @im-salt-but-not-salty @sunkisseddreamer, @crossedties @fortheloveoftheaussies, @illuminatepotter , @par_r, @perfectlywrongsm

#Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x me #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes writings #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes oneshots #Shawn Mendes one shot #Shawn Mendes angst

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koutarousangel · 3 years

Text

━ hometown glory.

prompt : you were incredibly nervous to return home, especially since you knew that he’d returned home too. loosely inspired by this.

genre : angst to fluff

warnings : i mean at this point i can put swearing as a warning every time cause they’re apart of my everyday vocabulary lmao.

music suggestion : hometown glory - adele, happiest year - jaymes young, from the dining table - harry styles.

author’s note : @asdfghjkl7things thank you so much for your support and your request ! i hope you like it !

you and hajime started dating during your third year in high school.

it was a surprise to practically everyone who knew you two, but the both of you had promised each other that you’d keep it on the down low as you were getting to know each other. mostly bc the two of you had friends that never knew how to shut up.

and what you had between you wasn’t really anyone else’s business.

you’d comforted him when they’d lost to karasuno, telling him that it wasn’t his fault and that he’d done all that he could, and you told him that if he wanted to, he could play volleyball again, or do whatever he wanted.

he’d consoled you when you failed the one exam that you needed to pass to go to the university of your dreams and he encouraged you to take the make-up exam, studying with you and making sure you were more than prepared.

you were each other’s rock and you genuinely thought that you were going to last.

until you got into an argument which turned into a full-blown fight bc the two of you were moving away from each other to study your respective courses.

you were scared of long-distance bc you didn’t want to hold iwa back, iwa tried telling you that you could make it work, but as you insisted, he accused you of never really loving him and that you were just finding a way out.

ouch.

four years later, the both of you were college graduates, and something drew you both back to japan.

walking through your hometown felt strange. it was familiar, heartwarming, but at the same time it felt as if you were a tourist, discovering everything for the first time. it had been a while since you’d walked through the streets of miyagi, having gotten used to the streets of london so much that the peace and quiet was almost far too loud. you’d thought about it, staying in london and finding a job there, settling with a brand new life but part of you missed japan so much, your family, your friends … him.

“you know,” your friend looked at you pointedly as she wiped a vegetable piece away from the corner of her mouth, “he’s back in japan, right?” it was almost as if she was fighting a smirk.

a sigh left your lips as you shook your head a little bit, “i know… he posted something on instagram,” the subtle confession that you still followed him on social media came out as a grumble, because you knew that your friend would make it her priority to never let you live it down. which was why you’d never told her that you’d accidentally liked one of his posts.

her eyes widened to the size of saucers and she practically choked on her drink, batting at your upper arm, “you sly fox you, so you do follow him!” you halted her frantic movements by grabbing her wrist.

“i do, which is also how i know that he has a girlfriend,” it was almost comical, how your friend practically deflated at your comment, scowl growing on her face, “it’s been four years, it was bound to happen.”

still, seeing him with his arm around her shoulders made your heart ache and you had angrily swiped away at the tears that spilled down your cheeks, because it was your fault. keeping him back had never been your intention and that’s what you felt you would have done had you remained in a relationship together. all that distance, the drastic time difference, attending separate colleges full of new experiences. you wanted hajime to have the world.

it was almost as if fate was trying to play some sort of cruel trick on you, because as your mind raced with thoughts of your old high school boyfriend, you felt yourself collide with someone and as soon as you heard your name being uttered by the person in question, you swore your heart wanted to jump out of your chest.

“hajime…” his name tumbled out of your mouth in what practically could be constituted as a breathless gasp, as if seeing his face in person after four years had completely winded you.

the man in question took a slight step back, taking a good look at you, almost making sure that you were really in front of him, and not his imagination toying with him. “small world,” was his only comment as he scratched the back of his head, awkwardness settling between you two as you wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill in the air suddenly very prominent.

“would you like to get some-” “i was going to go get some” the both of you spoke at the same time, nervous words overlapping each other. “coffee…” a smile as your shared thoughts fell together in perfect harmony, as if nothing had changed.

you had walked to the coffee shop in silence, questions of why you’d agreed to get coffee with your ex racing through your mind but the reason was simple … you didn’t want to walk away from him, not yet at least. sneaking glances at him while he grabbed your coffees made your heart thump faster than it had in a while, reminiscent of the first time you’d went on a date together.

there was a slight fear that it would be far too awkward to handle, but the two of you fell into a comfortable conversation, telling stories of your college days, how you’d gotten so drunk one time that you ended up stealing a plant and taking it back to your dorm, or how he’d once gotten so hungry during a late study session that he and his friends went to a mcdonalds drive through, even though they didn’t have a car.

you laughed until your face hurt, and you hadn’t realised, but the two of you had instinctively gotten closer to each other, and his arm had ended up wrapped around your chair, you leaned over and shoved him whenever he said something to tease you.

it was as if these four years apart never happened.

as your shared laughter died down and you finished off your drink, iwaizumi looked down at his lap and shook his head slightly, chuckling to himself and making you smile softly, “what?” you questioned, poking his shoulder.

“it’s still you, you know?” he looked up at you, eyes locking with yours as he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, “the person i see by my side at the end of the day.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut and you almost forgot how to breathe. you cringed, nose burning as tears tickled the corners of your eyes as you pushed your chair back, standing up and grabbing your belongings, holding them close to your chest as you rushed out of the coffee shop.

you could hear him calling for you, but the blood had rushed to your ears and you were trying your hardest to keep from crying, but as soon as you felt his hand around yours, you spun around and shoved at his chest, once, twice, tears dripping freely onto the pavement, cheeks burning red with anger and sadness, heart that was excitedly jumping around, now quietly sitting in the corner, thumping cautiously as you felt him grab at your hands to stop you from hitting him any further.

“you can’t say that shit hajime! you can’t say it, not after four years of nothing … you didn’t try to fight for me, convince me to stick with you through it all, and you have someone else! how sick can you be? saying that shit to me, stringing that girl along …” the anger wasn’t making you think straight, words spilling out of your mouth without you mulling them over first.

it was iwaizumi’s turn to get angry at your words, “you broke up with me!” he pushed your hands away from his before pointing an accusatory finger at you, “you broke up,” and he turned his finger shakily at himself, “with me.”

your mouth dropped open and you closed it again, gaping at the air like a fish out of water, hoping the words would come to you, “i wanted what’s best for you,” you managed to whisper, “i wanted for you to be happy.”

“and you came to that decision on your own!” his chest was heaving now, bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep his strong facade, but it was crumbling, “how dare you, decide for me what’s best for me?” his words were only making your chest ache because they were true. you were scared that you were not enough for him, that you’d never be enough for him, “you were what’s best for me, i wanted to share everything with you!” but you were wrong.

he let out a strangled laugh, “and that girl? she knew it too. i tried going on one date with her, and when i tried going home with her, she pushed me away and told me that i was just kidding myself and setting myself up to get hurt, because my heart was with someone else.”

the two of you were practically in hysterics, wild stares at each other, tears staining your cheeks and some threatening to fall on his own. this was how the argument was supposed to go four years ago, not with you doing everything in your power to walk away. you needed to talk it out, communicate with each other; the only reason it had reached this point, as if you were two people in some kind of romantic movie on the sidewalk professing your love for each other, was because all these emotions had accumulated during the past four years.

after he let out a couple of strangled breaths, iwaizumi’s shoulders slumped, and he raked his hand through his hair, shaking his head and going to sit down on the sidewalk, arms on his knees and head bowed forward.

you watched him for a couple of moments, hand pressed over your mouth as you tried not to sob. the man who’d held your heart so firmly in his hands even if you were continents away had never given up on you. suddenly you didn’t feel so pathetic, but the guilt was eating you alive. you’d never meant to hurt him so, you adored him and you really did want the best for him.

swallowing back the remainder of the tears, you looked up at the sky and sniffled softly, before taking a couple of brave steps forward, kneeling down and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you chanted softly, knowing that no matter how many times you said it, silently praying that he’d accept your apology, even though you didn’t really deserve it.

his hand rested gently on your forearm and he kept his head forward, pressing soft kisses to your wrist and the back of your hand. iwa hesitated for a moment, before he rested his hands on your waist, carefully guiding you to his lap and wrapping his arms around you, rocking you back and forth and shushing you quietly as you continued to sob into his chest. the way he said your name was as soft as a butterfly coming to rest on a fingertip, and he gently guided your face up to look at his.

“i forgive you,” he admitted to you, giving you a small smile, “i’m sorry for yelling, i’m sorry for letting you go ... ” his forehead came to rest against yours, and his eyes were closed. you could feel your heart practically soaring, having him so close again, him accepting your apology.

your hand came to rest on his face, thumb gently drawing back and forth across his cheek, before leaning forward and leaving a tentative kiss on the side of his mouth, watching as his eyes all but shot open, cheeks burning red under the palm of your hand as he looked into your eyes, “i forgive you too hajime.”

~ three year timeskip. ~

you were anxious. more anxious then you had been ever in your life.

you’d been with hajime ever since you reconciled now, going through all the motions with settling into your life back in japan, finding a job you both love but still there were struggles. like how hajime worked himself to the bone, hell bent on being the best athletic trainer the national volleyball team had ever seen. you laid blankets on his shoulders when he slept at his desk while he was writing reports or planning injury prevention programs. meanwhile, he carried you to bed whenever you fell asleep on the couch because you couldn’t sleep in an empty bed, or when you were studying for your job and you fell asleep at your own desk.

your relationship was strong, communication prominent during the whole time, because you knew what could happen if it wasn’t there. the two of you never went to bed angry with each other, he always brought home flowers if he fucked up, hiding his face behind the bouquet as he uttered an apology and you always made sure to bring him a cup of tea to bed if you stepped out of line, before cuddling into his side and muttering a small ‘i’m sorry’ into the silence.

vip tickets gave you the perfect view of the volleyball court, adorning the japanese flag on one of your cheeks and a polo shirt that matched hajime’s with ‘iwaizumi’ spread across your shoulders.

it would be your own name anyway, you thought, as you twirled the engagement ring around your finger, grinning brightly before looking up at him and giving him an encouraging wink, mouthing an i love you at him.

you’d returned home twice; to japan the first time, and to iwaizumi hajime’s heart the second time.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyu imagines #i hope this is okay !!

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bottlesandcats · 3 years

Note

hiii!! i hope it's okay to just ask you, i really want to start writing fanfiction but i'm so embarrassed of my writing style and in general, ever showing it to anyone? do you have any tips for beginners? 🥺

Hey there Anon! Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but I was at work when I saw your ask, and wanted to really think about what to say before responding. With that in mind, I hope you don't mind a really lengthy answer.

I have to say I’m incredibly flattered to have someone ask me for writing tips, and will do my best to provide some insights based on my own experience. I'm no expert, but I've done a lot of writing both academic and creative. Of course, it goes without saying that the following strategies are what work for me, personally. Everyone works and thinks differently, so some of my suggestions may not fit the way you work and that's totally okay!

Because I am an anal nerd, I've organized my responses into categories.

Writing Style

Firstly, remember that your writing style is unique to you and you have nothing to be embarrassed about! But honestly, I think a lot of writers feel the same way; I don’t actually like my fiction writing style, either, and am always working to improve it.

One thing I’ve found that helps: find authors whose style you really like, and read and reread their stories and study how they write. What’s their sentence structure like? How do they write dialogue? How do they set up scenes? Is it through dialogue or more through the use of a character’s thoughts? This is what I do. I have three authors, who all write in a particular way that I really love, that I tend to reread and study for inspiration. Just know that your style is not set in stone and you do have the ability to adjust it, it just takes practice.

At the end of the day it's easy to wish we could write like our favorite authors, but don't be too hard on yourself; your style is special, too!

Getting Started

When I used to write research papers in school, I was a big fan of creating outlines before I'd start writing the actual paper. However, for creative writing, I don't use outlines because I find that I'm constantly changing things around. The outline would either have to be so basic in order to allow for flexibility that it wouldn't be of much use, or it would become irrelevant three chapters in.

Writing that first sentence is probably the hardest part of writing a story. What I did, for the story I'm working on now, is picked a part that I was really excited to write about and just started with that, first (I'm pretty sure it was something that comes much later in my story, that I haven't even posted yet). That helped me to get really into the process and feel confident about what I was doing, which made it easier to move onto other sections. What I'm trying to say is don’t be hemmed in by feeling like you have to write sequentially. I tend to write scenes as they come to me; I don’t force myself to write consecutive chapters, if that makes sense. For example, in my current story, I had chapter 14 finished before chapter 11 bc I had a burst of inspiration and just wrote it all out. Just be aware that sometimes this can lead to you writing yourself into a corner (which did happen to me in this fic), but the beauty of it all is that it’s your story and you can change whatever you want!

If you’re writing a story with chapters, keep a point in mind. My beta reader actually taught me this. With each chapter, ask yourself “What is the goal of this chapter?” Think of chapters as mini stories that, when combined and read in order, create one big story (duh). Therefore each chapter should ideally have a purpose that moves the overall story forward.

Write about what you know. If you don't know -> research

Authenticity is really important to me. I have googled the most random shit for this story: "Did soldiers have to repair their own uniforms in WWII?" "Popular slang of the 30s and 40s." "How to make jambalaya." "Popular cigarette brands of the 30s."

I have also been very careful around race in my story as it involves POC and I'm as white as white gets (I got a hyphenated name and everything). When I address a character's emotions around race I try to match it to how they acted in the show/movie. I don't rely on conjecture or how I think they'd feel, bc as a white person, it's impossible for me to truly know what it's like to be a POC. This also goes for dialogue; it can be easy to turn people into caricatures. I've watched TFATWS at least three times, and have watched numerous interviews with Anthony Mackie to try and make sure I write dialogue and emotion that fits him as an individual and not a stereotype. It's not perfect, and I'm sure I've made some mistakes, but it's something that's really important to me and I try my damndest to make sure Sam Wilson comes across as authentic.

Getting Edits

I see a lot of people suggest sharing your work with friends or family to get feedback. I'm not really a fan of this because I'm pretty private about my writing. I don't want anyone that I know reading it bc, frankly, I'm embarrassed (hey look how we came full-circle there!). Besides AO3, Tumblr is the only space that I feel comfortable enough to share my work without fear of judgement. I think the preferred alternative is to get yourself a beta reader. This is the first fic that I've worked on with a beta reader and...wow, what a huge difference it has made! I found my beta reader when he posted on tumblr expressing an interest in beta'ing, and so I messaged him (hey @3dg310rdsupreme). It’s the best decision I ever made. He has truly made me a better writer, and my current in-progress fic wouldn’t be nearly as good without him offering edits, acting as a sounding board, and reigning in my excessive use of lengthy paragraphs (he will probably cringe at these paragraphs, here).

Posting Your Story

If/when you do decide to post your story in a public forum, try to maintain a loose posting schedule. When I first started uploading I committed to a chapter a week, but by the eighth chapter I was getting too stressed and found myself glued to my computer 24/7 trying to keep up. Hold yourself to goals so you don't wind up abandoning the fic, but remember that you are your own boss and this is meant to be fun, so go easy on yourself. I'd also recommend getting several chapters finished BEFORE you even post the first one, to give yourself a head start. You think you have plenty of time but it's surprising how much time edits and rewrites can take.

It can be really scary to share your work with others. Writing is really hard, can be very personal, and it's an incredibly vulnerable feeling to put yourself out there like that and leave yourself open to the judgements of others. I was terrified when I first started to upload chapters because I just wasn't sure what reader etiquette was like. The last time I posted a fic was on FanFiction.net almost 10 years ago and ppl did not hold back their criticism (I think things have vastly improved since then or maybe AO3 readers are just nicer). I can't emphasize this enough: you are not obliged to take readers' criticisms/feedback whether they are constructive or not. I don't ever leave criticisms or corrections when I comment on other writers' stories; I honestly don't feel it's my place to do anything other than support them as they are sharing their talents for free. Some writers welcome constructive criticism, and will typically state that in the notes if they are open to it. I do not; it's why I have a beta reader. I did have one reader post a public comment correcting me on a couple things (one of which was a misunderstanding on their part) and I politely requested that in the future any corrections should be sent to me privately, not publicly shared.

Wow...I think that's a good start. I really hope at least some of these tips will be useful to you! Thanks for reaching out, feel free to do so again, and if you ever want to send some pages my way you are more than welcome to! Just remember, be kind to yourself and have patience bc seriously…

#seriously this turned out way longer than planned i'm so sorry anon #but i had a lot of feelings and thoughts to share and i'm just so flattered you think highly enough of me to ask #long post #asks #writing is hard #tips for writers #writing #creative writing #good investments #but also invest in yourself #fan fiction

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renthony · 3 years

Note

Hey, youre an awesome writer/author. I was wondering if I could ask for a little advice. writing used to be an integral hobby of mine, but now when I try I find myself struggling with severe anxiety. I cant even work on pieces i dont plan on sharing with anyone. do you have any suggestions for breaking back into it and getting some words down?

I get variations on this question often enough that there are several sitting in my inbox I still haven't managed to get to. I never quite know how to respond.

The hard truth, Anon, is that I'm struggling with that exact thing. I'm disabled and depressed and dealing with all the chaos of the world, and it makes it hard to do much of anything, much less write. I average maybe one productive day of writing every couple weeks, no matter how much I try to force myself to work.

I used to fill notebooks. I used to write every spare minute I had. I never didn't have a notebook on me. But as I got older, and everything started going haywire, I lost that, because I had to channel all of that energy into just...surviving. I don't have an inspirational "here's how I beat it and became the world's most productive writer!" story, because I struggle with it every single day.

But I do have some things that make it just a little easier:

Talk about your writing. Make picrews of your characters, tell your friends about the scene you're working on, post snippets of your stuff on your blog, whatever sounds fun to you. I want SO BADLY to share my excitement about my characters with people, but writing is so goddamn hard. So talk about your writing. Even if you don't finish the story or it changes or it never really goes anywhere at all, talk about it, share it, and enjoy it. I struggle with it a lot, because I'm a horrid little perfectionist gremlin who is convinced everything I write is garbage, but goddammit, the only way to get over that is just to...do it.

So I do. I cringe and I get anxious and I talk to my friends about how shitty I feel about myself, but I do it, and I try very hard to listen to them when they remind me that depression is a liar.

Indulge yourself. Make playlists, make Pinterest inspiration boards, make art, put together moodboards. Play. Do goofy fandom stuff for your own OCs, even if nobody else gets it. Jazz yourself up and fall in love with the world you've created.

Don't make "writer" part of your core identity. That was my fuckup. I internalized the idea that I'm a writer, and writers have to write, so days when I can't write? I feel like I'm failing as a person. I'm struggling every single day to unpack that and undo that damage, and it's hard as hell. All humans have the innate drive to tell stories and share our experiences. It's a part of who we are.

Every human is a storyteller--when you tell your friends about your day, when you share a funny anecdote with a coworker, when you post on tumblr about your cat, you're telling stories and weaving words.

You're a storyteller by sheer nature of being human, which means it's impossible to "fail" as one. That's what I hold in my heart to get me through the rough times.

And, more than anything, don't cut yourself off from other media. I have a nasty little habit of getting stuck in a spiral where I feel guilty for consuming media when I haven't produced "enough" of my own. What "enough" is, my anxiety refuses to tell me. So not only do I not create, I don't consume, either--which means I'm not filling the creative tanks.

I gave in and let my best friend convince me to watch The Dragon Prince on Netflix recently, and the only way I can describe it is like...you know when you're dehydrated and take a big gulp of nice cold water, and you can kinda feel your brain re-inflate? It felt like that. I felt inspired to make notes and doodle and invest more energy into writing again. I had a solid few days after finishing TDP where I wrote quite a bit. So you gotta remember to fill those creative tanks.

Don't just consume your favorites over and over--find new stuff. Enjoy it. Talk about it. Revel in it. Let it inspire you and give you fun new ideas of your own.

And when all else fails, I like to go watch a marathon of Overly Sarcastic Productions' Trope Talk videos. It gets me thinking about stories that I like, why I like them, and what kind of twists I'd like to see in them. Which almost always gets me writing again.

So yeah. I don't have all the answers, but...that's what I do to help. I hope you find it useful, Anon. Be well. <3

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notanacousticsetcal · 3 years

Text

speak now - luke hemmings

summary - based off of the song speak now by taylor swift -- highly recommend listening before reading for the full experience.

warnings - none? nerves and kind of public speaking

word count - 1.6k - lyrics not included this time, lemme know if you guys prefer that

a/n - im SO sorry ive been MIA, i have had absolutely zero motivation. this is some trash i wrote a while ago and i thought i would post it while im trying to find inspiration to write something better. its the 5th installment of the song series so you can go check those out as well if you want! also, like i said in the word count, i did not include the lyrics this time around. i think i prefer that but im not sure, let me know if you guys want me to include the lyrics next time and i will! thank you for reading, i missed yall.

***

Your mom’s old pale yellow dress didn’t fit as well as you had hoped but you had no other options, formal events were not a common occurrence in your life. The wedges pinched at your toes and the thin dress straps dug into your shoulders but the soft yellow complimented your skin and you liked the ribbon around the waist so it wasn’t a total loss.

You sucked in a sharp breath, adjusting the dress once more in the mirror before grabbing your purse and hustling out the door.

This wasn’t happening. You weren’t actually doing this. The girl who feels like she has to throw up before public speaking and stutters over small talk and avoids eye contact at all costs is supposed to stand up in front of 100 people and declare her love for the boy getting married to someone else? You felt nauseous thinking about it.

But you couldn’t sit idly by and watch the love of your life say “I do,” to the snobby girl that put gum in your hair in middle school. If there was ever a time that you would stand in front of a crowd voluntarily and speak, it would be now.

The venue was beautiful. The church had vaulted ceilings and large stained glass windows that cast colorful shadows on the hardwood flooring. There were cascading white curtains and pale pink tablecloths with little white doilies. It was pretty but humble and you felt a pang of jealousy in your chest.

Concealing yourself in the crowd wasn’t difficult considering she’d invited the county and all its neighbors. Everyone was in the pews standing and mingling and you noticed the only group sitting quietly was the family of the bride herself, all looking around carefully like the normal folk were unevolved cavemen. They wore coordinating lavender outfits with done up hair and hats with little feathers -- something straight out of a period piece.

You rolled your eyes at their judgmental nature and apparent superiority complex before your attention was drawn to the boys in the front row talking seriously among themselves, dread written clearly on their faces.

Calum, Ashton and Michael wore similar black tuxes, looking uncomfortable in the formal getup. You only watched for a few moments before you caught Ashton’s attention. He first looked shocked but his expression quickly became sincere. He gave you an apologetic smile which you returned before heading to the back to avoid any more curious eyes. His family would surely recognize you if they saw you and you didn’t want any extra attention on you until you were subjecting yourself to it.

As you waited for the ceremony to start, you stared fondly out the window at the snowy trees and calm serenity of nature before allowing yourself to be whisked away in a vivid daydream about what it might be like to tell him how you truly feel.

You jumped, pulled from your daydream by dark, heavy chords coming from the church organ. You cringed a little as the horribly ill fitting song continued, but readied yourself for the ceremony to begin.

The silk purple curtains concealed your figure enough in the back of the church and your heart rate began to rise. This was happening. You were about to profess your love to a man who might turn you down in front of everyone and their mother. But it would be worth it. You couldn’t live your whole life wondering “what if?”

You heard a squeak of door hinges from your right and held still. Any sudden movements might give you away.

A young girl came running through with a wicker basket in hand, poorly distributing rose petals along the aisle. Something caught your eye in the front of the room.

Luke stepped out, front and center, and straightened his tie. Your breath caught in your throat. He looked just the same as the last time you’d seen him on that warm summer night. You had expected some drastic change, to not even recognize him. But it was Luke. The same one that picked flowers with you at recess and stopped to wait for you whenever you needed to tie your shoe. The same one that was always there to dry your tears and to watch dumb romantic comedies with you without complaining. He stood there quietly, clean shaven and rosy cheeked, the same Luke you knew and loved.

You pushed away the more upsetting memories, like the one from that warm, sticky night. The image of his tear stained cheeks and pleading eyes.

Moments later, your eyes were pulled from Luke. Courtney came strutting through the open Mahogany doors, waving like she was fucking Queen Elizabeth.

You rolled your eyes at her bedazzled ball gown and fake pageant smile. She didn’t care about Luke, she cared about image and reputation. Which is why you were really about to piss her off.

You looked back towards Luke and tried to read his expression but it was stoic, unmoved. You wish that was me, don’t you?

Courtney reached Luke and shot him a wide smile, to which he returned. Except Luke's was empty, not sincere. Luke had always thought Courtney was beautiful and smart and made the decision from there that marrying her wouldn’t be so bad. After you had turned him down in the glow of the firelight on that July night. It broke him and you hated yourself every day because of it. You weren’t ready to love him then. But you were most certainly ready now.

Ready to risk everything for that blue eyed boy.

The ceremony progressed and the preacher neared the end of the formalities. You felt your time was nearing. Your knees were weak and knocky, your hands shaking.

The preacher paused, and with his booming voice said “if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He looked down, preparing to move on and read the next portion, assuming no one would protest. No sane person ever protested.

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was now or never. If you didn’t find it in you to step forward at this moment, the person you love most in this world might be gone forever.

The room fell silent and you closed your eyes, pushing the sheer curtain aside and taking a shaky step forward. You heard heads turn and a few audible gasps.

When you opened your eyes, everyone had turned to you. Every familiar face, every friend, every stranger.

You caught Courtney’s eye and she looked as if every fiber of her being was on fire. If someone reached out and touched her in that moment, they’d get a 3rd degree burn. She looked like she was trying to strangle you with her eyes.

You flattened your dress once more and looked up, bracing yourself for the look on Luke’s face.

He didn’t look angry or upset, just… confused. And surprised.

You took that as a sign to continue. You softly cleared your throat, speaking directly to the man in front of you. “I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion but you are not the kind of boy… who should be marrying the wrong girl.” There were some shocked whispers and appalled gasps but you ignored them.

You walked forward down the aisle to get a clearer look at Luke and stopped at the stairs. You felt like you were alone with him now and it made it easier. “So don’t say yes, let’s run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door. Don’t wait or say a single vow, you need to hear me out.” You looked at him with pleading eyes and for the first time, his facade fell. You saw the glint of relief in his eyes and the slump of his once tense shoulders.

Luke looked around once more at all of the people that had gathered there today for him and knew he needed to make a decision. He turned to look at his friends stationed behind him, and to no surprise, their faces were lit up with pure happiness and relief. He couldn’t help but smile back at them. Calum threw him a thumbs up and Michael mouthed “go with her, dumbass.”

Luke turned back to the audience and spotted his mother in the crowd. He tried to read her expression but when she gave him a soft, curt nod, he knew what he had to do.

He quickly grabbed Courtney’s hands and your face immediately fell. He was going to choose her after all.

Then, he whispered something you didn’t expect. “I'm sorry, Court. This is a mistake, you don’t love me and I don’t love you — you and I both know that. We can’t do this. I have to go.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek quickly as she stood, frozen.

You felt a pang of guilt. But then you remembered that she would get over it and be marrying someone filthy rich by the time she was 25 and didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Luke then turned back to you. He jogged down the steps and pulled you into a hug. It was so silent in the church now, you could hear a pin drop.

He grabbed your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “Let’s run away now, I’ll meet you when I’m out of my tux at the back door.”

You nodded, tears in your eyes, and ran towards the double doors of the church. This was the best decision you had ever made.

You stood in the crisp, chilly air, waiting for Luke to come out of the door on the side of the church. Snow fell on your hair and eyelashes and you reached out a hand to catch some flakes.

In only three minutes he’d managed to change back into his black skinny jeans, looking like himself again. You could’ve cried at the sight.

“Hi,” you said. What else do you say to someone when you just got them to call off a marriage at the alter?

His smile grew and he ran forward, nearly tackling you in a giant hug. His hands found the back of your head and his eyes searched your face, memorizing every feature, worried that at any second, he might wake up from this amazing dream. “So glad you were around when they said speak now.”

taglist (dm or ask to be added!): @theshyspy

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edelwoodsouls · 3 years

Text

i still pick up at the sound of your call [fic]

"Is that a dalek on tv?" [or: Martha has some choice questions for the Doctor regarding the new Prime Minister's addess]

Inspired by this post

Word Count: 1,799 | Also on Ao3

"Oi, what the fuck is going on?"

The Doctor blinks. Pulls the phone away from her ear, to check the number again, check she isn't hallucinating. She'd hardly believed it when she saw it, hasn't seen those numbers strung together in years, though they're still burned into her mind.

Another life, another time.

Another friend burned to ashes.

She hesitates, for just a moment. Takes a deep breath. "Hey, Martha," she cringes instantly at the hollow lightness of her tone, only drawing attention to the lifetimes between their last words. "What's up?"

A heavy pause on the other end. The Doctor tries to imagine her old companion, for just a moment. She'd promised herself she would check up on her friends from time to time, make sure they were okay, if she could help them from the shadows in any way - but that promise has fallen between the cracks, lost along the way with everything she ever thought was true.

The last time she saw Martha, she saved her life. Moments before her own - his own, back then - had slipped between her fingers.

She'd looked happy. The Doctor could never have predicted Martha and Mickey of all people, but she was glad for them. She had ruined their lives in so many ways by crashing through them, by falling in love with Rose - this was the least they deserved.

So she imagines Martha like that. Curled up on the sofa, cornrowed hair and sparkling eyes. Legs tangled up with Mickey as they watch tv in the burnt orange glow of a dying London afternoon.

Oh, fuck. The tv.

"Uh, hi," Martha answers finally, wrong-footed and uncertain. "I wanted to speak to the Doctor, could you put him on, please? Sorry, I- uh, I'm Martha. Jones. I used to travel with him. I'm guessing you're the new companion? What happened to Donna?"

An unexpected lump rises in the Doctor's throat. Thousands of years - thousands - have passed since she last bothered to check in on Martha Jones. How many companions have been and gone in that time? How many have crumbled to ash beneath her fingers?

She swallows it down, files it under Compartmentalise, and Never Think of Again.

Sunshine. Enthusiasm. Energy. The tenets she's founded herself on this go around. She plasters a bright smile on her face, as if contorting her muscles will trick her tone into believing she means it.

"Just me, I'm afraid," she grins, skipping around the TARDIS to fiddle with the controls to keep her hands busy. "Had a bit of a change of face since you last saw me."

Furious whispers on the other side of the phone, far enough away from the receiver that even she can't hear them. She imagines Martha and Mickey, confusion and surprise warring with each other.

This reveal never gets old.

"Sooo, how've you been? How's Mickey? It's been, what, nearly ten years since you last saw me?"

"Uh, yeah," Martha returns to the phone, hesitant. She's never had to deal with regeneration, really. "I didn't know you could- I mean, when you said you change, I didn't realise that-"

"I can be anything I like! It's great, innit? I could have two heads or green skin if I felt like it. First time I've been a woman, though. Well, first time I remember, I guess. Still haven't been ginger, though. Maybe one day."

"Different face, same amount of energy," Martha laughs, and the sound lifts a weight from the Doctor's chest she didn't even know was there. "Mickey says hi."

"Yeah- hi!" A more distant voice echoes through the phone, startled at being addressed.

"Hi! It's great to hear from you!" She twirls the phone cord around a finger. If there's one thing she always regrets in her lives, it's the way her previous selves treated their companions. Each one with a different idea of relationships, of how things should be done.

This version of her thinks Mickey would be a great companion, if not for her Rose-tinted blinders.

"So, to what do I owe this call? Hope you kids have been keeping out of trouble, though somehow, I doubt it."

"Right!" Martha yelps. The whole regeneration thing definitely threw her for a loop. "Yeah, Doctor, what the fuck is going on? Is that a dalek we just saw on tv?"

"Ah, yeah... it is, yeah."

"And?"

"And I'm sorting it out?" The Doctor glances over her shoulder, towards the corridor the fam disappeared down a few minutes ago to get ready. They'll be back any second.

It's not that the Doctor doesn't want the fam to know about her old companions. They've met Jack, know she hasn't been on her own all this time, but- still.

Her companions don't have the best survival rate. It's selfish, probably, to keep having them, and yet she somehow never goes without them for long.

(She's lonely, she knows it. She's not a good person on her own. She clings to these fragments of knowledge and calls it reason.)

"But why is there a dalek on tv, Doctor? New security drones, that's what they're saying. Do they not remember the whole Earth-moving, twenty-seven planets, dalek invasion thing?"

"Or the Battle of Canary Wharf?" Mickey adds, words heavy with an underlying anger. Rose was lost to save the world from daleks, after all.

The least she deserves is to have her sacrifice remembered.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," the Doctor admits, flinging herself onto one of the crystalline seats near the console. "It's incredibly weird, actually. As far as I can tell, the entire human race has forgotten that aliens exist at all. No stolen Earth, no Titanic flying over London or Racnoss star at Christmas. No Battle of Canary Wharf."

"That's- I mean, how does that even happen?"

"I have no idea. Something to do with collective consciousness, I'd guess. Some manipulation from another race wanting to remove Earth's knowledge and wariness of aliens. The Arkangel network is still flying strong in your orbit, after all. It wouldn't be so hard to harness the technology. Maybe even your own governments, or some rogue branch of Torchwood. I never did find Torchwood 2 or 4."

"Then how the hell do we still remember?"

"Probably my fault. You're still keyed into the TARDIS's neural network, so she's protecting you from the effects. Sorry about that."

"No, it's- it's good," Martha splutters. "Are you going to try and fix it?"

"Maybe," the Doctor leans back in her chair, pulling the phone cord as far as it will go. "Once all of this is over, I might look into it. Just to check if it's malevolent or not. It's not a bad thing, necessarily. To forget. Some of things they must have seen..."

She shakes her head to clear it. Can't let herself stop and think for too long, or she might never escape the whirlpool's tide.

"Anyway," Martha says - she always was good at noticing her spirals, circumventing them. "How's Donna?"

Nevermind. She speaks the words lightly, but in a tone that says she noticed the Doctor's avoidance earlier and is bracing for bad news.

"She's great!" the Doctor manages a smile, glad to have something, anything to latch onto that isn't her own thoughts. "Happily married, actually. Won the lottery a few years ago, doing very well for herself."

"That's- that's really good to hear."

"She doesn't remember me." She lets the words fall, as much as she wishes she could hold them close and buried and gone. But Donna needs to be kept safe, and Martha reaching out to her would be- not good. "She doesn't remember anything that happened. I- I had to wipe her memory, after the daleks. It was killing her."

The silence stretches longer this time, and for a moment the Doctor is sure she's broken everything.

"Well, I'm glad she's happy," Martha says eventually. "There are worse fates, right?"

So many of your companions have had worse fates, she doesn't say, but the Doctor reads between the lines anyway.

"Yeah," she breathes.

"And how are you doing, Doctor? You're not alone, are you?"

"No! I'm great, actually. Got my fam. Yaz is really cool, you'd love her. Ryan and Graham are great. Jack's back in town right now, helped me out of prison-"

"Helped you out of where?"

"-and we're just sorting out this whole dalek thing! Should be all over pretty soon. Just, stay where you are."

"You know we can't do that, Doctor." If anything, Martha sounds amused. Determined. Ready to pick up her sword once again, defend the Earth from whatever might be coming.

In this second, everything is right with the world, and she misses Martha Jones in a way that hurts both her hearts at once.

"Well, stay safe at least. I'll call you back when this is done, to let you know."

"Thank you, Doctor. Maybe we could, I don't know- grab a drink, or something. Catch up."

"I'd like that," she replies, and they both know she has very little intent on following through.

Yaz appears at the end of the corridor, eyes bright, smile warm. She's chattering to someone, probably Ryan, completely oblivious, no weight on her shoulders.

The Doctor wishes she could keep Yaz like that, happy, delighted, laughing. Wishes that smile was just for her.

But she might have ruined it forever.

She's learnt to trust the TARDIS over the years, learnt that the TARDIS arrives when she thinks the Doctor should be rather than where the Doctor wants to be. She wants to trust that this, too, was for a good reason. The TARDIS has never led her wrong, in the end.

She has to believe.

"Well, I'll let you crazy kids go be heroes. Beat up some daleks for me, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor," Martha says. The Doctor imagines her smiling, linking fingers with Mickey. "Stay safe out there."

"Always," the Doctor grins. As Yaz and Ryan approach, she jumps up, throws the phone back on its hook and grabs hold of the TARDIS's controls.

"Who was that?" Yaz asks, wary, unsure of how to act around her. They need to sit down and talk, hash out the last ten months - and nineteen years - but now isn't the time.

Unfortunately, the time rarely seems to appear.

"Just an old friend checking in," the Doctor shrugs, avoiding her new companions' eyes. "There's daleks on the tv, haven't you heard? Let's fix that."

She throws the TARDIS into flight with a delighted whoop - after all these years, the thrill of flight never quite fades.

She's lost companions before, but as Martha’s call has reminded her, not all of them have met bad ends.

She refuses to let the fam down on that one, too.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #revolution of the daleks #martha jones #thirteenth doctor #mickey smith #yasmin khan #thasmin #fanfiction #own work #morgan writes

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 3 years

Text

Much Ado About Nothing

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, Johanna’s visit to the library takes longer than expected due to ... unforseeable circumstances.

Snowed in Valentine’s Day sketchbook AU

Notes: Okay this fic was written and revised at the quickest speed I could manage so it’s probably not the best, but in my defence I wasn’t even going to write it before I saw @kaminos-hangout-corner ‘s post about v day being cold like, three days ago, so it’s the best I could do :3. Happy Valentines, hope you enjoy it! (also please keep in mind I live in a place where snow is not a thing, so sorry if this is too inaccurate)

Read it on ao3 I Read last year’s Valentine’s sketchbook fic

The library’s closing time had long since passed by, yet the lights inside it were still lit, something that was becoming recurrently common these days. With it being a Sunday, the library’s doors were supposed to have been locked at five in the afternoon, but the librarian had found herself… otherwise engaged.

Johanna had walked in earlier that day, bringing a basket of cookies to give her and of course, bringing her lovely self. Even if she wanted to do so, Kaisa wouldn’t have had the heart to tell her to go away when the time had come for her to close the library, and she very much hadn’t wanted to.

Sometimes the kind woman came to doodle; on the occasion when Kaisa had mustered up enough bravery to ask her about it, back when the two of them barely spoke at all, Johanna had said she liked the peace and quiet of the library, as well as finding it an inspiring place. The librarian had had to agree, there was something about the place that inspired not only knowledge, but also imagination, but she didn’t dare say that it was probably the vestiges of magic in the air.

Other days, which Kaisa had to admit were her favourite, Johanna came simply to check out a book and she always made time to exchange a few words with the librarian; the baked goods were new, but Kaisa was definitely not about to complain.

Of course, she supposed she shouldn’t really be talking during her working hours, nor giving all her attention to one single library patron, but it wasn’t like anyone else but Johanna seemed to even want the librarian’s attention, and besides that they always kept their voices down so as not to disturb anyone. Seeing as the situation seemed completely unproblematic, Kaisa didn’t stress about it, and even felt flattered that Johanna had chosen to spend some more time with her on that date, since she certainly had better things to do. The problem came when, hours after the library had been closed, when they had already spent hours chatting alone in her break room and eating the cookies, Johanna looked at the clock and suddenly excused herself, saying that she needed leave.

“Do you want any help?” Kaisa asked after a couple of seconds of watching the woman struggle to push the library doors. It seemed like a very unusual occurrence, in Kaisa’s eyes. Big as they were, those doors had never given her much trouble, and she knew for a fact that Johanna was a strong woman. She still remembered the time she’d let a pile of books fall from her cart and Johanna had picked all of them up for her at once, which considering how lengthy and heavy the books had been, was no small feat.

“I think I do, actually.” Johanna adjusted her grip on the handle in a way that allowed Kaisa to grasp it too. For a moment, the librarian’s fingers brushed against Johanna’s hand, allowing her to feel how soft they were. Were she not in Kaisa’s presence, she would have huffed at herself for noticing such a small thing in the situation she was in; she really had it bad.

They attempted to open the door again, together that time, being unsuccessful once more. Kaisa’s brow creased. Granted, she hadn’t expected her limited strength to be of much help, but this shouldn’t be this hard either.

“Together on a three count?” Johanna suggested and Kaisa nodded. They both took a wider stance, and when Johanna reached the ‘three’, they dumped all their body weight into the door, but to no avail. They would have had more luck moving a boulder.

The two of them were heaving with the effort when they stopped, Kaisa going as far as leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees to rest.

“What on earth…” Kaisa breathed, before connecting the dots and immediately coming back to an upright position as if she had been startled. “Oh no.”

Johanna gasped when the librarian began running away to the closest window. She’d known it had been snowing, but she really hadn’t given this matter much thought. Spending her days inside the library, it wasn’t often that the weather became a hindrance to her, so it hadn’t even registered in her mind that it might become on that specific day.

“Tell me something.” Close as she was to the window, the tip of her nose nearly touching it, Kaisa’s words and breathing caused condensation to spread on the glass. “Was it already snowing when you got here?”

Approaching the window as well, Johanna grimaced at the amount of white flakes falling quickly to the ground outside. “It was, yes.”

“Damn it.” She whispered softly, trying to keep her cool while inside she was already cringing at having to deliver these news. “I’m sorry, Johanna, but it looks like you’re snowed in with me.”

_#_#_#_

If Kaisa had stopped to think properly, she would have noticed that she was stressing about the situation a lot more than Johanna herself was. This gave the artist conflicting feelings at best. She didn’t know what to think about how desperate Kaisa seemed to be to get rid of her.

For her part, the librarian couldn’t get out of her mind that she had ruined Johanna’s Valentine’s Day. Surely, for her to have asked to leave so suddenly earlier, it was because she had a date (or at least something that was worth her time more than keeping the lonely librarian company), and Kaisa told herself that if she hadn’t been so selfish and had stuck to the rules, asking her to leave the library at the time everyone else was supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. Now Johanna was stuck with her as company.

Johanna had asked if there wasn’t any other way out that she could use, even though seeing Kaisa’s distress was already enough of an answer. Kaisa had had to bite her tongue and say that no, there weren’t any other ways in or out, even though she could list other five just from the top of her head; the Witches Tower wasn’t exactly open for visitors, and Kaisa would prefer it if Johanna did not end up in the void of no return.

Together, they had tried forcing the door open a few more times, even though they both knew it would be no use. For the first time since she’d known her, Kaisa wished Johanna would stay away from her, if only for one second. If she got distracted for long enough, maybe she could figure out a spell to melt the snow outside. Or to blow the door away and blame it on a new variation of mutant book worms, whichever seemed more believable. No such luck, however, since Kaisa had worked herself into a fine state of panic, and worried for her, Johanna made sure to stay close.

Kaisa’s next grand idea was to call the Safety Patrol. They were the ones responsible for operating Trolberg’s snowplows, so hopefully they would be able to help them out quickly. There was a phone behind the circulation desk, and a sticky note with useful numbers glued on it. The librarian took a moment to thank her past self for jotting down the patrol’s contact number, even though she couldn’t imagine herself in any other situation in which she’d ask for their help. Still, it was good to know that at least at some point in her life she’d been competent.

Her fingertips tapped against the wood anxiously as the phone ringed three, four, five times before someone picked up.

“Safety Patrol, what is your emergency?” The voice on the other side was heavily accented, and Kaisa sent a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening in gratefulness that it wasn’t the leader of the patrol that had picked up. She wouldn’t trust that man to open a jar.

“Good evening, I need to have the snow removed from the library doors immediately.”

“The library? Sorry ma’am, it says here that the library is closed. There’s no one there anymore, so there are places that will be needing the snowplow with more urgency.”

Kaisa rolled her eyes, which caused her to look up at Johanna. The woman was looking somewhat uncomfortable, and Kaisa took it that it was because, as she had mentioned before the librarian picked up the phone to make that call, she didn’t want to bother the Safety Patrol. Though she had insisted that there was no need for such haste, Kaisa knew she was only trying to be kind, or maybe to make Kaisa herself feel like she wasn’t such bad company. But she wasn’t who Johanna wanted to be with at that moment, so she would do whatever it took for the woman to get what she really wished for.

“I am at the library.” She answered, irritation making her tone harsh like the cold outside.

“You are?” The woman on the other side didn’t sound suspicious, only surprised. “Why? Who are you?”

“I’m the librarian.”

There was a beat of silence as the officer understood the situation. “Oh. I see. Well, I’m afraid that doesn’t change many things, ma’am. This amount of snow caught us all by surprise, many places weren’t ready for it. So, you see, there are people snowed in without supplies, and people snowed in on risk areas. Of course, there are also the main roads which need to be cleaned up. You have a private office with water and some food, don’t you? We will solve your problem when we can, but it might take a while.”

“Listen to me.” Kaisa summoned up her most threatening tone, wishing she’d never allowed Erik’s administration to make that silly inspection in the library, or at least that she could threaten to turn whoever she was talking to into a toad. She highly doubted Johanna would appreciate it, though. “I need you to let me out right now. I don’t care if all you bring is a machete so you can break one of the windows, just-”

So absorbed she’d been in trying to sound convincingly intimidating, something Kaisa was most certainly not used to, she was startled when Johanna grabbed the phone right out of her hand.

“Good evening officer, sorry for the bother.” She was leaning on the circulation desk, propped up on her elbows and sounding remarkably calm. “We will wait, don’t worry about us. Good luck with all the snow tonight. Goodbye.”

The officer said something else, but after that Johanna put the phone back in its hook. When she met the librarian’s gaze, Kaisa felt as if a blow had been delivered to her chest. Johanna looked sad with her, and she couldn’t fathom why. If she was only trying to help…. than the problem must be that Kaisa had allowed this to happen in the first place. Kaisa looked down, not wanting to look at Johanna’s face and see the disappointment in her any longer. She didn’t mean to be the wrong person for her to spend Valentine’s day with, she thought as a blush covered her cheeks, making matters worse, but she could hardly apologize for that, could she?

“Kaisa.” Johanna sighed. “There’s no need for all of this, really. Just… just let me make a call, will you?”

“Of course.” The librarian got up from the chair and walked around the desk, switching places with Johanna. Meaning to give her privacy, she walked a little further away, but couldn’t help but hear the first words she said.

“Hi, sweetie.” Johanna said softly.”I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it for dinner tonight-”

A sudden wave of cold washed over her, and Kaisa wrapped her cape tighter around herself. This conversation really wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

Figuring a hot drink would serve her well, she went back to her office and put some water to boil in the kettle. Some black tea would serve her well, but Johanna looked like the sort of person who drank red berries tea. She didn’t even dare to pick the flavour for her, however, since she had no intention of adding one more screw up to the night.

Johanna joined her right as the water finished boiling. “I already told her I won’t make it tonight.” She said as Kaisa gestured for her to choose a tea bag, allowing the librarian to pour the water on her teacup. “So no worries. I hope.”

“Ah.” Kaisa ran her thumb on the porcelain of her cup. She wanted to take a sip so she would have an excuse not to say anything, but that would certainly cause her to burn her tongue. The atmosphere between them was one she didn’t like, even if she reluctantly had to admit that she’d been the one to create it; it was heavy with discomfort and with words left unsaid, but at least for that last part there was something she could do.

“Johanna, I am sorry.” She said finally, making the other woman look at her with an eyebrow lifted in confusion. “It’s my fault that you’re stuck here right now.”

Looking exasperated, Johanna shook her head. “Kaisa, truly, you don’t have to worry about it. It doesn’t really matter that much, she’ll be fine-”

“It does matter!” Kaisa didn’t know why she was arguing against herself, but she felt like she needed Johanna to be angry at her, because otherwise she’d be the one who would continue being angry with herself. “I should have paid more attention to the time and to the weather. But it was so nice to talk to you privately for a longer while that I… forgot. And now your date is ruined because of that!”

She was gripping the mug so tightly that if it were slightly more frail she’d worry that it might break. Biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to choke her, Kaisa looked out at the small window in her break room. The snow continued to fall stubbornly, caring not for any of them. Apologizing always sucked; whenever she had too much she wanted to say, it tended to come out all at once in ridiculous manifestations of emotion, leaving her feeling like a fool. At least it was done, and now all she did was wait for Johanna to say something.

“My date?’ Johanna half mumbled, half laughed after a second. “I don’t have a date.”

Kaisa whipped her gaze back to her. “Of course you do.” She said without even thinking about her words, an unusual thing for her to do. “You just called her, did you not? It’s Valentine’s day, who wouldn’t want to be with you?”

To her utter surprise, Johanna laughed, a bubbling sound that began in her chest until it spilled out of her, filling the room with its warmth. Kaisa didn’t even care that the laughter was at her expense; Johanna wasn’t sad anymore and that was what mattered most.

“Kaisa, that wasn’t my date. I was calling my daughter.”

The librarian blinked in surprise, hoping her hair hid the pink spreading on her face. “But… when you noticed the time, you said you needed to leave immediately.”

Johanna’s mug could barely hide her satisfied grin behind itself as she took her first taste of the reddish beverage. Now that she knew exactly what Kaisa’s panic had been about, and that it had nothing to do with wanting Johanna to go away, she was admittedly enjoying the situation way more that she thought she should.

“Yes, because my daughter has an inclination to chaos and would take my being late as an excuse to meddle around the kitchen and possibly set the house on fire.” Watching realization dawn in Kaisa’s face was like watching the sun rise, so deep the transformation was. “I just told her to order in to avoid accidents.”

Holding her steaming cup with her left hand, the librarian used her right one to cover her face. She really hoped there were no witches going through any of the secret passages at the moment that had heard that exchange. They would never let her live this down.

“Oh my goodness.” Her words were muffled by the heel of her hand, and in a show of compassion, Johanna held her giggles back. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted, that was honestly pitiful. I just wanted to make sure you could spend your Valentine’s day - well, Valentine’s evening, I suppose, with the person you wanted.”

Internally repremending herself, Kaisa didn’t dare look at Johanna; she hated how vulnerable and emotional she sounded, and it ought to have made the other woman uncomfortable. She brought her cup to her lips and immediately regretted it when Johanna spoke.

“Who’s to say I didn’t? I did come here to talk to you, didn’t I?”

The witch nearly spilled her tea all over the tiles. When she stared at Johanna, finding her looking right back at her, the woman only smiled calmly, as if the implications of what she’d said weren’t more than enough to shake Kaisa to her core. Still tranquil, she glanced at the book which was sitting on the counter of Kaisa’s kitchenette.

“Is this the book you told me you were reading?” She asked as she lifted up Much Ado About Nothing for the librarian to see. “When we were talking earlier?”

Realizing she still had her cheeks pouched with tea, Kaisa forced herself to gulp it down and nod. “It is. I have already read most of his plays but not this one, so I figured it was worth a shot.”

“We still have some time here, don’t we?” Once more, Kaisa nodded, fearing she looked like a stupid string marionette. “Would you read it to me? I find drawing while listening to stories very cosy.”

“That’s-” Kaisa’s lips slowly bloomed into a smile. “A wonderful idea.”

While the librarian sat down on one of the two chairs of the break room’s table, Johanna produced a sketchbook and a pencil from her pocket. Too distracted finding the place she’d stopped, Kaisa failed to notice most of the doodles in the drawing pad were of her. To that day it had never failed to surprise Johanna that she really believed she went all the way to the library just to doodle in peace.

“Would you like me to begin again so you can keep up with it better?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Johanna was already planning what she would draw. She’d sketched Kaisa so many times, admiring her from afar as she sat in one of the library’s tables, but the evening’s event had made her more confident that her feelings weren’t one sided. Surely a drawing was a more straightforward gift than a batch of cookies, she thought. “Just pick up where you left, it’s perfect.”

After taking a deeper breath, the librarian began.

“I do not love nothing in the world so well as you - is that not strange?”

#lol people who follow my personal blog got a mini spoiler of what this fic would be about #fic: maan #my fic #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

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idunnoficsorsumthing · 3 years

Text

Old feelings

Based on this tik tok I saw, actually I changed it a little bit. Also inspired by Sleep on the Floor from the Lumineers.

tiktok

Inner me is cringing at a Harry Styles fanfic lol but it was a cute idea. So whatever.

Female reader x Harry Styles

You were standing in the hall of the venue. The parents had rented the entire building not just for today but for tonight, and tomorrow. The guests, all 220 of them were accommodated with sleeping arrangements either here at the venue or in a hotel. Harry and you were talking to the building manager about the arrangements that would be taken for the guests that would be staying here. You turn around, and see him holding his bags. Timothee Chalamet, the love of your past life. You were glad he hadn’t noticed you yet, you weren’t sure what to do if he looked. You excuse yourself, and race to the bathroom quickly. You wash your face with cold water, this weekend already wasn’t exactly what you wanted, and now he had to show up. You take a deep breath, and think about a great escape plan when you heard a man singing to himself, and you recognized that voice out of thousands. You open the door to the hallway. “Niall!” You said, you saw him walking down the hallway. He turned around, he looked a little concerned, perhaps it was the tone of your voice or the look on your own face. He walked towards you, and once within your reach you pulled him inside the women’s bathroom. “Why is Timothee here?” you ask. Niall shrugs, it was a busy week, and loads of people were at this location, and yet. Yet, Timothee was here. Your heart sped up when you saw him, and you refused to believe it was leftover feelings you had for him. “I’m not sure, nice chap though.” Niall said, you look into his eyes, and wonder if he even knew. “I want him gone.” you said, bitter. Niall nods. “Whatever you want.” He said, though he looked like he was going to do jackshit about it.

Rehearsal Dinner, was extravagant. From the moment you stepped into the dinning hall you felt underdressed even though you were in the nicest dress you owned. Your stepmother and father were standing there tall, Harry’s parents were talking with some family friends, Gemma was laughing at the bar with Harry and another woman. You didn’t recognize her. You weren’t sure where to look. There were so many people, you didn’t recognize half of them. That’s when you spotted him, those black curls, and that face. What. The. Hell was he still doing here. Luckily Zendaya came up towards you holding up a drink for you. “Did you know Tim is here?” You ask your best friend. She nods, taking a sip from her champagne. “Yeah, I invited him.” Z said, you stare at her. “What??” you ask her. She put her arm around your shoulder. “I think you should hear him out.” you shake your head, profusely. “Why?” you ask her. She takes another drink from her glass. “I am getting married tomorrow afternoon. What the hell is wrong with you?” You said, pulling her by her arm to the hallway. “Y/n, are you really marrying Harry. I mean have you seen this whole wedding seems like you are overcompensating for the lack of love.” She snapped. You were taken back by her comment. “I didn’t plan this stupid thing, okay. Our parents did.” you said, Zendaya pulled you by your arm into a random room, which turned out to be a closet because your father was coming towards the two of you. “I thought you liked Harry, what the hell is going on?” you ask her. You lean with your back against a rack of cleaning supplies. “I do. It is just that the two of you met less than four months ago, when both of you got out of serious relationships.” Z said, you shake your head in disgust. “Timothee really broke your heart, and Harry published an album about Camille when he was with you.” Z said, concerned. You lean your head back, as you look at the lamp post. Z placed a hand on your arm that you had crossed over your chest. “I did it because I love you, remember that.” She said, placing a kiss on your cheek, and you knew she meant well. But, this was the worst plan she ever had. Worse than the time the two of you went to an irish bar and met Lewis Capaldi, and then she rudely mistook him for an Irish man. Which after three shots he could laugh about, and three of you ended up in Edinburgh. You had picked yourself up again, and went to find Harry. You were furious with Zendaya, and you had no interest in being nice to your step sister at the moment. He was still at the bar with the mystery. “Hey honey” you said, Harry put his arm around your shoulder. “Y/n, this is Camille.” he said, he looked anxious. You hold out your hand to shake hers. “Hi Camille.” you said: “I hope everything is going well for you.” she had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, and you wondered how Harry ended up with you. “It is a lovely venue, Y/n” She said: “I think it is wonderful of you to invite me here, giving our history.” She gestured at Harry. You didn’t, Z did. Harry’s anxious look changed into an uncomfortable smile. “We are glad you could make it.” you said,

You shouldn’t have downed so many glasses of champagne. It made you fuzzy, to be honest the last thing that you truly felt was when Harry stepped into some room with Camille, and you had to be nice to your parent’s friends, and you were thankful that the evening didn’t last till two in the morning. You were sitting in your bedroom waiting for Harry to return. The dinner had ended around eleven thirty, and it was now past twelve, and he still wasn’t back from when he left with Camille. You had however found a whiskey bottle on the dresser, and even though they were going to overprice you for that. You didn’t care anymore, when he finally stumbled into the bedroom. “Where have you been?” you ask, you weren’t even sure if that sentence turned out like you thought it did. “I’m so sorry.” he said, you noticed he looked genuinely scared. “What?” you ask. You get up from the bed. “I uh- I had a long talk with Camille. About us, and-about you.” he said, his hair looked disheveled, and the suit he had been wearing so neatly, his buttons were unbuttoned and his tie loosened. “God, I am so sorry Y/n.” he cried out. You glare at him, and he steps closer to you. “We kissed.” he said, and anger rose up in you. You couldn’t believe he’d betray you like that. “Fuck you Styles. Fuck you.” you said, shoving him backwards so you could run out of the bedroom. “Y/n!” he called after you. He followed you, because he wanted redemption and in this drunken state of yours you couldn’t.

You run up the stairs, in the hope that there’d be some place where Harry couldn’t find you. You come across the attic window, you enter to find Niall with a girl. “Oh I’m sorry” you said, about to turn around. “No, Y/n stay here.” Niall said, when he saw the tears. He whispered something to the girl, and she got up making room for you. You sit down, handing your whiskey bottle to him. “What happened?” Niall asked. You lean your head against his shoulder. He takes a sip of the bottle. “The short version. Camille and Timothee are here, and Harry kissed Camille.” You cried, you wiped away the tears from your eyes. You tried to restrain yourself from crying. “And I missed all that?” he chuckled. You glare at him for laughing. “God, I hate this place.” You said, taking the whiskey bottle from Niall’s hands. He nods, he shifts his weight to lean his arms on his knees. “Is the wedding off?” He asked. You looked at the blond haired boy, and you chuckled. “I don’t know.” You said, taking a gulp from the bottle. You stare at the stars that were placed in beautiful constellations, you knew only one person that could identify more than one. “I loved Tim. I did. It was this Paris romance and at the same time-and I didn’t realise this at the time was the amount of pretend that went on. The perfect couple.” You said: “But with Harry it is all the ugly parts. The fighting and now he kissed her! the day before our wedding!” You sounded so angry, Niall just let you talk, not interrupting you talking negative about Harry. He took the bottle back again, wiping off your lipstick stains from the tip with the back of his hand. “What if Z is right, and Harry and I are making the biggest mistake ever” You whispered to Niall like it was the dirtiest secret you had. He simply shrugged before taking off his blazer handing it to you. You hadn’t even realised you were cold, you were too upset. Only when the leftover warmth from the balzer touched your skin you noticed. “I think you are seeing it all wrong.” He said taking a gulp from the bottle. You turn your head towards him to see him scrunch his nose from the whiskey flavor. “Who wants to be the perfect couple? Yes, what Harry did was wrong. But, maybe this was some form of closure he needed to have from her. Now, he has it. Maybe he now realised that not even a small part of him loves her anymore. It is a closed chapter.” he said: “Clearly you have some unresolved feelings still for Timothee. Harry has those too. The two of you rushed into things so fast, the two of you were bound to run into some wall at some point.” he said: “but now you have to decide whether you can climb that mountain or if it isn’t worth it.” You had never heard anything this real come from his mouth. He wrote stupid songs about these types of situations, and you had to laugh because he was the one with a song called no judgement. You just didn’t think that applied to everything.

It took you a long time sitting up there with Niall to be okay enough to come back down. Tonight your fiance and best friend hurt you, and Niall was there for you, like a real friend. You get to the bathroom, to brush your teeth, you take your make- up remover and some cotton pads to remove your make- up, you cleaned off one eye. “hey” you heard Harry say. You turned around and he was in the tub . You hold your hand to your heart, as you hold back a scream. You should’ve known he was in here because the bathroom smelled like the soap you brought. “Hi” you said, walking over to the bath sitting down on the floor beside the tub. You lean your arm on the edge of the tub placing your head on it, looking at him. You weren’t going to say anything, you wanted him to explain. “We went somewhere quiet to talk, and we talked about all the things that were wrong between me and her, and we had champagne, and we reminisced about good days, and one thing led to another, and we kissed once.” he said, you glare. “At our rehearsal dinner. Great. “You said, sarcastically. He pulled some hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry.” he whispered. You give him a small smile. “Are you really sorry?” you ask. He nods, he got closer to your lips before pressing a kiss on your lips. “Very sorry.” he said, nodding. You put your hand on the back of his neck, scratching his head. “Do you still love her?” You ask. He purposely looked you in your eyes, and opened his lips to say something but he didn’t. You thought he was going to say what you feared. “No. I didn’t, even before I kissed her I knew I didn’t love her anymore.” he said, you give him a faint smile. The look in his eyes asked of something you didn’t know you could give. Forgiveness, and even though you still wanted to get married to him because you loved him so much, he still wasn’t forgiven. You get up from the floor. “Are we still getting married?” he asked. But, you had already left the bathroom so you wouldn’t have to answer.

You were getting ready with your maid of honor, sister, and your step mother, and the stylist your step- mom hired for the day. If you were going to be real honest your hair pulled up in a bun wasn’t what you had in mind. But, your step-mother was right, it suited better with the veil. Fifteen minutes till the big moment. A knock on the door, you turn around, and Timothee was in the doorpost, waiting for an okay to come. “Come in, Tim.” Z said, you wanted to strangle her for doing that. Maybe you were such a hypocrite yesterday with Harry because maybe you still had leftover feelings for Timothee. “We’ll let you talk.” your step sister said, she took her mother by the arm, and pulled her out of the room, Zendaya following them. “I want you to leave.” you said, getting up from your chair. “If you come with me.” he said, stepping further into the room, closer to you. “I don’t want to.” you said, he shook his head. “You don’t have to marry that british prick,” he said. You glare at him. Crossing your arms. “Careful.” you said, Timothee stepped closer to you. “You don’t really love him.” Timothee said, his hands were waving around like he could’ve casted a magical spell over you. You shake your head, taking Timothee's hands in yours. You look into his eyes, and you wonder if what you were about to say next would change his feelings for you. “I love him, Tim. I do I really do.” You said, you look at his fingers, his hands fitted nicely with yours. Better than Harry’s big hands. “We fit so well together. Y/n, and I know we broke up because of geographical differences but we can change that.” he said: “Please don’t marry that idiot.” You sign, you were tired of that argument because that was the argument you told yourself about why the two of you had to break up. You shake your head, and Timothee’s expression changed, he was confused about it all, and if you were honest so were you. “We did. But, it was boring. We ate the same food every night, we had the same sex every night. Nothing felt new.” you said, Timothee frowned. He seemed upset more than before. He must take it as an insult, was it? “We have no feelings for each other. They are old. I don’t love you like that anymore.” You said, he pressed his lips against yours, and perhaps this is how Harry felt kissing Camille, nothing. Everything you thought you were repressing was guilt for not feeling like that anymore. “See, I don’t love you anymore.” you tell him. You walk past him out of the room.

You were walking down the aisle, and it seemed absolutely horrible, this wasn’t the wedding you had wanted. You wanted just your friends, and elope or something. Don’t spend too much money on it, and on top of all that. The guilt. So much guilt, you kissed Timothee right before you walked out here, and it was all wrong. You reached up to Harry, and he looked so nice. Probably your mother’s doing, she had an eye for perfection. He didn’t hold out his hand for you. You look Harry in his eyes, and though the two of you fighted last night, he had a smile on his face. The officiant was about to start the ceremony, you take a step closer to Harry. Ignoring the people around you, you needed to speak to him. “Harry, we should talk.” you said in a soft tone. Harry looked to his side, he wasn’t sure what to do, he just nodded. “Sir, Can we just stop for a moment?” Harry said, to the officiant. Before he got an answer, he took your hand, and the two of you made your way to the hallway, Harry picked out a random room to enter. You felt the eyes of your friends and family burning on your back. Whispers about what was happening echoed behind you. Harry closed the door behind you, and you knew there was no turning back. “I know you kissed Timothee earlier, I went to check on you before the wedding and I heard some of what you said..” Harry said, you nod. You sat down on the desk that was in the office. Probably the concierges. You weren’t sure what to say about that. “But it is fine. I understand, I kissed Camille.” he said, in the most casual sense of the matter. You expected him to be so mad, and betrayed. But, he wasn’t. It was like he really did understand. A single bittersweet goodbye kiss. “So we’re even?” You ask. He nods. You held your hand in the air for a high-five. You hoped that would light the mood. Instead he looked at you like you were crazy. You kept your hand hanging in the air, Harry laughed eventually as he responded to your high five. He just looks you up and down. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” He said, he looked tired. You shake your head, he took your hands in his, and you felt smaller. He leaned forward, his breath in your neck. “Well you do.” he said: “What happened to your dream dress?” he remembered that dress you showed him two months ago. “You’d look amazing in that.” He whispered in your ear. You wish his words did something to you. But, you hated the dress, your mom picked it out and you didn’t feel beautiful. “We should get back out there and get married.” He said, he let go off your hands and half already a hand on the doorknob. He looked back at you, and he had a stupid smile on his face. “OR we get the hell out of here.” He said: “I hate everything about this wedding.” he looked at you, and hesitated if he said the wrong words, and you wanted to leave so badly. But, everyone was going to kill you. Your dad, and step mother for sure. They paid a lot for this wedding, and the press would have lots to say about the two of you leaving. But, what the hell. “I hate it too.” you laugh, walking towards him. He took your hand, and he helped you with the dress that was far too big.

After stumbling to get into the car with this big ball gown, Harry hurried over to his side of the car. You felt bad for Niall and Z that had to go explain to everyone that the bride and groom just eloped. “That is the most annoying dress I have seen in my life. Can you even see?” Harry asked. You laugh, because you could see a distorted view of the road, through three layers of tulle, and that was after the dress was pushed down. “Not really.” you answered. “I don’t want to go to the hotel room. It is the first place they’ll look.” Harry said, he was right. The two of you didn’t have a honeymoon planned because he was supposed to be back in the studio by monday. But, this threw all your plans kind of. “We could just keep on driving.” you suggest, and you expected him to tell you that you were being an idiot. He didn’t. He didn’t say anything, and through all the tule, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You felt kind of strange because the two of you were so fine leaving the wedding like that. Did that mean what you thought it meant? because even though you loved Harry enough not to elope with Tim. Why didn’t you love him enough to marry him? lots of questions raced through your mind. You attempt to press the dress down another time, and this time your view was more clear. “I love you.” you said to Harry. He nods. He didn’t say it back.

“We have to stop for gas.” he said, he took the exit off the highway. He stopped at the nearest gas station. He got out of the car, leaving you there, you noticed the Sainsbury across the street. When Harry went to pay for the gas, you struggled to get yourself out of the car. There luckily wasn’t a lot of traffic on the two way street, and you could quickly get across. The people shopping in the store looked at you strangely, some looked at you with pity. You hurried through the store, and as you exited you saw Harry leaning against the hood of the car. When you reached for the car, he looked angry, though he wrapped you in his arms. “I thought you decided to leave me too,” he said softly. He kissed the top of your head. “No I just went in to get some clothes, and some food.” you tell him. But, you could tell from his expression that he was relieved to see you again. Somehow this decision did bond the two of you together more like a team than ever. “You’re gonna have to help me get out of this dress.” You chuckle. He looked questionably at the dress, not really sure what to do about it.

You were wearing some shorts and a shirt topped with a sweater. Harry had his sleeves rolled up, and had taken off his tie, vest and jacket. He was wearing his sunglasses and driving down the highway towards the canal. Your feet were on the dashboard even though Harry told you a thousand times that it was dangerous. You didn’t care, you had the windows rolled down, letting your hair fly in your face, and you sing quietly along with the lyrics on the radio, even Harry had a genuine smile on his face. One you hadn’t seen the past couple of weeks.Because old lovers weren’t the only thing the two of you argued about. It was the wedding. Harry was upset that you didn’t have enough backbone to tell your parents that the wedding plans they had weren’t the ones you wanted. Not the dress, or the venue, or who came, and he had been patient with you but it felt like it wasn’t your wedding. But, that didn’t matter because all that mattered to you was that you had Harry by your side.

* Forgiveness in this situation is a difficult thing, and I don’t know what I would do in this situation, but I do think that these characters would forgive one another.

And for Z, we all do what we think is best for our friends

#Harry styles #Harry styles x reader #Niall Horan x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #harry x reader #niall horan #1D #onedirection

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