#no but really. probably like 20 hours?? didn’t keep track but it was a long time

[alien-from-planet-zog]

A puppet master, a monster, and a ghost.

#link click #shiguang daili ren #liu xiao #li tianchen #li tianxi #my art #HAPPY HALLOWEEN! #to be clear I don’t think LTC is a monster so much as. a very very fucked up kid #and I also don’t think we’ve seen the last of LTX (I just want her to live) #link click spoilers #I guess this is a bit…spoilery #sorry I made hat man kinda hot. it was an accident #this took me approximately a million gazillion hours #no but really. probably like 20 hours?? didn’t keep track but it was a long time #posting it now before I decide to mess around w it any more

[babybluebex]

def write more best friends dad!cillian orrrr maybe you can dip ur toes into dads best friend!cillian??? i feel like that would be awesome!

here you go, lovelies, the long awaited dad's best friend!cillian! enjoy! warnings for smut (oral f!receiving, fingering), age gap (cillian is 46, reader is in her 20s)

The moment you surfaced from the water, you felt his gaze on you. You had known Mr. Murphy for years, for long enough for him to insist that you call him Uncle Cillian (although you didn’t,  but you were never sure why), and his bright blue eyes were hard to miss, especially when they were fixated on you.You swiped the droplets of chlorinated water from your eyes as you looked around for him, dodging the various people that were in your backyard. It was a hot Saturday evening, and your parents were putting on a little summer party to celebrate you being home from college; of course, Mr. Murphy was invited, and you had briefly greeted him when he arrived a few hours before, before you got in the pool. But now, you felt him watching you, and you found him standing by the back door that led into your kitchen.

You watched as he averted his eyes, obviously having been caught looking, and he slipped inside your house quickly. You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion at his hasty exit, and you swam to the edge of the pool, tugging yourself up and out. Your towel laid nearby, and you quickly dried off and wrapped it around your waist as you padded barefoot by your dad. “Don’t track water into the house,” he told you as you passed, and you absently nodded, still intent on following Mr. Murphy inside. 

You found him all alone in the kitchen, standing with his back to the door, leaning against the island, sipping at his beer. He had his phone in his hand, scrolling too quickly to really be looking at anything on his screen, and you purposefully opened the fridge louder than usual to get him to look at you. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked playfully when he looked at you, his paralyzing blue eyes scanning your body, from your soaked hair to the almost-too-small white bikini top you wore. “Don’t you know the party’s out there?”

Mr. Murphy shrugged. “Got hot outside,” he said. “And I know where your dad keeps the good beer.” 

You nodded, not really believing him, and you pulled out a can of soda and shut the fridge door with your hip. “Well, wearing sweaters and shit probably doesn’t help with the heat,” you said, reaching out for the corner of his navy cardigan. “You should’ve brought your swim trunks, you could’ve gotten in the pool with me.” 

“Ah,” Mr. Murphy scoffed. “Nobody wants to see me parading around in my bathing suit. I’m too old and out of shape for that.” 

“As if,” you said. “You look fine, don’t stress too much.” 

“Thanks, love,” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Sorry, I’ve just… Ever since the divorce, I haven’t really felt like myself.” 

Ah, right. The divorce. Your parents and The Murphys had been friends since they were your age— you had seen the scrapbook pictures of college-aged versions of your dad and Cillian getting up to no good— and you had to admit that you were always a little closer to Aunt Yvonne (not to say you didn’t like Mr. Murphy, because you did, but you always liked Aunt Yvonne more). When you were at college and your dad offhandedly mentioned on the phone one night that Yvonne and Cillian were separating, you had frowned. “Is Yvonne okay?” you asked. “What happened?” 

“I’ve only talked to Cillian about it,” your dad had told you. “And he hasn’t said much. People just grow apart, I guess.” 

You screwed up your mouth at the mention of the mysterious divorce, and you popped the tab of your soda. “That’s okay,” you told him. “You just need to find someone new.” 

“Really?” Mr. Murphy asked. “A rebound? Is that how you deal with breakups?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “Whenever I get sad about my ex or whatever, I just go find someone else to focus on for a little while.”

“First of all, that’s not healthy,” Mr. Murphy chuckled. “Second… I don’t know, I was married for 20 years. I have two kids. I can’t just go find a girl at a bar and hook up with her and expect to get over it.” 

“I don’t know, man,” you mumbled. “Just trying to help, I guess.” 

“I appreciate that,” Mr. Murphy said. “You’ve always been a sweet girl.” 

Oh. Oh no. You felt a stirring in your lower belly when he said that, one that made heat flood your bikini bottoms, and you shifted your weight on your feet as you nervously sipped your soda. You had to admit that Mr. Murphy, with his high cheekbones and greying hair and brilliant eyes, was quite attractive, exactly your type, and you had considered fucking him before, but, because of Aunt Yvonne, you had pushed down that desire and pretended it didn’t exist. It was just a fantasy about your dad’s best friend; that wasn’t that uncommon, was it?

“So,” he started before you could think anymore. “How’s college?” 

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” you said. “Classes are okay, but exams are hard as hell.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Any boys catch your eye?”

“Honestly, not really,” you said. “They’re all kind of… Eh, I guess. I don’t like any of them the way I—” You cut yourself off before you could finish your sentence, the way I like you, and you stammered, “I-I should.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” Mr. Murphy asked. “I mean, I know college boys can be dumb, but what’s wrong?”

“They’re just not mature enough,” you said softly. You set down your drink and wrapped your arms around your middle, and you added, “I don’t want to worry that my boyfriend will do some stupid shit on a night out. And they just, umm, don’t do things the way I want them to.” 

Mr. Murphy wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, also setting down his drink, and he leaned his hip against the kitchen island. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well…” you started. “Boys my age don’t, like… Whenever I’ve hooked up with a guy, I’ve always asked him to do certain stuff, and he never does. At least not well.”

“Wait,” Mr. Murphy said. “Are you telling me that the boys you go out with don’t go down on you?”

Your skin prickled at the sound of those words coming out of his mouth, and you eyed him suspiciously before you cleared your throat. “Um, not really,” you said. “Like, they do it, but never well.”

“Oh, darling,” Mr. Murphy sighed. “You need to find a really good guy that’ll do that. And he’ll treat you like the princess that you are; don’t ever let a man do anything less.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, Mr. Murphy,” you said softly. 

He smiled softly, tilting his chin down to look at you, and he said, “Now, how many times have I told you to call me Cillian?” 

Your heart skipped in your chest, and you mumbled, “A-A few.” 

“And yet, you don’t,” Cillian said. “Why not? You called my wife Yvonne, why not me by my name?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I never felt like I was close enough to you to really… Deserve to call you that.”

Cillian took a step towards you, then hesitated, then reached out for you. You expected him to grab your hands or touch your shoulders, but his fingers tucked in the towel around your waist. He waited for a moment before he slowly unraveled it from your body, and his eyes hungrily took in the sight of your legs. “Wow,” he whispered. “I knew that you would be so beautiful…” 

“Cillian?” you said gently, nervously looking over your shoulder to the outside door, where everybody else was still outside. “Wh-What if someone sees?” 

“Sees what?” Cillian asked. He set your towel on the counter, taking a step closer to you. “We’re not doing anything.” 

“Yeah, but…” you started. “But—”

“If you want me to do something, all you have to do is ask,” Cillian told you. “But ask nicely.” 

You swallowed thickly. “I-I don’t even know what I want,” you told him. “I’ve thought about this, sure, but…” 

“Do you want me to go down on you?” Cillian asked. “Just say the magic word, love.” 

You blinked, fluttering your eyelashes at him, and you softly said, “Please?” 

Cillian’s face softened, and he took your hips in his grasp, pulling you close to him. He gently moved you to the counter and helped you jump up on it, and he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath as his fingers danced at the ties on your bikini bottom. “Sweet girl,” he whispered. “How long have you wanted this?” 

“Umm…” you started, and your breath caught in your throat when he deftly undid your ties, pulling your wet bottoms from your skin. “A long time.”

“Yeah?” Cillian breathed, and he carefully moved down to kneel on the ground in front of you, his face level with your pussy. You felt almost shy as he looked at you, and you wiggled on the countertop as his dull fingernails pressed into the flesh of your thigh. “And how long has it been since you’ve had sex?” 

“A few weeks,” you told him. “I haven’t since I moved back home.”

“Oh, you’re dying for it, aren’t you?” Cillian cooed softly. “Your little vibrator isn’t enough, right?” 

“No,” you breathed. Cillian leaned forward and littered soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, coming close to where you wanted him but never landing exactly there. He was teasing you, the bastard. Your hand left the counter and curled in his salt and pepper hair, urging him closer to your pussy, and he smiled, looking up at you with those brilliant eyes. You felt shocked, like his gaze was electric, and Cillian sighed heavily, focusing back down between your legs. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your core. “My sweet girl…” Then, before he could say more, he pressed forward, touching his lips to your pussy. You jolted in surprise, letting out a quick laugh to try to ease your nerves, and he chuckled lightly. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just… Nervous.”

“Why’re you nervous?” Cillian asked, smoothing his hands up your legs to rest on your back. 

“If someone catches us—” you started, and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head. 

“They won’t,” he told you. 

“But if they do?” you countered.

“But they won’t,” Cillian said firmly. “Ease up, love, just enjoy this. Let me take care of you.” 

“O-Okay,” you said softly. Your fingers rested against the back of his head as he continued to kiss all over you, and he finally put his mouth right where you wanted him to, almost like you had led him there. His tongue darted out to taste you, playing gently with your soft clit, and you closed your eyes blissfully, letting the wet warmth of his mouth overtake you. “Fuck, Cill…”

“That’s it,” Cillian whispered, and his lips captured your clit, sucking on it for a brief moment, just long enough for you to moan softly, and he broke away. His tongue ran a thick line up your wet cunt, tasting you from throbbing hole to quivering clit, and he went back to your hole, teasing you with the tip of his tongue. 

You clenched your teeth to keep from being too loud, and you watched Cillian eat your pussy like he was starving for it, lapping up your wetness and sucking eagerly at every inch of flesh that he could get his mouth on. He held you tightly, yet tenderly, wanting all of you that you would give him, and the warmth of an orgasm began to build in your belly. God, that was quick, but you suppose that Cillian had years of experience. He knew what he was doing, far better than any kid from your sociology class could do. “Cill,” you whispered, and he looked at you through his eyelashes, shocking your system again. “Fuck!” 

“What is it, baby?” he asked softly. His fingers itched to your pussy, lighting trailing up and down your slit, and you whined as you felt an intense and sudden need. 

“Want you,” you mumbled. 

“What do you want?” Cillian asked. 

“Anything,” you panted, jolting your hips again at his light teasing. “Everything.” 

“Unless you have a condom,” Cillian started with a laugh. “I’m not having proper sex with you. I’ll do this and finger you and everything else, but…”

“Why not?” you asked. “Are you worried that I…?”

“No, I’m not worried about that,” Cillian said. “I know you don’t have anything, it’s not that. I just… I don’t want there to even be a chance that you could… That we could…”

“I don’t understand,” you said, looking down at him through half-open lids. 

“I don’t wanna knock you up,” Cillian said quickly, as if saying it quickly would lessen its impact. “And I’m not going to fuck you if I don’t have a condom, because, once I get inside you, I know I won’t be able to control myself from cumming inside you.” 

“Oh,” you said softly. “It’s not a… An Irish Catholic thing?”

That made Cillian laugh. “You know, just because ‘Irish Catholic’ is a thing doesn’t mean that all Irish people are Catholics—”

“No, no, I know,” you said quickly. “Sorry, just checking.”

Cillian smiled softly, laughing gently at you, and his fingers gently touched your hole, waiting for you to do something in response. You sighed, flexing your hips down to urge his fingers inside you, and he did as you requested, pressing his middle finger past your flesh and inside you. You gasped at the feeling, loving him so deep, and you mumbled, “Cill…” 

“I know, love,” Cillian said, placing a soft kiss to your clit. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” you whimpered. Cillian began to slowly thrust his finger inside you, moving gently as he sucked lightly on your clit, and you gasped quickly. “Cill! Oh my God!”

“That’s it, lovely,” Cillian said. He pushed his second finger in, pausing to let you adjust to the feeling of it, and then he started up a relentless pace, fucking you quickly on his fingers as his mouth and tongue explored your pussy. “God, you’re so tight, s’good…”

The heat inside you was becoming too much, tingling even down in your toes as it grew in your belly, and you whimpered and let out a cracked moan as his fingers hooked up inside you, brushing that sensitive nerve. “Cill!” you yelped, your hand flying down to grab at his wrist, as if that would stop his quick fucking. “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum!”

“Mhm,” Cillian hummed, burying his face fully into you. “Let it out, baby.”

You whined high in your throat, everything becoming all too overwhelming, and your legs shook as the heat burst in your belly. Your head fell back as you moaned, maybe a little too loud, and Cillian fucked you through it, whispering out “Yes, love, you’re so good, you’re such a good girl for me.” You tugged on his hair as your orgasm crashed through you, trying to keep him right where he was but also pull him away all at the same time, and Cillian smiled into your pussy, letting his tongue linger a bit at your throbbing hole. “Now,” he started softly. “Was that better than what you’re used to?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. You looked down at him, still kneeling on the floor, and you brushed back his hair out of his eyes gently before he started to stand up. “Thanks.” 

“Of course, love,” Cillian said. He grimaced a bit as he stood, mumbling out something about that damn knee, and he added, “When’re you going back to university?” 

“Not for a few months,” you said. “It’s summer break.” 

“That’s nice,” Cillian said. “Well, erm… I’d like to see you again.” 

“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled. You slid off of the counter and retrieved your bottoms, and you did the ties back up as you tried to stand on your shaking and weak legs. Jesus, he really did a number on you. “When?” 

Cillian took his drink back into his hand and sipped at it for a moment, thinking hard. “Well,” he began. “Whenever you’re free. I’m at your mercy, love.” 

“Right,” you said, laughing softly. “I’ll let you know.” 

At that moment, the door to the backyard creaked open, and your heart stopped as your dad came into the kitchen. “There you two are,” he said. “I thought you were still outside.”

“No, I cornered her to ask about school,” Cillian chuckled, and he looked at you. “Remember what I said: school first, parties later. Right?” He winked at you, and you huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled. “Whatever you say, Cillian.” 

#bex answers #anon ask #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy rpf #dad's best friend!cillian

[dont-call-me-baby-posts]

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Chapter 37

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Master List

Word Count: 19K

Warnings: sex drugs and rock n roll baby!! But on a real note there's also some mental health stuff in here so be warned!!!!

Summary: Y/N is a successful musician, trying to navigate the world of stardom along with her complicated feelings for her best friend, Harry.

Alternatively: The one with some closure.

A/N: Hey guys :) Long time no see.

This chapter is starting to tie up all of our loose ends; we need happy endings for everyone! I kind of flip between alllllll the characters in this chapter so we can see a little bit of what they're all doing. Sorry its a little long! As always, please let me know what you think!

Here's what we've got lined up for the rest of the story:

chapter 38 will probably be around 16k of straight smut, plus an ending. 39 and 40 will be the epilogue and then we'll have as many blurbs as y'all want! thank you again everyone who still loves this story! I can't wait to finally see it through with you guys :)

Chapter 37

Rachel wasn’t a confrontational person.

She couldn’t tell if it was just the fact that she’d been born and raised to sit still, look pretty, and be pleasant, or if that was just the personality she’d been cursed with. Either way, she had been soft for as long as she could remember. She was kind and nurturing and never raised her voice, but that also meant she was constantly being stepped over, talked over, and told exactly what to do. She felt like a show dog who never learned to play fetch; all she was meant to do was sit, or speak, or jump. 

That was one of the many, many reasons she loved Logan so much. She was almost the complete opposite of Rachel; She never held her tongue, she never let anyone step on her toes, and she said what she meant with her chest. She was everything Rachel wanted to be and couldn’t. She was strong and brave and also soft in her own way without being weak. 

For some reason, the news of Harry and Y/N’s inevitable rekindling didn’t bring Rachel the same warm, sappy feelings it did for everyone else. Sure, she was happy for them… But she had to fake the excitement in her voice while she listened to Logan go on and on about how amazing it was that her best friend had finally “gotten the balls” to open up to Harry and fix the “good thing they had”. 

Instead of the nice, bubbly feeling Rachel knew she was supposed to have, she felt something else entirely. Something wicked and foreign and almost sinister. Because you know what? Rachel and Logan had a good thing, too, and yet here they were tiptoeing around and lying and covering up every track they left behind them. Here they were, going on nearly two months without having seen each other. Here they were, happy and in love and almost entirely secret.

She didn’t talk to Logan before she did what she did next. It was almost like she was possessed by someone else, someone like her beautiful, talented girlfriend who was brave and bold and decisive. She hung up the phone, after having spent a better part of an hour insisting that she was over the moon for Y/N when in reality she was feeling quite bitter and jealous and angry, and sat motionless on her bed for another 45 minutes. Then, as if someone else had come to rest their hand on her shoulder, she stood up and walked down the stairs to where she knew her parents were enjoying cocktails and fancy little finger foods. 

(She, as she marched down the marble stairs, thought how interesting it was that her parents were still having guests over in the height of a global pandemic but insisted it wasn’t “safe” for her to go see Logan. Funny, she thought to herself. Hilarious, really! If Rachel didn’t know any better, she'd suspect they had different motives keeping her away from Logan! Imagine that!)

And then, still guided by some outside force completely out of her control, she found herself in the middle of the expansive kitchen of her parents enormous house, surrounded by at least 20 people she only sort of knew. People who ran companies her parents invested in or directed movies Rachel never bothered to watch or owned record labels that fucked over people like Logan and Y/N. She, in her pajama pants and hair undone, face bare of any makeup whatsoever, slapped her palms on the cool of the island counter and found herself smiling. Cheesing, actually. Nearly giddy with excitement. 

Her mom noticed her last, letting out what could be considered a gasp as she turned to see her perfect, hand-moulded daughter in front of all these people looking the way she did now. Hair thrown up on top of her head, not clean. Logan’s oversized t-shirt over her narrow frame, covered in various stains. (The stains were an homage to the exciting, vibrant life Logan had lived before they met, one that Rachel would never experience or understand. Stains from house parties in basements and 9-5 jobs and public school. Rachel loved the spots where the material was stained blue or purple with paint, or slightly torn from a fight Logan had gotten into with some girl from Junior year. None of Rachel’s clothes had stains. Not any of them. It was almost as if she’d never existed at all.)

It was after the gasp that Rachel’s mother said: “Oh! Oh, wow! Sweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed and you can join us for dessert?”

Rachel, quick with a response she hadn’t taken any time to think over or plan, shook her head. Her smile didn’t falter. 

“Actually, mom, I don’t think I will.”

Nervous laughter, from everywhere. It came in small spurts, someone else’s uncomfortable chuckle filling the silence one after the other. 

“Okay, well…” Her mom started, letting out her own high pitched chortle. “Why don’t you-“

“I’m going to see Logan.” Rachel interrupted. (She couldn’t remember one other time she had ever cut someone off while they were speaking, but she was already far from her usual self tonight). Rachel looked around at the confused faces around her, “Logan is my girlfriend.” She clarified with a smile. Her mom laughed tightly again. 

“Oh, no, she’s-“

“Yes, mom. Logan is my girlfriend and I’m going to go see her. I think I might stay there a while, actually. With the virus and everything, you know, I figure it would be safer than staying here with all of your lovely guests.”

Now she’d done it. Her mothers face changed shades three times over, going from pink to red to a stark white that for some reason made Rachel feel even better than she already did. Her mom, after a quick excuse to her friends, walked herself up the stairs, knowing Rachel would follow. 

When she got to Logan’s house later that night she didn’t recount the events of the evening. She didn’t tell her what her mom had said, all the threats she’d whispered under her breath. She didn’t tell her how she’d cried the whole time packing her bags, or how her dad had run out after her telling her to think it over or sleep on it. She didn’t tell Logan that her mom had, in her own words, told her she wasn’t welcome back in their home if she did anything “unsavory”. She didn’t tell Logan that she’d essentially been cut off by her parents when she told her mom she was going public with her relationship. She didn’t feel that she needed to, not yet at least. 

Rachel didn’t need her family's money. She was successful in her own right, and the whole pandemic had given her a chance to start thinking about careers other than modeling, anyway. She didn’t take time to think it over. She didn’t have to. 

///

Logan was snuggled in her bed when Rachel knocked on the door. At first she wasn’t sure what she’d heard, knowing she had already had her daily DoorDash interaction and wasn’t expecting anything or anyone else. The second knock came once Logan had sat up in bed, ears perked and skin prickly with nervous goosebumps. 

To say she was surprised was a massive fucking understatement. She’d never been so happy. She threw herself into Rachel, whose arms were slung with bags, and didn’t notice the way her cheeks were still a little puffy. She tugged her inside and she sat her down on the couch before running to the kitchen to whip up some of Rachel’s favorite cookies. 

Rachel could’ve cared less about the cookies, but she knew Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, she sat backwards on the couch, gazing into the kitchen just watching the love of her life pant and stress and measure and stir. She’d never looked more beautiful, Rachel thought. Never ever ever. 

They stayed on the couch the rest of the night, catching up and kissing and saying over and over how they’d missed one another. Next to a half eaten tray of cookies is where Logan helped Rachel pick out all their favorite photos together for Rachel to post on Instagram. A post dedicated to her girlfriend. And in a way, a post dedicated to herself. 

And it was that easy. After so many months of lying and hiding and longing desperately for what all these other couples had, Rachel had it. She was free. She was cut-off and angry and hurt and scared but before all of that she was free. And, now, she was out. 

///

You didn’t see Rachel’s post, or Logan’s texts, or the countless tweets breaking the internet. You were… preoccupied. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like that.” Harry praised, running a hand through your hair to rest on the back of your skull. “So fucking pretty. Fucks sake.”

You hummed around him, running your hands up the length of his thighs to rest on the soft part of his hips. Harry was laid back against the headboard, body at a slope while you nestled yourself between his parted thighs. Your head bobbed softly around his length, his hand applying no extra pressure but still making your scalp tingle warmly. You weren’t in any hurry, your movements slow and sleepy and delicate. Harry hummed softly above you, telling you again and again that you were so pretty, so pretty, so fucking good. 

The last few days had gone pretty much like this. You’d wake up wrapped up in Harry’s gangly limbs, kiss his eyelids open, and stay in bed until one of you was desperate enough to go pee or eat. You’d sometimes lay in bed and talk or make out or, on days like this one, you’d shuffle yourself down the length of Harry’s body and take him into your mouth like you were starved. Harry would do the same for you, usually pulling you by your hips up his torso and onto his face or bending his leg just enough so you could situate yourself on top of his tiger tattoo and curl into his chest until you came. 

Life was so good. Everything was perfect. Harry was an angel, as usual. The weather was just right for leaving the windows open. No one texted you or called you about meetings or bothered you. It was just you and Harry and a kind of calm contentment you hadn’t felt in years. 

You still hadn’t had sex, but after listening in on Harry’s conversation with Anders you decided not to push it. You thought maybe if you just proved yourself to him, he’d be ready. You didn’t mind giving him time, even though you secretly hoped each night you curled up next to him that he might take you right there and press your face into the mattress until you couldn’t think or even speak. You would never ever want him to do something he didn’t want to, and he was giving you more than enough to hold you over. In fact, the amount of affection and love and attention he’d showered you with the last few days had been enough to last a lifetime. Not a second went by that you didn’t know with every singular cell in your body how much he loved you. He wouldn’t allow it. 

Even when you had a nightmare a few days before, Harry had been awake and alert the moment you needed him. You didn’t even have time to get to the worst part of the dream and startle yourself awake before he’d pulled you on top of his body and began whispering in your ears. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and his legs around your thighs, tying you to his front. You weren’t scared when you woke up and didn’t pull away from the touch. “I’m right here.” He’d whispered, shifting his weight to rock you slightly. “I’m right here. It’s okay, flower. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

He must have heard you mumbling his name in your sleep, the same way you always did when you had these nightmares. You called his name like always and he was there. You were calm and back to sleep in a matter of minutes, something you wouldn’t have even thought possible a few months ago. 

And now, on another beautiful morning, you were leaving the half-moon indents of your nails on the inside of Harry’s thighs. Feeling more alive than ever. On top of the world. Like the luckiest girl alive. 

///

Anders wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

He’d not been doing his weekly therapy sessions like he was meant to, and hadn’t been for weeks. Talking about his feelings with some stiff old man was bad enough, and doing it over a Zoom call was just downright unbearable. He’d rather do anything else, and so he did. He crocheted and wrote songs and annoyed his parents to no end practicing his trumpet from middle school. He painted and talked to Harry and Y/N and learned the dances from three separate Justin Bieber music videos to a fucking T. He kept himself busy by any means necessary, because he had to. He even built a tiny house for a lady bug he found on his window still out of a cereal box. The ladybug died the next morning, but Anders liked to think it died comfortably at least. 

But on this day, Anders was inclined by some outside force (perhaps the same force that had moved Rachel all the way in LA) to find his laptop under all the dirty laundry and half-finished projects on the floor and open up the stupid fucking website and message his stupid fucking therapist that he was actually going to show today. 

He found himself talking about Y/N, and Jena, and Macy from the grocery store. (She’d been the one to stop him from nearly overdosing that day he’d bought all those drugs, after all. He thought about her all the time lately. He thought about her every time he ate one of his oranges he’d bought that day, which was a lot. His mom told him he had to finish the entire bag as some sort of fucked up punishment, he supposed). His therapist, with his cable knit sweater and glasses slid half-way down his nose, had to basically force Anders to talk about his parents. 

“It sucks, man. What else do you want to know?”

The doctor, Dale, narrowed his eyes at Anders’ answer to his question about how things were ‘at home’. When he realized Anders wasn’t going to continue, he sighed and lifted his hands. 

“Could you be any more specific about what sucks so bad, man?” Dale retorted. Over the weeks that Anders had spent with him before the pandemic, Dale had learned it worked better if he talked to Anders the way Anders talked to him. Dale thought, genuinely, that they bonded this way. Anders just thought it was funny. 

“Everything about it sucks.” Was all he could think to say in return. 

By the end of the session, Dale had somehow convinced him that spending more time with his parents might help. If he didn’t put so much space between them, he said, he may feel less suffocated. So, in a desperate fucking attempt to feel a little less crazy, Anders decided to do just that. 

Every night his dad would hobble up the stairs and knock softly on the door and invite Anders to dinner, and every night Anders would decline. (Ever since the incident with the drugs, Andy couldn’t stand looking either of them in the eyes.) When Anders would inevitably turn him away, his dad would say something about how he would save some if he changed his mind and Anders would mumble a quick “thank you” and that would be that. He knew his dad was trying his best, and he believed it when he said he missed Anders and wanted to spend time with him. His mom never made any attempt to talk to him after the drug incident. Anders was okay with that, he thought.

To put it plainly, Anders’ dad was fucking bamboozled when he accepted his offer to come to dinner later that night. He’d been leaning against the door, his ear pressed to the wood to hear Anders’ response when it had been thrown open to showcase a bright-eyed and surprisingly content son on the other side. “I’d like that.” Anders smiled, feeling like this was his first big step into fixing everything. “Thank you for asking.”

His dad had followed him down the steps, even the sound of his socked feet on the stairs sounding confused. Anders spun around the corner into the kitchen, throwin’ a little razzle dazzle on his triumphant return to the family unit as he found a seat at the table. He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. He felt almost excited to be here. 

“Whatcha makin’?”

His mom, at the sound of her only son’s voice, turned to face him and froze, serving spoon still in hand and dripping twice onto the tiled floor before she looked back at her husband. 

“I told you I didn’t make enough for three.” She said to him.

Oh. 

And, just like that, it was over. The high Anders had felt following his talk with Dale fizzled out and settled into an ache in his abdomen. He was stunned for a second, looking back and forth between his parents. Surely he misunderstood. 

“I’m sure there’s enough.” His dad said, an over the top sunshine in his voice. When she didn’t answer right away his dad spoke again, his sunshine feeling a bit more shaded. “He wants to have dinner with us, hun.”

“Well, there’s not enough.” She reiterated, literally throwing her spoon onto the stove. “If he wanted to eat he should’ve said something. Since when does he want to spend time with us?”

“He can have mine, then.”

Before anyone else could speak, Anders stood up. He felt so small and yet too big, like he was taking up too much space no matter how far he folded into himself. 

“It’s alright, Dad.” Anders smiled, turning to face his mom. She met his eyes, finally, though she couldn’t have looked more uninterested. “I have oranges upstairs.”

And he turned and walked back up the same stairs to his same room and collapsed on that same bed he spent all day every day in. He could hear the bickering, just like when he was a child. He covered his head with a pillow but he could still hear them. 

“That was cruel.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with us! Why should I continue making him dinner if he never eats any? I’m tired of cleaning out the tupperwares you insist on saving for him.”

“I’ll clean them, then.”

There was a pause. Dishes clanging in the sink. 

“Why do you do this? Why do you defend him after the way he’s talked to us?”

“You’re holding him hostage here! What is he supposed to do?”

“Be grateful, I don’t know!”

Anders turned under his covers. He decided already he wouldn’t cry, but it was threatening to gurgle out of him anyway. 

“He is our son. We’re supposed to be helping. You read all those books… You- you went to classes! And now you’re not even going to let the boy eat?”

“I'm tired of the books! I'm tired of the classes, and the coddling, and the fighting! I give up. I give up, okay? I’m done!”

“You give up? Haven’t we failed the boy enough?”

“He failed us! We gave him everything. He could’ve been anything and, and, and… and look at him! You’re proud of that? I’m tired of feeling responsible for how he turned out. He did that on his own.”

“Damn right I’m proud. He may have his… struggles, but he is not a failure. The boys a goddamn rockstar!”

“He’s not a rockstar, he’s a junkie. And I’m tired of pretending that he’s not.”

Now, to anyone else hearing this conversation, there’s a few things you might miss. 

Number one:  Anders’ dad never cursed. He had, in all of his son’s life, uttered at most 4 curse words and even that was a stretch. Him using the word “damn”, and taking the lord's name in vain? Anders’ could’ve thought hell had finally frozen over! 

Number two: Anders couldn’t remember a single time in his life that either of his parents had said they were proud of him. So, even if he hadn’t said it to his face, his dad saying those words was like winning the fucking lottery. 

Number three: In all of his years as a semi-professional drug addict, Anders had never been called a junkie by anyone. He hadn’t even seen it online, and he was called his fair share of names. So, to hear his mom say it… It was like a kick in the back of the head. It was like a blow right in his chest. It was worse than going to therapy and making phone calls and being punched in the nose. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt before. 

He sprang up out of bed, grabbing his car keys and stuffing his feet into the nearest pair of shoes. He sauntered down the stairs, making no attempt to hide his presence. The conversation in the kitchen stopped as both parties watched him. With a captive audience, Anders thought, it was the perfect time to put on the performance of a lifetime. 

“I’m heading out.” He said, spinning the keys around his finger. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Anders, when his mom said nothing, thought he might have been hoping she would stop him. She didn’t. 

“I would ask you not to wait up, but seeing as you’ve already eaten I suppose you’re about ready for bed.” He continued. His dad followed him to the door. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He said, stopping a few feet away from Anders as if he was some feral cat that might be startled away. “We can go grab a bite somewhere. It would be nice to spend some time together.”

Anders actually thought about it. His dad, who his entire life had stood by like some decorative piece of furniture, was finally doing what Anders had always wished he would.

“I’m just going to go do some shopping, but maybe we could watch a movie tomorrow, okay?”

His dad smiled, a real smile, and nodded. “Okay, son.”

“Okay.” He said back. 

Anders gave one last look to his mom, waiting. Any second now she’d say sorry and tell him not to go. She’d tell him at the very least to be careful, or be home by 10. She didn’t. 

“I’ll be home by 10.” He decided for himself. Maybe she’d hold him to it. Maybe she’d call a hundred times if he wasn’t home in two hours. Maybe she’d do what she used to and demand he be home by 9 instead. 

She didn’t say anything. She turned back into the kitchen and continued clanging against the pots and pans she had on the stove. His dad gave him a sad, knowing look, but forced a smile anyway. 

“Call me if you need anything.” He said, giving a quick slap on the shoulder. “I’ll still be up when you get home if you decide you want to hang out. Be safe, okay?”

Anders nodded and because he was possessed by some much more kind hearted spirit tonight he wrapped his arms around his father with an awkward pat-pat on his shoulder blades. His dad took the opportunity to hug him tightly against his chest, even ruffling Anders’ hair the way he had when he was only a kid. 

“I trust you.” He whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

///

The drive to Taco Bell didn’t take too long. Anders turned at the second stop light, hooked a left by the library, and took two more rights until he had made his way into the drive thru. He was the only car there, which was fitting. 

He ordered himself two soft tacos, a quesadilla, a cheesy gorrida crunch, and three spicy potato soft tacos. Instead of bringing it home he sat in the empty parking lot and ate there. He wasn’t hungry anymore after the first two tacos but he forced himself to eat the rest anyway. He kept eating and eating and even when it hurt he kept going. He didn’t need his mom to feed him when he could feed himself, he kept thinking. He didn’t need anyone when he could take care of himself. He was eating, wasn’t he? As long as he was eating it was proof he didn’t need anyone at all! He was doing just fine.

When he’d finished the last scraps of food, he nestled himself further into his seat. It was 9:55. His mom would call any minute. 

He tried to call Y/N, but she didn’t answer. He tried calling Rachel. No answer. He almost called Logan, but knew he wouldn’t have shit to talk about with her. He was about to call Harry when he changed his mind, not really in the mood for someone who was going to try to fix his problems instead of just listening. He settled on sitting and waiting instead (for what, he wasn’t sure), watching the clock change numbers. He didn’t even put on any music. 

He bent forward, picking at a spot of dried paint on his pant leg. He hadn’t even noticed the red splotch there before, the paint somehow reaching his ankle while he painted a portrait of his now deceased lady bug that morning. He kept picking at it but somehow made it worse, chips of red shoved under his nails so deeply it was starting to hurt and the stain now more deeply embedded into the fibers of his sweats. He kept trying and trying and it just got worse and worse and it hurt more and more but he needed the stain out. He needed it out. It had to come out. 

When he looked up again, it was 10:37. His mom never called. The red paint was still on his pants. 

///

You’d already cum twice before you picked up your phone that morning. After Harry had finished, he’d pulled you up onto him (as he was in the habit of doing), nestling his face against your belly as he pressed kisses into the spaces under your hip bones. 

You didn’t even notice all of the missed messages and the chaos online until Harry left to go to the bathroom an hour or two later. You were still foggy-headed and naked when you finally picked up your phone, quickly propping yourself up on an elbow when you realized that while you’d been busy apparently the entire world had turned upside down. 

You sprang out of bed, nearly slipping as you hauled yourself down the hallway and into the bathroom where Harry had just finished washing his hands and was getting ready to brush his teeth. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” You were spitting out, scaring the ever loving fuck out of Harry. He jumped almost out of his skin, smearing toothpaste on cheek. 

“What is it?” He questioned, free hand pressed to his chest in shock. “Is everything okay?”

You just shook your head, scrolling through the 40 messages Logan had sent so far that morning. (Or, really, that night for Logan). 

“Everyone knows about Logan and Rachel.” You finally said, setting your phone down on the counter and tangling your fingers into your hair as you shoved it out of your face. Harry froze mid-brush, his face flashing with panic before settling into a determined, problem-solving stare.

(Harry had been in the habit of doing that lately. Something about him just seemed so much more at ease, more sensible, more calm. He was so much slower to boil. He had a tranquility about him that you hadn’t noticed before.)

“Someone outted them?” He asked, setting his toothbrush down on the counter. He cringed for a second, shaking his head. “Do you know who it was? I can talk to my team about having my lawyers reach out to them, not that Rachel doesn’t have her own lawyers…”

You stared back at him, confused. “Oh, no…” You started, letting out a small chuckle. “They didn’t-”

“I’ll talk to Logan myself if she already said no, but I can’t just let that happen to them.” Harry grimaced again, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Is she okay? Is Rachel okay? That’s so fucked up that someone would do that.”

“Rachel did it.” You stopped him, cutting him off before he completely spiraled. “She posted on Instagram. Apparently she’s moving into the house with Logan. Her, uh, her parents…”

“Right.” Harry said, letting out a huff. He paused for a second, acting like he was about to speak again before stopping. It only took him a second for him to change his mind, turning his body to face you and resting a hand on the counter. “It’s really fucking convenient of these parents to just kick their kids to the curb like this, innit? And for no fucking reason. It’s so fucked up.”

You closed the gap between your bodies, wrapping your arms around Harry’s waist as he put his attention back towards brushing his teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, Logan says Rachel’s okay. She never liked living with her parent’s anyway, so she says they both just feel relieved.”

Harry hummed along, bending forward slightly to spit into the sink. “Are people being nice to them? Online and allat?”

You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, meeting his eyes in the mirror ahead of you. You nodded. 

“They’re being very nice.” You told him. “They’re trending on Twitter.”

///

Harry left a few minutes later, making you promise not to shower without him. You agreed, sending him off with a kiss and a promise that you’d join him on his next run. You didn’t mean it, but Harry still seemed satisfied as he headed out. 

You’d been so distracted by the whole Logan/Rachel situation that you almost forgot Anders had called you until you were snuggled up back in bed. You figured since Harry would be back soon to take a shower that you would wait to get dressed and have a few extra minutes in the swaddle of covers on Harry’s bed. So, back in your snug little cocoon, you decided to give Anders a call back. 

“HEY FUCKER.” Anders yelled into the receiver almost the second you’d pressed the call button. You giggled to yourself, pressing the phone between your ear and the pillow.

“Hey sweet pea. What’s up?” You asked, letting your eyes flutter closed. You could hear some kind of… banging on the other end, though it didn’t particularly surprise you considering who you were talking to. “What are you building a fucking rocking chair or something?”

“Its a shelf, actually.” He corrected, swinging what you assumed to be a hammer a few times before continuing. “I’ve almost got it all finished, I just need to add some final touches.”

“Oh…” You started, deciding whether or not you should even ask. “That sounds… fun?”

“It’s keeping me busy, at least. I got in a fight with my mom again so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He swung the hammer again before letting out a sigh. “She wanted to act like a bitch and not let me eat dinner so I thought, y’know, okay. I’ll go buy some fuckin’ groceries and a shelf and I’ll feed my fucking self. I got a mini fridge and everything.”

You paused, unsure what to say next. As close as you and Anders were, Harry was normally the person that he went to to talk about his family stuff, and you weren’t sure exactly how to navigate it. 

“Why wouldn’t she let you eat?”

“Because she hates me.”

“She doesn’t-”

“No, she does.” Anders stopped you, chuckling to himself. “But I’m okay with it. Kinda come to terms with it, you know?”

It got quiet for a second, both of you unsure what to say next. 

“She called me a junkie.” Anders added, instantly making your skin itch all over. You tried not to but let out an audible gasp, your hand not quick enough to stop it before it came out. “She said all kinds of stuff, actually. But it’s cool.”

What were you even supposed to say to make this any better? “You aren’t a junkie, Anders.”

“No, I am.” He brushed you off. “It’s all good though, seriously. You don’t have to make me feel better or anything. I just wanted to talk to you is all.”

“Okay.. Well, if you were wanting to talk to Harry he should be home in a little bit…”

“Harry? No, no..” Anders responded. “I just want to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, totally.” You rushed out, realizing too late how desperate you must sound. “I mean, for sure. I can talk.”

///

Anders filled you in on the rest of his night, telling you all about how he had spent half the night in a Taco Bell parking lot before coming home and watching a movie with his dad. He said his dad waited up for him just like he’d promised he would, only to pass out less than 15 minutes into the movie.  You felt your chest swell slightly at the news but you didn’t make a big deal out of it. You’d always hoped Anders could work it out with his parents, and even if his mom still wasn’t on board, at least he had someone on his side now. 

(Anders made a point not to tell you that he’d purposefully fallen asleep on the couch, too, his head ‘just so happening’ to fall on his fathers shoulder next to him. He’d imagined they’d both wake up the next morning and laugh about how they’d dozed off. Andy woke up only an hour or so after he’d drifted, though, neck stiff. He was never, ever able to get a full night's rest, even now. Once he woke he hobbled up the steps and got into bed like nothing had ever happened. He'd already decided he’d never utter a word of it to anyone.)

When Harry got home you were still on the phone, and instead of listening in he decided to clean up the kitchen. (You’d decided to make homemade pizzas the night before, and to put it lightly the kitchen looked like a murder scene). You felt kind of guilty leaving him to deal with the mess, but you felt special being the one to have Anders’ attention for once and you didn’t want to let it go just yet. 

“And so I built the little guy a house and everything, right? I made him a little couch and a bed and all that…” Anders was going on, telling you some story about a lady bug he’d found in his bedroom. “He was dead when I woke up, though. I googled it and I don’t think it’s bad luck to find a dead lady bug but I still think it’s, like, a sign or something. Like a bad omen.”

“You sound like you’ve been cooped up too long, buddy.” You laughed, imagining the comical frown on Anders’ face when he found the bug. “You’re thinking about it too much.”

“That’s all I have to fucking do these days, man! I’ve been cooped up way too long.” He spit out, exasperated. “You never wanna fucking talk to me anymore so I have to resort to desperate measures.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean I never talk to you?” You asked with a soft laugh, though you really weren’t joking. “You’re the one who never calls me.”

That wasn’t entirely true and you knew it, but it came out anyway. What you meant was that he didn’t call you as much as Harry.

“I never call you? What the fuck do you mean I never call you?” He pushed back, his awkward laugh mimicking yours a moment ago but his tone a little bit harsh. “I would call you more if you actually wanted to talk to me.”

“What are you even saying right now?” You sighed, sitting up in bed so the comforter hung off of your chest. “I always want to talk to you. You just call Harry instead.”

“You want to talk to me now but you didn’t before I left LA.” He said matter of factly. “You’ve barely wanted to talk to me for months now.”

“That is not true, Anders.” You spoke, offended. You realized once you’d said it that you had no reason to be offended; he was actually right. But that realization only annoyed you further, so you doubled down. “We hung out all the time before you left LA.”

“Well, first of all, we definitely did not. Not alone at least.” He spoke again. He didn’t sound angry, only a little bit miffed. “And second of all, you’re my best friend. You seriously think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been around me? It’s just like… if I did something, I’d rather you tell me what I did so we can talk about it.”

For some reason your blood ran cold. If I did something, he said. You could almost laugh. 

“I’m not your best friend, though. Don’t say that.”

He barked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Anders. I love you but I am not your best friend.”

He didn’t say anything right away. “Okay then? Fucking ouch.”

“I’m just saying…”

You could hear him breathing unevenly. “So could you, like, tell me why? Or?”

“Why what?”

“Why you don’t want to be my best friend anymore?”

It was you who laughed this time, trying to lighten the mood and make your words a bit softer. You spoke like you were kidding but you meant every word. “It’s not that I don’t, it’s just that you’ve clearly replaced me. Like I just mean don’t call me your best friend when it’s obvious I’m not.”

“Replace you? What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“What is not clicking here, man?” You tried to tease him.  “We’re still friends I’m just saying that you and Harry are closer than us now, and that’s okay, but don’t-“

“Harry? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Fuck Harry! What the fuck? You’re-“

“You can’t tell me it isn’t true!”

“It’s not!“

“It’s is!”

Anders let out a long sigh. “Y/N you are my best friend… I couldn’t ever replace you even if I lived a thousand life times. Don’t be crazy.”

You hated it when he called you crazy, even when he didn’t really mean it. 

“I’m not your best friend and you know that.” You let out, words coming faster than you could even comprehend them. “I can admit that I might have been distant but you’ve been doing the exact same thing as me. You think I haven’t noticed how much you talk to Harry? You call him every day and tell him all about your life and what’s going on and when we talk you tell me everything’s fine. It’s like… It’s like you replaced me the second you got back from…”

“From where, Y/N? Say it.” He prompted you. “Where’d I come back from? Hm? Could you just fucking say it for once instead of acting like it didn’t happen?” 

You frowned hard, biting your lip. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did, I was just letting you finish before I tell you how ridiculous you sound.”

Your eyes rolled so hard they almost fell out of your head. “Fuck you, Andy.”

He let out a sigh. “No, I didn’t- I just meant that you’re wrong about that. About Harry, I mean.”

“Oh, am I Anders?” You questioned, free hand balling into the comforter. He tried backpedaling but you had already departed the station, the damn already split open. You were upset now and couldn’t hide it even though you wished you could. “You tell him everything. I’ve heard how you guys talk to each other. And, yeah, I needed some space from you after everything but… But I’m just saying it didn’t take you very long to find someone else. You act like I just fucked off and left you out to dry but you did the exact same thing to me.”

He was quiet for a while, thinking. “I wasn’t trying to say that at all, dude. I think maybe we’re misunderstanding each other-“

“Oh, and speaking of rehab,” You cut him off, words already caught in the avalanche. “Who did you have come visit you twice a fucking week? Not me, Andy. If I was your best friend… fuck. I didn’t get to see you once, Andy, and I’m the one who fucking found-“

You stopped suddenly, chest heaving. It was the first time either of you had come even remotely close to talking about that night. You decided to do what Anders tried and back pedal, but it was already too late. You kept going.

“Whatever. I’m just saying that, to me, it seems like you've already got a best friend. I’m sorry for not being around more but-“

“Hey! Hey! I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, okay? I just wanted to know if I did something…”

Here he went with that shit again. If I did something. He could get bent. 

“I’m not either.”

“Kind of seems like you are.”

“I’m just saying! Geez!” You yelled, knowing you were just making it worse. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stop yourself. “It’s okay if Harry’s your best friend. It’s fine. I just don’t think we need to lie to each other to make me feel better.”

“He is not my best fucking friend, Y/N. I could give a motherfuck about Harry.” Anders spoke. He wasn’t often serious with you like this, so his tone made the words you wanted to throw at him disappear instantly on your tongue. “Not really, but you know what I mean. And I… I never even invited Harry to come see me at rehab, he just showed up.”

“Yeah, and you never even told me!” You snipped. 

“You told me not to talk about Harry! What was I supposed to-“

“No. You kept that from me purposefully, Anders. That’s different and you know it is. I fucking… I fucking drove you there and you didn’t even let me see you.” You caught your breath, panting. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being mean right now it’s just…”

“It’s been on your mind, I get it.” He excused you. He was so kind, even now, letting you off the hook easily as always. “It’s been on my mind, too. I’m glad it’s out in the open at least.”

“I guess.” You grumbled. But he was right, and he was right to bring it up. You sighed, admitting defeat. “You’re right, I just… Its hard for me to talk about. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He waved off. “What else do you need to say?”

You chuckled, wracking your brain. What could you say? There were a million things you’d thought to yourself over the last few months, and the last few weeks in particular, and yet nothing came to mind. 

“That’s it, I think.” You answered honestly. “I’m sorry I talked to you like that, but… I don’t know. It hurt my feelings when you said I don’t like talking to you because it isn’t true. I still care about you and I still love you as much as I always did…”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like that, Y/N?” He asked, voice wavering. “I’m sorry for spending so much time with Harry, but I couldn’t be alone, man. I… I felt like you fucking disappeared. I’m not blaming you I’m just saying I wasn’t trying to replace you, ever. I- I genuinely didn’t know what else to do. I needed someone.”

“So did I!”

“I know you did! I know! And I would’ve been there if you’d fucking let me.”

“Maybe I would’ve let you if you weren’t with your fucking boy  all the time!”

He let out a small gasping sound. “That’s totally fucking unfair. I only spent so much time with him because you weren’t around.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But it’s not just that you were hanging out with him, anyway. It’s the way you talk to him… You know when I got here he knew things about your life that I didn’t even know? It was embarrassing, dude. You call him to talk about your feelings and you tell him what’s bothering you and when I call you just say it’s fine.” You let out. “You don’t talk to me like that, and you never have. You didn’t before you went to rehab and you don’t now… And you know what, now that I think of it, it kind of did bother me how much time you spent with Harry. You could’ve befriended anyone in the world, Anders, and you chose him? I mean, part the reason we stopped seeing each other as much is because you were constantly with my ex boyfriend. It wasn’t the main reason, but it still fucking sucked for me.”

“I was trying to get you guys back together the entire time!” He defended weakly. “I wasn’t picking a side, man, I was trying to fucking help. I don’t fucking know. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I spent so much time with him and I can totally understand why that would upset you. I should’ve thought about that and I’m sorry.”  He paused, sheets ruffling as he must have been laying down. “But we both know that’s not the reason you didn’t want to hang out with me. And, you know, I understand that and I’m not trying to act fucking stupid by pretending I don’t get it, but… I mean, I want to know how I can fix it. Like how long is that going to last before you want to be around me again? I know I fucked up and if there’s nothing I can do I get it but I would like to at least try before I let this fucking ruin our friendship.”

You weren’t sure what to say. He spoke again while you tried to figure it out. 

“Sorry I didn’t fucking open with that.” He giggled, letting out an exhausted huff. “I didn’t mean to come at you like that I just didn’t know how else to bring it up. I should’ve just asked you how you were feeling.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine, I just don’t…” The words you searched for still eluded you. “Why didn’t you let me visit you, Anders? When I found that out, I… That hurt super fucking bad, man. I mean, I asked you every single day… And, I mean, the whole Harry thing aside, I feel like I should’ve been the one to get to be there. I think I earned that.”

“Earned it?” He whispered incredulously. “Y/N, I didn’t want you there because I was a fucking mess. I- I- I was a fucking disaster! I had already done enough to you at that point it felt unfair to drag you into that. And I was embarrassed, man. I didn’t want anyone to see me, and the only reason I was okay with Harry being there was because I didn’t know him and I honestly didn’t give a shit what he thought. I care what you think, a lot. I always have. I couldn’t let you see me like that.”

It made sense, but it didn’t make you feel much better. You didn’t even realize how badly you’d been hurt by the news of Harry going to visit him until you’d spoken it out loud, and it was hitting you like a truck. 

“I still wanted to be there.” You replied, words like glass ready to shatter. “I wanted to be there for you the entire time, after rehab, but…”

“But you were mad at me. I know.”

“Mad at you?” You snapped, shaking your head for no audience. “I wasn’t… No, Andy. I couldn’t be around you because…” You had to stop, inhaling a shaky breath. You didn’t want to think about it. “Because every time I was around you, all I could think of… I still saw it every time I looked at you. I could see how purple your lips were, and you were so pale…”

You couldn’t continue, throat closed tight. You shook your head again but didn’t know why. Maybe to shake the sight out of your brain. 

“I’m so sorry I did that to you, Y/N. I am so, so fucking sorry.” He whispered again. You could tell he was crying. “I spend every second of every day wishing I didn’t do that. And, you know, sometimes I think that… I don’t know, if I’d only done it an hour earlier, or locked my door, you never would’ve-“

“Anders! Stop it!” You broke, cutting him off before he could rip your heart out entirely. You were crying now, too. “You can’t say stuff like that. It’s a good thing I was there. I was supposed to be there.”

“You were never supposed to be there.” He argued. “That wasn’t supposed to happen like that. And if- If I thought for a second that you’d come there and see that then I wouldn’t have… Or I would’ve done it differently, or something. And then you wouldn’t have had to see anything and you wouldn’t have had to drive me to rehab and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. And you wouldn’t have even known me that well back then to even really miss me for that long.”

“It would have ruined my life, Anders.” You clarified. He couldn’t have been more wrong, about any of it. “I never would’ve fucking forgiven myself for that shit. I still can’t forgive myself now! You can’t- You don’t get to say you wish you’d done it better, or that I’d be better off or whatever dumb shit you’re gonna say. I was there for a reason and I am grateful every day that you weren’t alone.”

“I know. I know.” Anders repeated over and over while you finished, voice hushed and tired. “I know, I didn’t mean all of that… I just feel so guilty about everything, and the only way I can think to fix it is if I would’ve-“

“You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do not.”

“You just fucking said you can’t forgive yourself for what happened! You just said that! I fucking ruined your life as it is! I didn’t need to die to do that, it’s already fucking done!” He went off suddenly, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I know what I did to you. And I’m sorry. But that is exactly fucking why I call Harry to bitch about my life, or talk about my fucking mom, or whatever. I can’t talk to you about that shit.”

“Why not, Anders? Why not?” You croaked. “That’s what friends do. I want you to know how you're doing, I want to help…”

“I can’t fucking talk to you about it! I can’t! I have burdened you since I fucking met you, I’ve scarred you for fucking life. I’m not calling you to complain about how shit my life is.” He huffed for a second, bordering more on angry now than he did upset. “As far as I’m concerned, for the rest of my fucking life I’m going to be perfectly fine every time you ask me how I’m doing. I have to be okay for you. I don’t get to complain to you, ever again.”

“I don’t want you to always be okay. I want you to be honest with me.”

“Because you’ve been honest with me, right? Like you ever tell me what’s going on with you. You hardly even talked about the breakup with Harry with me. You don’t tell me shit.” He spilled out. “Every time I ask, you lie to me just like I lie to you. You’re telling me you’ve been perfectly fine this whole time? There hasn’t been one thing that’s bothered you? Not one bad day?”

You didn’t realize just how clueless Anders was on what you’d been through while he was off dealing with his own stuff. You’d kept just as much from him as he had from you, from the breakup to the nightmares to the way you were constantly haunted by that pale, purple version of your best friend. 

“You’re right. I haven’t been honest with you, either.” You admitted. You wiped your face, frustrated tears threatening to make their way down your neck. “Can we just agree not to lie to each other anymore? I’ll tell you what’s going on with me but only if you agree to do the same. I want to be there for you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It was quiet, both of you catching your breath and slowing your brains. Everything was coming at you so fast it was like you couldn’t keep up. You thought about everything, about how angry you had been and how hurt and how confused… You thought about everything that had pinched at the back of your brain for months now that you always steadfastly ignored. 

“You should’ve told me what was going on, before all of this.” You said without meaning to. “It never should’ve gotten so bad if you just told me.”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is, though. I… I fucking asked you if you were on drugs, and you lied to me. I asked you all the time if you were okay. I tried calling you every single day after you broke your nose.” It was all bubbling over now, nothing stopping it. You were angry again, about everything. All at once. “I know I should’ve tried harder and I will always carry that with me, but you should’ve talked to me, man. You should’ve told me.”

“What was I supposed to do, huh? What do you want from me?” He snapped, a chord obviously struck. “You wanted me to tell the girl I hardly knew that I was fucking su*cidal? That would’ve gone over super well, I’m sure.”

“That’s not what I mean-“

“I can tell you how that conversation would’ve gone, actually. Hey girl I just met, do you want to hear about how fucked up I am?” He stopped to laugh. “You wanted me to tell you that I was on drugs, again? Should I have told you how many fucking times I’d already done the exact same thing since I was, like, 17? That would’ve been really comforting to you, I’m sure. It wouldn’t have totally made you lose faith in me or anything, like everybody else.” He stopped for a second to laugh, again, the idea of this imaginary conversation obviously tickling him. “Or, better yet, I could’ve told you at the hospital that that wasn’t even the first time I’d tried to fucking k*ll myself! Or the second! Or the fucking third! I’m sure that would’ve helped soooo much had you known that.”

Instead of saying anything you just cried quietly into your bent elbow, head resting on your knees. When you didn’t say anything Anders sighed sadly, speaking again. 

“I shouldn’t have said that. I know that’s not what you meant, and I’m sorry. But you have to see where I’m coming from, right? If I…” He choked on his words for a second, clearing his throat. “Y/N, if I knew how to ask for help you would’ve been the first one I went to. If I knew how to ask I would have. You have to believe me.”

You did believe him. It was unfair of you to blame him for not coming to you, but you still couldn’t help how angry you were at him. It was fucked up but you just felt so… fucked over by him. It was so wrong and you knew it but you couldn't help being mad that he didn’t think more about your feelings. You knew it wasn’t about you and it never was, and yet it still hurt you. Maybe you were just selfish, you weren’t sure. 

“You didn’t even leave me a note, Andy.” Was what you decided on saying. You’d never brought that fact up to anyone, deciding it was too morbid for your mom or Logan or even Harry. But it had always been there, in the back of your mind, gnawing away at the space you used to use for your fond memories of Anders. It’s like with every second you didn’t say anything about it it just continued eating at the image of him you had in your head. Each day that passed just eroded at the soil more and more. “I called and I texted and I showed up to your house… I was the only one who didn’t think I was being irrational. I was worried fucking sick about you for weeks and weeks after the Halloween party, and you couldn’t even write me a fucking su*cide note?”

Saying it out loud like that made your stomach lurch. You were nearly hysterical but you kept talking anyway. 

“I deserved a fucking note, Anders. If you were going to leave me all on my own the least you could’ve done was write me a fucking note. And I know there wasn’t one hidden because I cleaned every square inch of that apartment after I dropped you off at rehab.” You choked back a sob, so upset the phone in your hand shook fiercely against your ear. “There was nothing there, Anders. Nothing. I know I sound selfish and I’m being a brat, but honestly Anders when you… when you took those pills I felt so abandoned by you. How do you think I felt? I know it’s not about me and I’m fucked for feeling that way but I felt like you never even cared about me at all when you did that shit. And I tried ignoring that part, I chalked it up to being bigger than me, but… but I didn’t even get a note? I wasn’t even important enough to you for a note?”

He didn’t say anything, for a long, long time. You both just cried and cried and cried and you wished more than anything you could’ve had this conversation face to face. You wanted to hold him like you did at the hospital. You wanted to play with his hair. You wanted to put a hand on him, just to prove he really was okay.

“There was a note. On my phone.” He whispered after that long, long time had passed. His voice was so quiet you could hardly hear it over your own ragged breath. “There was one for you, and for Rachel. And there was one for my mom. I thought that you guys would, like, go through my phone or whatever, after…”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You hated the way your shoulders relaxed, like something had been proven to you by that fact. You hated how relieved you felt. It made you sick.

“You are important to me and you always have been. And I don’t think you’re fucked for feeling that way. I knew you must feel that way and I thought… I thought if I just went back to normal I could make up for it. I thought I’d make it go away.” His breath rattled his chest for a second. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this sooner. If I could go back, even to February, I’d do it all differently. I swear on my life I would.”

“I’m so sorry…” Was what you said, unsure what else could fill in the silence. “I shouldn’t have even brought the note thing up, it’s just been.. on my mind, I guess.”

“No, I get it.” He spoke sweetly, voice still soft by the tears mostly gone. “I actually thought about telling you I wrote it a few times, but I didn’t know if you’d even realized and I thought it’d be weird to just randomly tell you…”

He started laughing at that, a real, genuine laugh. You started laughing too, unable to ignore how silly the whole thing was. You wished softly that you’d talked about all of this sooner, but you did your best not to think too much about it. 

“It would’ve been weird, yeah.” You snickered, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. “Imagine we just went out for lunch and you drop that on me over a salad. Like a casual, hey by the way…”

Anders laughed harder, the sound healing some part of you that had snapped during the conversation. “Right like we go out to fucking Bella Vino and I just slide my notes app across the table to you.” He had to stop, cackling with laughter. “Like, I wrote this for you, just so you know.”

“Not the notes app.” You shrieked, wiping at your eyes. 

“You know what they say, right? The only thing better than a notes app apology…”

You both giggled a while longer, eventually sighing exhausted and overwhelmed but somehow peaceful. 

“You know you’re important to me, right?” Anders asked once your stomach was sore. “I mean that. You saved my life, Y/N, and I could never, ever…. I could never replace you, or stop caring, or any of that. You saved my fucking life. And I never even said thank you! I never… I’m fucked for that, I know I am. I just didn’t know how I could possibly-“

“You don’t have to thank me.” You assured him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life, man. I owe you everything.” He choked up again, blowing out a deep breath. “Because, you know, I bitch a lot to Harry, and this has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done, but.. but I’m really happy I’m alive. I’m so happy I’m alive.“ He stopped again, giggling. He sounded like a little kid. “I got to watch a movie with my dad because I’m alive. I owe you for that, big time.”

///

The rest of the conversation went easily after that, or at least easier. You talked more about everything, both of you letting out everything you’d been meaning to. For as scared as you were of this inevitable conversation, it really wasn’t as hard as you expected once the first bit was over. 

The topics floated around elsewhere, too. Anders caught you up on how life with his parents had been and even told you a bit more about his relationship with his mom in particular. He told you stories from his childhood about being locked out of the house for a day and a half because his mom was mad at him or not being able to go on a feild trip in eighth grade because “she thought he liked his friends at school more than her”. He told you about Jena, too, more than he ever had before. He told you how she used to force him to have sex or literally push his head down to snort pills off the coffee table even when he said no. He told you how he still had panic attacks every single time he took a shower. He couldn’t wear wet clothes, either, like if it was raining or his sleeve got damp in the sink. “It makes me feel like I’m dying.” He told you. “One time I got caught in the rain and I was so upset I threw up in a parking lot.”

Harry walked in as Anders finished a story about his sixth grade band recital, a plate of scrambled eggs and a bagel set on your lap. You asked Anders if he wanted to say hello, but he politely declined.

“I just want to talk to you for a while.” He’d said. “I’ll call Harry later today.”

And so you told him everything, too. You told him about what happened with Christian and the nightmares (which he did not take well, by the way). You told him that you also hated taking showers at home because it reminded you of what happened. You both shared song recommendations that you used on your shower playlists that made it a little bit easier. 

///

By the time you made your way downstairs, Harry had already cleaned up from breakfast, folded your clothes in the dryer, and was neck deep in your old guest bedroom. 

He turned to look over his shoulder as you walked in behind him, smiling broadly. He had your suitcases dumped out onto the floor, though most of their contents was already scattered around the room. 

“There you are!” He beamed, setting a tube of mascara in a pile he’d set aside for makeup. “I was starting to miss you.”

“I got distracted talking to Andy.” You brushed off, sitting down next to him where you could find the smallest amount of clear floor. “We got into a fight.”

Harry furrowed his brow, setting a pair of socks into the sock pile. “A fight? What about?”

“About you.” You teased. Harry snapped his head to look at you, mouth falling open.

“Did I do something?” He asked, abandoning the t-shirt in his hands. You only smiled, shaking your head.

“No, no.. I’m just kidding.” You laughed, “I kind of told him off for calling you all the time instead of me.”

He didn’t laugh with you. “Baby, you should’ve told me it bothered you.” He began, putting a hand on your cheek. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay!” You insisted. “I was feeling kind of bitter but we talked about it and it’s okay. I was just jealous, I guess.”

“You were jealous?”

You paused. “Yeah, kind of.” You admitted, taking Harry’s hand in yours and pulling it off your cheek and into your lap. “I felt like you guys were closer than me and him, and… I don’t know. He called and told me I was his best friend and I kind of lost it on him.”

“But you are his best friend?” Harry responded, confused and looking guilty. “I could’ve told you that. He tells me every day he doesn’t like me as much as you.”

You smiled, maybe a little bit too satisfied. “I am his best friend.” You agreed.

Harry smiled, confused. “Okay?”

“We’re good now, though. Like, actually.” You said, picking up a pair of leggings out of the mess and throwing it in the clothes pile. “We finally talked about everything.”

Harry followed your lead and grabbed your lap top off of the floor and set it on the bed. “You did?” He beamed, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That’s awesome, sunflower. I’m really happy you guys did that.”

“Me too. He said he’s call you later today.”

Harry picked up a bottle of lotion out of the pile, revealing how it had leaked out onto everything below it. He closed his eyes, sighing. 

“You know you don’t have to live like this, right?” He nagged. “You’re lucky that didn’t get all over your laptop. Which shouldn’t have been on the floor anyway.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, well if you’re going to be living with me you need to start living like a real person.” He rasped, rubbing his brow. He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d said. “Not that you live here now, or anything. I just mean since you’re gonna stay here for a while. You don’t have to live out of suitcases.”

You shrugged, brushing off the exchange about the living situation. “I like living out of suitcases. I’m used to it.”

“Well you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal…”

It was quiet for a second, you still helping Harry clean your disaster of a bedroom despite you saying it wasn’t an issue. Harry stopped after a minute or two. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want to move your stuff into our room?” He questioned, looking you in the eyes. You frowned, stunned. 

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.” You said honestly. Harry knew that, the two of your spending nearly every second of every day together. “You know how I am about cleaning.”

Harry didn’t laugh at your joke, just nodding along. “Feels like you have one foot out the door.” He mumbled, chucking a pair of shoes into the shoe pile with a bit of extra frustrated force. 

You looked at him, but he just kept organizing. You thought about what he’d said, realizing how it must look from his perspective. Your suitcases were literally still packed.

You thought about his conversation with Anders the other night, how Harry had told him how afraid he was that you would change your mind or leave. You picked up a pair of jeans. 

“Do you think you have room in your dresser for my stuff to go in there?” You asked, folding the pants carefully. “We could probably move everything to our room before lunch, if you think we can make space.”

Harry whipped his head around, ignoring your question. “Really?”

You furrowed your brows. “Yes?”

“You want to put it all in our room?”

“Yeah, I do.” You answered honestly. It would be nice to not have to go down the hall every time you needed socks, anyway. “Do you think it will all fit?”

Harry leaped up, a ridiculous kind of look on his face as he cheesed down at you. 

“Yes!” He squeaked. “Yeah, I can make room! I can go move some stuff right now!”

“Okay. Awesome.” You commented, just looking up at him. You couldn’t help smiling just as goofily as he was. “Do you want help?”

He looked back and forth for a second, running his fingers through his hair. “No, no, I’m good. I’ll just move some shit and you stay here and get your stuff ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t leave, though, just staring at you. His legs were wiggling with nervous excitement.

“This is great.” He said, letting out a giggle. He covered his mouth, trying to force the smile off of his face and failing. “This makes me really happy, Y/N. Thank you.”

You crinkled your nose at him. “You don’t need to thank me, you pest.”

He continued staring at you for a second, his smile now a permanent fixture on his face. He knelt beside you, pulling your face to his with a hand on either cheek. 

“I love you so much.” He gushed into the kiss, hands clammy. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you more.” You promised, pulling away from the kiss with a smile of your own. “Now go get ready for all my junk, okay?”

He stood again, his entire body tense and excited and giddy. “Okay! Yeah, okay.. I’m gonna go do that.” He turned to leave, looking back at you every step or two to give you another grin. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And then he left the room, his giggling following him down the hall. “Let’s fucking go!” He said to himself, his footsteps in the pattern of a little happy skip. “Let’s fucking go!”.

///

You weren’t done by lunch time, the entire ordeal becoming much more of  a thing than you’d expected. You sorted through all of Harry’s shit, him deciding what items he wanted to move out of the closet to make room for your own. He threw sweaters you’d seen him wear in paparazzi photos onto the bed, discarded as if you hadn’t memorized the patterns staring at those pictures of him while you were broken up. “I never fucking wear this.” He said, throwing another jacket onto the bed. “Or this. Or this.”

You watched him take nearly all of his clothes across the hall to another empty bedroom, leaving them on the bed in there to be put away later. He took out things you’d seen him wear within the week, insisting he hadn’t worn them in years and didn’t mind them being in the other room. You didn’t argue with him on any of it, his mood so bubbly and excited and just about over the moon. You hadn’t seen him this excited, even the night you first got back together. He talked the entire time, going on and on about how happy he was and all of his plans for your new room you’d be sharing. 

“We can paint the walls yellow, too, since that’s your favorite.” He was saying, taking the last load of  clothes out of his dresser. “I’ve been meaning to paint the walls in here anyway.”

“You definitely don’t have to do that.” You’d laughed, thinking he was kidding. He just looked at you like you were crazy. 

“You don’t like yellow anymore?”

“I do, I just don’t want you to have to-”

“It’s fine.” He cut you off. “I want it to feel like your room, too.”

You didn’t say anything for a second, just looking at him. He looked so in love. You smiled, nodding. “We can paint it together, then.”

He grinned back at you, shoulders relaxing. “Yes! Wouldn’t that be fun?” He gushed, back to his rambling now. “We could buy a new duvet, too. We could hang up some of the paintings Andy’s done for you, too! And all your awards can go over here if we add a shelf.”

You didn’t say anything about the fact that Harry most certainly wouldn’t hang any of his own awards in his bedroom and that you didn’t want to do that, either, just letting him continue. You just listened to him talk, believing everything he said and every promise he made. You wanted to kiss him, so you did, over and over and over. Before you knew it, you had moved everything onto his room and the two of you were picking out a new silk duvet cover online. It had tiny flowers on it. 

///

You didn’t get around to lunch until after 3, the two of you close to starvation by the time you’d finished up everything upstairs. You sat on some stools at the kitchen island, scarfing down the Thai food you’d had ordered in. You were almost done with your entire plate when Bethany called you. 

“Hey Beth!” You chirped, Harry’s good mood infecting you and making everything seem a little more sparkly. “What’s up?”

She sighed. Bad sign.

“Have you been on the internet at all today?” She asked, not bothering with niceties. 

You paused, looking over at Harry who was just as confused as you. You set your phone down on the counter, turning it on speaker. 

“I haven’t really been on since early this morning.” You explained. “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, its officially happened. Cats out of the bag.”

You relaxed, realizing what she meant. “Oh, yeah. I saw everything with Logan and Rachel already.” You explained. “Logan texted me this morning to talk about it.”

Bethany let out a short laugh. “Nope, not that Peach. Try again.”

Your breathing stopped for a second, your head whipping to look at Harry the same moment his turned to face you. You had matching expressions on your faces, eyes wide and eyebrows bunched together. Harry leaned towards the phone, speaking.

“What do you mean, Bethany?” He asked, his plate pushed away with the back of his hand. 

“Harry, great. I’m glad you’re here.” Bethany went on. She had that tone to her voice right now that she always had when she was really, really pissed. Not at you, but at everything else. It was the way she talked after meetings with Tom, or when someone posted something about you online that was particularly searing. “You should be here for this so you can reiterate all of this to Jeff.”

Oh, fuck. You looked back at him, mouth opening and closing over and over again but no words actually coming out. Harry looked just as dumb and confused as you felt. Finally he spoke. 

“What happened?”

His expression changed into the kind he always got when he talked about work. (You selfishly hated that version of him, the one who was all serious and analytical. It didn’t feel like him.)

“Well, Harry, your girlfriend wore your pants on Jimmy Fucking Fallon.” She snipped, sighing. You knew she wasn’t mad at you two, but you still felt like a child being chastised. “And you have a scuff on your wall.”

“What the fuck are you taking about?” You asked, put opened on your stomach. 

“Well,” (You could envision her pulling glasses off the top of her head, sliding them down her nose.) “Aubrey on Twitter says, ‘Y/N was literally wearing Harry’s pants on Fallon tonight I’m gonna kms.’ And attached is a picture of you, my dear, wearing some black sweats and another picture of Harry last week on BBC wearing the same ones.”

You looked at each other, mouths agape. 

“How do they know we don’t have the same pants?” You asked. You were trying not to panic yet, remembering how Beth had always been the one to brush off incidents like this. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, except there’s a stain on the back.” She explained. “A big white splotch on the butt. Paint, or something.”

Harry groaned, leaning his head onto the counter and banging his fist once in defeat. He stayed like that for a second before sitting back up, his head in his hands. 

“Andy and I got into a paint fight.” He started, voice small.

“A paint fight?” You asked incredulously. “What even is that?”

“Well, babe, it’s a lot like a fight but with paint involved.” He snipped back at you. “I should’ve remembered. I was so pissed he ruined those pants…”

You just shook your head, mimicking Harry and throwing your head into your hands. 

“What about the scuff on the wall?” You asked, remembering that other detail. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well it’s in the same spot in every single interview the two of you have done the last month.”

Of fucking course it was. You grumbled, laying your head down completely. You’d spent so much time picking an inconspicuous place to set up your camera, and this was still happening. 

“So everyone has put it together, then?” Harry asked. 

“Yup.” Bethany answered. “And there’s no denying it. I mean, we can say you aren’t a couple… We can say whatever you want, but there’s no denying that you’re living together. Everyone knows it. And, now that they have that, they’re putting everything else together, too.”

Harry shook his head, eyes closing. “But is it like, a couple people saying this? Or is it, like, everyone?”

“Well you're trending on Twitter. Right under Rachel.” 

It was quiet for a second, the three of you all waiting for someone else to pipe up. It gave you enough time, in the three or so seconds it was silent, to make up your mind. 

Harry needed to know you meant it. He needed to know you weren’t going anywhere. You’d already moved your clothes out of their suitcases and you promised to meet his mom, and there was only one more thing to do. There was only one more thing you could do to prove you meant it. 

“I’m happy this is happening.” You said out loud, unsure if Harry would feel the same considering but taking a chance. You watched his face out of the corner of your eye. “I… I don’t want it to be a secret anymore. I want everyone to know.”

Harry snapped around to look at you, expression unreadable. 

“As long as Harry is okay with that.” You added, adding some cushioning in case this went sour. “I’m okay with it, though. I’m excited, actually.”

It was true. You’d spent so much time forced to keep it a secret that you’d forgotten that wasn’t ever what you wanted at all. Bethany still sounded just as stressed when she spoke. 

“You guys can talk about it. And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to talk to Jeff. Once you guys talk let me know and we’ll go from there.”

He agreed, both of you saying your goodbyes to Beth before hanging up. You pressed the big red button, waiting a beat before looking up at Harry. 

“So…” You started, not able to get much further before Harry cut you off.

“Did you mean that?” He asked, eyes cautious. “About wanting everyone to know? You meant that?”

You nodded weakly. “We’re only supposed to say the stuff we mean, right?”

He looked at you a beat before realization set in and his face broke out into a smile, a giggle ripping through the tension around you. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

He sprang foreword, kissing you firmly in the mouth. He held your face the way he always did lately, a hand on either cheek. He mumbled into your mouth, too, the way he’d been keen to do lately. 

“I fucking love you. I love you.” He rushed out, biting your lip. “I’m so happy. I’m so fucking happy.”

You kissed him back, telling him you were too. You were too. You were too. 

“We can go on a date now.” He went on. “I can take you to get that spaghetti I was telling you about, after everything opens again. You’ll love it, it’s the best spaghetti I’ve ever had I swear to God. We won’t have to lie to anyone anymore.”

You, out of nowhere, felt your eyes grow hot with tears. You didn’t say anything else, just continuing to kiss him. You hoped if you kissed him enough times he would just know everything you wanted to say this whole time. Your dirty dishes still sat on the counter, forgotten. 

///

A few days later, Anders woke up on a Sunday in the best mood he’d been in for days. 

Since his conversation with Y/N he’d felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders, but rehashing everything that way adding an entirely different kind of pressure. But today was Sunday, and Sunday’s were good.

On Sunday’s, his parents left the house to go to church. His parents, even in the pandemic, still went and sat with everyone else who was too stupid to stay out of large crowds, and even though that should’ve annoyed him Anders loved it. He didn’t care if his parents brought the virus home. The possibility of dying was worth the 180 minutes he got to spend without them in the house. (His mom no longer asked him to go with them. She actually still hadn’t said a single word to him since he’d gone to Matt’s house).

Anders threw open his door once he heard the car roll out of the driveway, feeling as if he had the entire world at his fingertips. He was wearing a pair of sweats, the same ones he’d had on for 6 days, not bothering to put on a shirt before bouncing down to the kitchen. 

His plans for breakfast were foiled as soon as he turned the corner. 

“Hey son!” His dad smiled brightly, standing over the stove. He was just pulling out a pan, a carton of eggs out on the counter. “I thought I was gonna have to wake you up.”

“Why are you here?”

He knew he should’ve said something else, but it’s all he could think. In the last 24 years he’d never once seen his dad skip church. Ever.

“I wanted to have breakfast with you.” He said simply. “Are you hungry at all?”

Anders just shook his head. “But it’s Sunday.”

“We can’t have breakfast on a Sunday?”

Anders laughed, deciding to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. He realized that he wasn’t actually upset his dad was here. 

“I figured you’d be at church is all.” He explained. “Im starving though.”

His dad just smiled. “Fantastic. Do you want bacon, too?”

Anders, suddenly, was bombarded by memories of Christmas morning when his dad would always make bacon after the gifts were opened. He stopped doing that when Anders was in middle school, but he could still smell it when he really tried. Back before everything was bad all the time. 

“Fuck yeah.” Anders said, knowing his dad would chastise him for that but not able to resist pissing his parents off even when he didn’t want to. It was a defect of his he couldn’t help.

His dad turned to look at him, mouth pinched to hide a grin. “Fuck yeah.” His dad agreed, the word sounding bizarre coming out in his voice. Anders threw his head back in a howl of laughter, tears accumulating.

“Did you just say fuck? My father, the Saint?”

His dad was giggling now, the sound almost identical to Anders' own laugh. He’d never noticed that before. “Fuck yeah I did.” He said, only causing them both to giggle harder. 

“Fuck yeah, dad! Let it out!”

“Fuck yeah!”

“You can do better than that”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck yeah!!!”

Anders was in fucking stitches, his sides literally pinching his ribs as he died laughing. 

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked. His dad nodded enthusiastically. 

“It feels good.” He agreed, pulling a pack of bacon out of the fridge. “Feels fucking good.”

“I'm surprised you chose a Sunday to say your first curse with me, dad.” Anders joked. “I'm surprised you’re here at all.”

“Well I am, aren’t I?”

“Just figured you’d be, like, praising the son of god right now. Or whatever.”

His dad was quiet for a second, using the same scissor he always used when Anders was baby Anderson to open the bacon. 

“I have my own son to worry about.” He said quietly, looking over his shoulder. He smiled shyly. “You ever make bacon before?”

Of course he had. Everyone had. But for some reason Anders shook his head. 

“Can you show me?”

His dad smiled even bigger now. “Yeah! Of course I can! Grab the tongs out of the drawer over there and I’ll get us started.”

“Okay.”

Anders did what he said and grabbed the tongs. He stood next to his dad, feeling awkward but also strangely good. He was almost as tall as his dad. The last time he’d watched his dad cook he had to stand on a chair. Part of him wanted to stand on a chair anyway, just for old times sake. Or maybe he just wanted to feel like baby Anderson again. Baby Anderson never had a care in the world. Baby Anderson’s parents were always crazy about him. 

“Moms gonna be pissed at you, huh?” Anders asked, laughing lightly but meaning it. His dad shrugged, turning on one of the burners. 

“She can be mad at both of us, then.” He as all he said. “So now we have to wait for the pan to get hot…”

///

“How much shit do you own?” Logan asked, a hand over her eyes to block out the sun above her. Rachel was grabbing another box out of her Range Rover, hobbling up the steps to the door. 

“You could help me.” Rachel squeaked, barely managing to make it inside before the box slipped from her fingers. Logan shut the door behind them both, coming up to take Rachel by the waist. 

“Why don’t you just stop for a while?” She whispered, pressing a kiss to her girlfriends hair. “Let’s relax. I miss you.”

Rachel only blushed, as always, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I have a lot to unpack.”

“You can unpack tomorrow.”

Rachel looked around the living room, full of boxes and suitcases and all sorts of junk. It was a fucking disaster in here. Rachel’s house, or her parents house, technically, was never dirty. Ever. 

Rachel thought maybe she liked it being dirty. She threw the bag off of her shoulder she’d grabbed from the car, letting it land right in middle of the floor. Her heart beat funny at the thought that she’d just leave it there, right in middle of the walkway. 

“Tomorrow.” She agreed, leaning into Logan. Logan chirped triumphantly, immediately pulling Rachel to the couch. They both laughed together, happy. 

The house was a nightmare, Rachel’s parents wouldn’t talk to her, and she didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do when the pandemic ended and she had to go back to work. She didn’t feel like taking pictures anymore, or doing her hair every time she left the house. She didn’t want to hang out with Margot or Kira, ever again. She had a millions things running through her head, all of them spiraling and twisting and bumping into each other until she couldn’t make sense of a single second of it. For some reason she didn’t mind though. 

“You know I was never allowed to have short hair.” She said without knowing why. Logan hummed. “I’ve always wanted to cut it.”

Logan sprang off the couch. “Babe! I used to go to beauty school! I’m, like, so good at cutting hair!”

“You did?”

Logan frowned, her nose scrunching up in the way that always made Rachel feel especially soft. “Well, I went for like a week before I quit. But I am really good at cutting hair! I swear!”

This wasn’t entirely true. Logan had enrolled in beauty school, but never actually went. And she was only decent at cutting hair, at best.

But Rachel couldn’t give a fuck if she was any good at it. “Okay.” She agreed, standing. “Do you think it’ll look good?”

Logan nodded frantically. “Of course! You know what, I’ll cut mine first so you can make sure you like it. Then you can decide.”

Rachel was objecting the best she could but Logan was already in the kitchen, scissors in hand. 

(The scissors, funnily enough, we’re the exact same pair Andy’s dad always used for the bacon on Christmas morning.)

Before Rachel could even catch up Logan grabbed a fist full of hair, lobbing it all of just under her chin. Her eyes widened as the blonde strands scattered on the floor. Then, she started laughing. And so did Rachel. 

They both laughed until they were crying, making their way to the bathroom with Logan’s hair half to her waist and half to her chin. It only took an hour or so for both of them to be made over, making eye contact through the mirror. Both with matching hair cuts, both equally as drastic. They looked fine, but not great. 

“I love it.” Rachel beamed, eyes teary again for a whole new reason. “I love it.”

She shook her head around, watching the bob swing around her face. She looked like a completely different person, someone she’d never met before. She loved it. 

“It looks amazing!!” Logan screeched, excitedly bouncing around. “This is amazing!!!”

///

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos.” Anders’ dad said through a mouthful. 

Anders shrugged. “I did that on purpose.” He said honestly, referring to his mostly blank arms and covered chest. (Not covered, but he had a few.)

“They’re cool.” His dad said, making Anders furrow his brow in surprise. “I always wanted to get a tattoo.”

He couldn’t help snorting. This was the best day he’d had in as long as he could remember. Maybe his whole life. “I can’t imagine you with a tattoo.”

“I’ve still got time.” His dad grinned, taking another bite. “Maybe I’ll get one.”

“I’ll take you to get one.” Anders offered, saying it like a joke but not at all kidding. “You could get a face tat, dad. You’d look so fucking sick.”

His dad just shook his head. “What’s that one?” He questioned, pointing to the mysterious blob on his torso. It was on his ribs, just under his heart. 

“It was supposed to be a frog.” Anders laughed. “My friend Y/N did it.”

“With a tattoo gun?”

“With a needle.”

His dad didn’t tell him off like he was expecting. “What’s she like?”

His parents never asked about his friends. They’d always hated his friends growing up. 

“She’s fuckin sick.” Anders answered, realizing they’d both finished their plates but weren’t getting up. “She’s my best friend.”

“Maybe I can go see her show one day.” His dad said casually. “Or am I too old for that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You could totally go!” Anders gushed. He imagined it, his dad bobbing awkwardly along like dads do. “You could come see Harry, too.”

“Could I come see you?” His dad asked, making Anders’ heart skip a beat. He’d never invited his parents to a show, figuring they wouldn’t want to go. His mom definitely wouldn’t. 

“Of course you could.” Anders said. He felt his face get hot. “It would actually mean a lot to me, dad. If you came, I mean.”

His dad smiled to himself, shaking his head. “I can’t believe my kids a rockstar. That’s pretty cool, huh?” His dad chuckled for a second. “Sorry. That’s pretty fucking cool, isn’t it?”

The praise made him embarrassed. “It’s alright.”

“I always wanted to be a rockstar.” His dad mused. He almost didn’t even look like his dad right now. He looked younger somehow. More like a person. “Like Jimi Hendrix, you know? I used to be pretty good at the guitar. Not that good, but I think you’d be impressed if you heard it. I was never as good as you, though.”

For some reason Anders wanted to cry. For every reason and no reason. His dad wanted to be a rockstar. His dad used to be young. He used to want things. He used to have dreams. He felt overwhelmed by the realization that he’d lived an entire life before Anders was born, and part of himself hated the other for ruining his dad's plans. Maybe that was why neither of them liked him for so long. 

“I love you, Dad.” Anders said, immediately feeling the need to cry multiply at the embarrassment of saying that out loud. “Thank you for making me breakfast.”

His dad smiled, speechless for a second. “I love you so much, son.” He spoke, his face growing warm in a similar pattern to Anders’. “I always did, even before I met you.”

Anders started crying. His dad stood up, pulling Anders to stand with him. He wrapped him up in his arms and baby Anderson was crying, too. 

“I’m gonna fix this. The best I can.” His dad spoke, voice sounding strained through all the sincerity. “We can have breakfast again next week, okay? It can be our thing.” 

Anders wiped his eyes. “Won’t mom start to get upset if you don’t go to church?” 

His dad wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He shook his head, staying quiet for a long time but not letting his son out of his grip. “I have done this entire thing wrong, for a long time.” He said finally. He gestured between father and son, nearly identical copies of each other. He stopped, shrugging his shoulders. They slanted at the same angle as Anders’. “If your mother wants to be mad at me for fixing my mistakes, she can be. I’m done making her mistakes with her.” He cleared his throat again. “One day she’ll come around. I know she will.”

Anders just nodded, understanding. He didn’t believe what his dad said about his mom, but he believed the rest. He was still sniffling like a child. The front door opened, signaling the end of the moment. Anders quickly rubbed his face clean. 

“I’m gonna go.” Anders told him, hating his mom extra for ruining the only good thing that had ever happened to him. His dad nodded knowingly, looking just as upset as Anders did. “I’ve got, like, four guitars in my room if you ever want to borrow one.”

“Okay, son.” His dad smiled, staying put while Anders tip toed out. Just when he was about to reach the living room his dad called his name, making him pause. “I think we should go get those tattoos. If you want another one.”

Anders laughed, resisting the urge to look to his left where his mother was setting down her purse and kicking off her heels. She didn’t look at him either. 

“That sounds fucking sick, Dad. You just say the word.”

///

On Sunday, after Anders had made his breakfast with his dad and Logan had cut her hair and Rachel had moved everything she’d ever owned into her new home, Harry was having an equally as exciting day. 

He walked down the stairs, having slept in way later than he ever did. He’d been a little miffed when he’d checked his phone, realizing you’d let him spend half his day sleeping. He’d grunted, sitting up. The windows were open, and it smelled like spring today. It felt like spring all over, really, in a way he couldn’t even explain. 

By the time he’d made his way to the stairs his bad mood had vanished. He couldn’t be in a bad mood these days if he’d wanted to. How could he be mad at Y/N for letting him sleep in when she was here? How could he be mad at anything when she was here?

Even when he’d heard the voices coming from the lower level of the house as he descended the stairs, he still wasn’t mad. Worried, obviously. But still in a good mood. 

“What is happening?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. The entire house looked like it had been ransacked, things missing and random men wearing masks walking around. It was more like the opposite of a robbery, Harry noticed, seeing the boxes and random pieces of furniture scattered around. He came to his senses, slowly but surely, taking it all in. 

“Baby!!” Y/N shouted, rushing over to him. Before Harry could speak at all she’d covered his eyes with one of her tiny hands, using her other to grip his t-shirt firmly. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet!”

Harry pushed her hand away softly, looking around the room. He took in her subtle disappointment, her lower lip sticking out ever so slightly. (Upon seeing that he actually had to hop off his train of thought to take it between his own lips for a moment). He cleared his sleepy throat. 

“What is going on?” He asked again, trying to force both of his eyes to open as he squinted at his girlfriend. She sighed, frowning. 

“It was a surprise.” She huffed, crossing her arms. She shook her head, disappointed. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t sleep long enough.”

Harry couldn’t help leaning down and kissing her again, longer this time. He kissed her until she let out that breath she was always holding, her feet relaxing off their tippy toes so she could give all of her attention to him. Harry loved the way she always did that, he thought. He should tell her how nice it is. 

Harry forgot about the commotion around them, stopping the conversation entirely for a second to tell Y/N that he loved her so, so, so much. It was true, more so today than ever before. As he continued to kiss her he whispered all the things he’d missed out on saying by staying asleep for so long. He’d wasted so much time, he thought. He could’ve had, like, four more hours with her than he did if he’d woken up earlier. He brushed her hair away from her face, deciding that he wouldn’t tell her about that little breath-holding thing she did when he kissed her just in case she thought too much about it and stopped doing it. He’d die if she stopped doing it, he thought. He knew he would. 

“It’s already 10:30.” He said finally when Y/N pulled away from him all too soon to continue pouting. “How late was I supposed to sleep?”

“At least until 12.” She answered seriously, making Harry’s eyes pinched shut with laughter. He didn’t expect her to actually have had a time in mind. “I purposefully kept you up until, like, 3 just so you would sleep in.”

She never ceased to amaze him. “You fuckin’ what?” He giggled, overwhelmed in that moment by how much he loved her. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude towards the universe that he almost felt choked up. 

“I had a whole thing planned….” She sighed, shaking her head. “Anders said it wouldn’t work but I just thought….”

Holy shit. “Did you ask Anders to call me last night and keep me up?”

“Yeah. He said he kept you as long as he could…”

Harry couldn’t fucking believe his ears. It was all too perfect. Maybe he was just so delirious with affection that he was missing something, but to him this seemed like the funniest thing in the world. Men still wandered about, moving shit here or there and yelling across the room to each other. Harry didn’t even hear them. 

“What was the master plan, huh?” Harry asked, completely oblivious but not even minding it. 

“The plan was to keep you up as long as I could before having Anders call you and keep you up longer so I could sleep and wake up early and you’d be extra sleepy.”

(Harry had spoken to Andy for three and a half hours last night. About literally nothing. Harry figured Anders was in one of those moods where he just didn’t want to be alone and he’d forced himself to stay up as long as he could so he could be there for him. Turns out it was just a silly little trick and not a mental breakdown at all, which was nice.)

“And why am I supposed to be so sleepy?” Harry asked, pulling Y/N into his chest. He looked around again, realizing it wasn’t just new furniture being delivered here but Y/N’s furniture from home. Y/N’s makeup table. Her bean bag chair she never let anyone else but him use. A box with Logan’s handwriting on the side labeled ‘winter clothes’. He looked closer, realizing all at once what was going on. “What’s happening?” He asked again before Y/N could answer his first question. He pushed her back so he could see her face, heart beating erratically. “What is all of this?”

Y/N just huffed. “It’s my stuff from home. Or some of it, at least.” 

Harry heard himself gasp, Y/N confirming what he already knew. He looked around again, and it was true. It was her stuff from home. 

“I was going to ask if it was okay, but then I just decided to go for it. It was supposed to be a surprise once everything was, like, unpacked and everything…” She grimaced, eyeing Harry nervously. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I know I should’ve asked, I just got carried away-“

“Mad?” Harry laughed, both hands coming to cover his mouth as he looked around. He let his head fall forward, his eyes closing. He recovered, looking up again. “This is all your stuff?”

“Most of it.” She nodded, looking uneasy. “Is that okay? I just thought since we’re moved in together…”

“Moved in together?”

“No, I mean- I just meant-“ Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes widening. Harry also loved it when she did that, when she got super embarrassed and made that face she always made. He didn’t tell her how much he loved that, either, just so she would always do it. “Like, living together.”

He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. She’d had all of this shit brought to fucking London from LA, she’d gone through the trouble of getting her own movers and even conspired against Harry so he’d be surprised when it was all done. She brought winter clothes. For winter. He couldn’t help it when his eyes started to sting and he teared up. His throat was tight suddenly. 

“This is amazing, baby.” He choked out, smiling the best he could at her. Her shoulders relaxed, her own smile replacing the worry on her face. “I… I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“I was so worried you’d be mad.” She gasped, taking a deep breath as she deflated. She giggled, relieved. “I was up all night getting ready and I almost called the whole thing off….”

“How early were you awake?” Harry asked incredulously. It was all too good to be true. 

“I told Anders to call me thirty minutes after you guys got off the phone and you were out like a light.” She admitted, looking embarrassed though Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “So like, 3:45 I think. Somewhere around there.”

Harry choked on his next breath, having to turn away for a second to compose himself. He was still a mess when he turned around to face the amazing, chaotic, beautiful girl before him. He pulled her back to him, hugging her tightly. He felt like a little kid on Christmas. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, burrying his face in his hair. She did the thing she always did where she tells him not to thank her, but he did the thing he always did and ignored her. “This means so much to me, baby. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done.”

She didn’t say anything else, just taking his face and pulling his mouth to hers. He loved the way she kissed him, he thought. Like she was trying to tell him something. 

“Now you’re stuck with me.” She snickered into his lips, thinking she was being cheeky. But as she said it all Harry could think was that this meant she really was going to stay. She wasn’t going anywhere, at least until winter. He choked back the emotion that threatened to bring him to his knees, pushing his hands into Y/N’s hair as he kissed her. He kissed her the way she always did, like she was telling him something. And with every kiss Harry was saying to her, in his own silent way, everything he’d ever wanted to. 

Thank you for not leaving me, he told her. Thank you for being the person who stuck around. Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for letting me grow when I needed to. Thank you for loving me even when you hated me. Thank you for being here. Thank you for bringing winter clothes. Thank you for making me feel like Harry, without the rest. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

And then Y/N did that thing she always did where she gasped for breath between kisses, thinking Harry didn’t hear the way she had to gulp for air. He thought about slowing down, about letting her catch her breath, but he selfishly liked the way she gasped like that. He liked everything about her. He liked the way she gasped and the way she said his name and the way she would say “pleeeease” when he had her really wound up. He liked the way her hands felt on his stomach. He liked the way her legs felt over his, the way her stomach moved when she breathed really hard. He liked the way her cheeks started to turn pink all the way up to her ears and down her neck. 

“Come here.” He mumbled to her, trying to maintain the kiss as he pulled her through the mess towards the stairs. They both stumbled their way across, tripping over a box they hadn’t noticed. It only took them a second to be wound together again, tumbling up the stairs like they were drunk or high or dizzy. 

“You know I love you, right?” Y/N panted, reaching for the doorknob behind her. Harry had his hands around her waist, keeping her against him. He moved his kisses to her neck, mumbling an mhmm. 

“Tell me again so I don’t forget.” He pleaded, throwing the door closed behind them once they’d made their way into the room. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.” She whispered. They bumped into the edge of the bed, tumbling onto their new bedspread that had just arrived a few days earlier. 

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Harry pushed her body down so she was laying, situating himself between her legs. His heart was pounding out of his chest, with excitement and an indescribable fondness. He was overwhelmed again by how much he liked her. She smelled like strawberries today, just like the lotion she’d gotten in the mail from her mom. Harry breathed her in, overwhelmed. Forever overwhelmed. 

“I love you, too.” He rasped to her, “You know that, yeah? You know how much I love you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“No you don’t.” He giggled. “You have no idea. No idea.”

He remembered saying something like that to her at the house party a lifetime ago. It was still true. 

Harry realized suddenly why he must have taken her up here. He must have known the entire time what he was about to do. His stomach flipped, considering it. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes extra tight as if to hide himself, though Y/N wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Baby…” He managed to force out, “Sunflower….”

“What baby?” 

He wanted to say it so bad. It was just there, behind his front teeth. His heart stuttered for a second. 

“Can I show you have much I love you, sunflower?” He whispered, not able to say it any louder. “I want to show you how much I love you. I need to show you.”

The sound Y/N made was enough to put Harry in the dirt. She chirped like a little bird, a short giggle following. Everything felt lighthearted and easy. She hummed into the kiss, letting the sound turn into a soft moan. 

“I want you to show me.” She whispered back. “I love you so much, baby. I want you to show me.”

She mumbled it all, broken up between kisses. She told him again that she loved him, saying it over and over again as the curtain next to the bed whipped around in the breeze. Harry believed her entirely, and he was scared and excited and awestruck and giddy all at once. 

He was finally going to do it, he thought to himself. It was finally happening. He thought about backing out again, but Y/N did that thing again where she slides her hand under his shirt and touches his belly. The butterflies under her fingers flapped harder and Harry folded immediately. He was so nervous he almost felt blinded by it. He took a hand and placed it over hers where she touched him, just under the tattoo. 

“I’m nervous.” He said out loud even though he didn’t want to. She tried to remove her hand but he pressed it down harder so it wouldn’t leave. 

“Sorry-“

“I want it there.” He whispered. “I always wanted to tell you I like it when you touch me like that.”

He wanted to keep that to himself, like all the other secret little things she did and had no idea about, but it just came out. He supposed she could know about one of her little things, at least. He could keep everything else for himself, which was more than enough. 

///

It was while you and Harry were whispering all these sweet little things to each other that the world, already turned upside down, flipped even further. Sunday wasn’t over yet, after all, and that same outside force that pushed Rachel to leave her home and cut her hair, the same propulsion that pushed Anders to tell his dad he loved him, the same hand that guided Harry and yourself up the stairs…. It was moving someone else, too. Right to your doorstep. The one in LA, at least. 

That outside force came in the form of a hard knock on the front door of the house you’d paid for but hadn’t been to in weeks. Logan and Rachel were already knee deep in an episode of New Girl, making it a particularly bad time for visitors, even more so than the pandemic. 

Logan shuffled to the door, annoyed. She’d been alone and totally fucking bored out of her mind with nothing to do for weeks but now that Rachel was here she suddenly had a million things that needed her attention. As minor as it was, she was still pissed. 

But when she opened the door, she didn’t know what to feel. Immediately she was hit with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. She felt everything at once.

“What in the ever living fuck are you doing here?” She asked. The visitor nearly tipped over, eyes glazed. He shrugged. 

“I came to- fucking shit-“ The guest spoke, steadying himself on the wall with an outstretched arm. His hair had grown out since the VMAs, and it looked like shit. “I came to talk to Y/N. Is she here?”

#blacking out and breaking hearts #bobh #harry styles #harry #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles self insert #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #love on tour #hslot #harrys house #harry styles imagine #harry styles story #smut #fluff #angst #fanfiction #fan fiction #writing #series #one direction

[his-red-right-hand]

His Red Right Hand, Chapter 1

The cool night air hit your face as a welcome balm as you stepped outside of the crowded house, pushing the back door closed behind you to semi-successfully muffle the loud music of the party. Leaning against it for a moment, you took a couple of centering breaths and then took a few steps out into the night. You didn’t even want to be at this damn thing, but you’d already cancelled too many plans with your friends to be able to get out of this one. Hindsight being 20/20, you probably should have suffered through a bar trivia night to avoid a college party. Crappy beer, loud music, and leering guys weren’t exactly your scene. Or at least not these days. Did you even really have a scene any more?

Not that you’d exactly been hanging out with your friends that much anyway. It hadn’t taken much more than an hour for them all to eventually disappear off into conversations and groups with people who actually wanted to be there, people who actually had the desire and will to try and be interesting. Something you just didn’t seem to didn’t have in you these days, not like you used to. Plus, you were pretty sure - before you entirely lost track of her - that you’d seen Sarah doing some shots, which meant that your ride home was going to be sleeping it off on the floor somewhere before too long. Well, if you were going to be walking home, you might as well start now. Fuck,  if you made good time you might even make the last bus, which would cut the walk in half.

With a softly huffed “Fuck it,” you set off across the mostly dead grass. You could cut through the gardens around here to get to the road without having to try and wade through the sweaty throngs of the party. It sucked you didn’t have your walkman with you for some music, but at least if you got too cold you could always actually put your flannel on, rather than just having it tied around your waist. Grunge was just not really designed for Florida. And sure, there was a serial killer about, but that guy killed people in their homes, not mildly trespassing in gardens.

You were shaken from your thoughts by a bright flash of light off a little ways to your side, behind some so-called privacy bushes that were meant to keep people from peeking into the garden. Not that you were sure why anyone would want to look into the garden of a shitty college house. But - was that a camera flash? What the hell was someone taking pictures of outside a shitty party? There was something niggling in the back of your brain, telling you that this was a terrible idea, but maybe it was the cheap beer, or maybe it was some faulty instinct you didn’t quite understand - and then. as you stepped around the hedges to see what was going on, you realised you really should’ve listened to that niggle.

Gore greeted you, three bodies of boys you think you vaguely recognised as some of your hosts. The blood and the expressions of terror made it a little difficult. Entrails spilled onto the grass from one, gutted from sternum to groin, like a hunter gutting fresh game. Another’s head tilted back at an obscene angle, his throat sliced open, the delicate tubework of life laid bare. The last was just a mess of blood and flesh, like he had stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and just more and more even though you weren’t quite sure it ever counted as a body any more.

And standing in the middle of this bloody tableau, right in front of you, taking several pictures of this display that he was clearly very proud of, was Roseville’s resident serial killer.

The Ghost Face.

Click-FLASH!

Another polaroid was spat out of his camera, his gloved fingers taking it and waiting, impatiently if the tapping of the flat of his blade against his thigh was any indication, for it to develop.

The blood spray had arced artfully over the white mask he was wearing, his long robe jacket thing. This close you could see that the hood was a separate piece, was splattered with so much more. A pleased sounding chuckle emerged from the figure, the camera and polaroid was secreted back in a pocket somewhere; maybe that’s what all the straps were for? And then his head turned. And now he was looking straight at you.

You stared into those empty black eye holes and they stared back into you. It felt like an eternity of you just looking at each other, time felt like it stopped existing as you were sure these were your last moments alive.

The moment stretch and then snapped as he took a menacing step forwards, only to pause and tilt his head to the side as you continued to stand still.

There were dead bodies here. He had killed them. He was about to kill you. You should run.

Why?

Why should you run?

Wait, why should you run?

This was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to you in your entire life, and you were about to die.

As you considered your imminent demise, and your struggle to give any fucks about it, the killer marched towards you, some sort of decision made. He grabbed a fist full of your tank top and spun the two of you, pushing you towards the wall of the house. You moved with him, trying very hard not to think about the soft and squelching things under your boots. Your back hitting the wall with enough momentum to force an exhale from you; this whole time your gaze transfixed by the empty holes of the mask where his eyes should be.

He cocked his head to the side, breaking the intensity of the eye contact; and now you were very aware of three other things. One was that the blade of his knife was pressed up against your throat, biting into the skin just enough that if you moved you’d cut yourself.  If he decided to apply any more pressure you would be adding to the blood on him. Another thing was that your nose was now full of his musky cologne, feeling almost light-headed with it. Or maybe that was the adrenaline of being in the middle of getting murdered.

And the third? That would be as you had moved together, you were deliberately not thinking of how well you had both moved in sync, you had grabbed onto one of the straps running across his chest. And you were holding on to it tightly as a lifeline.

“It’s not fun if you don’t run.” His rough voice seemed to carry a note of genuine disappointment in it, releasing his hold on your tank top, apparently the knife at your throat was enough to keep you still for him.

“I’m sorry...?” You roughly swallowed to try and get some moisture into your dry mouth, mentally cursing and letting out a hiss of pain as you felt blood well up against the knife blade. Fuck that thing was sharp. “I-I won’t ask you to make it quick or painless or anything?”

The angle of the blade shifted minutely, drawing more blood, and he bent his head in towards your throat to watch it roll down your skin. He was so close to you that you could feel the warmth of him against you, acutely aware of his other arm resting against the wall next to your head, effectively caging you in place even if there wasn’t a knife at your throat. You tried to shift your hips a little against the wall to ease the sensations building there without pressing them into him: you might be suicidal, but not quite that much. This was not the time for your thing about knives to rear its ugly head. Or your thing with blood either.

“You won’t, will you?” he asked, his voice cracking strangely as he almost growled the last part. Was he using something to change his voice? He straightened back up and easing the pressure on the blade, trailing the tip down the column of your neck, across your collarbone, slipping under the thin strap of your top and applying pressure again and you could hear him let out a breath as more of your blood welled up, pooling against your skin. “You wanna die that bad? Or is it just me?”

He pressed closer to you, the tip of your nose almost touching his mask. Fuck, the rich musk of his cologne was never going to leave you if you lived past this night. His thigh shoved itself between yours, every last shred of control you had went into not clenching onto it. As you let out a whimper, he pressed the knife deeper into your flesh, and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed as all your other senses were so full of him.

“Look at me,” he snarled suddenly and you snapped your eyes back open, earning yourself a chuckle and a purred “Good girl.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Oh man, you want it bad... You're practically aching for it.” 

You almost wanted to cry as he pulled back from you, just enough for the tip of his knife run slowly down your chest, over your top, tracing its way between your breasts to rest over your heart.

“Ask me nicely.”

A frantic swallow as you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Puh-Please.”

“Please what?” His thigh pressed up harder between your legs and you lost your battle not to clench against him.

“Please kill me.” He let out a harsh breath, whatever electronics altering his voice giving it a harsh crackle.

“Say my name,” he growled, the knife dropping down to his side so he could press so close to you now, chest pressed against chest; and all you could do was stare back into the eye holes of his mask.

“Please Mister Ghost Face. Kill me.” You surprised yourself by not having your voice shake. And by meaning every single word. “Fucking do it. Please.”

“You asked me so nicely...” A hand pressed tightly over your mouth to muffle your cries, eyes going wide with the sudden pain of his knife sliding into your side. He let out an approving noise as tears started to spill from you, the thigh between your legs now most of what was keeping you upright. “But that’s going to have to be a no from me.” 

Wait, what? Your brow furrowed in confusion as he pulled his hand off your mouth, taking a moment to gently caress your cheek before taking your hand that was still death gripped onto one of his chest straps and pressing it onto your stab wound. 

“There we go, pressure on that darling...” He slid the knife back out, another electric crackle over a growl as you cried in pain, your hand firmly pressed against it to staunch the bleeding.

Your legs crumpled under you as that solid thigh finally withdrew, leaving you a whimpering mess on the ground. He bent over to check that your hand was positioned properly, taking your other one to add pressure. Everything was growing hazy. You could feel the life draining out of you despite his efforts. A bright flash made you squint, the mechanical noise of a polaroid being spat out enough to get you to tilt your head up just enough to look at the mask again.

“One for the scrapbook.” He let out a dark chuckle, shaking the picture. “We are going to have a lot of fun babe. And if you’re real good, I might just gut you.”

He might have said more, but that was the point where the darkness decided to take you.

#ghostface #ghostface x reader #dbd #dead by daylight #fiction

[wizardmaster94]

Stranger Things Head-Canons ! (Dating Edition)

SFW !

by yours truly,

rich <3

Eddie Munson

Dating him would always be an adrenaline rush to both you and, Eddie. Constantly doing stupid stuff together like breaking into the school after hours just to do it for fun, always sneaking off any chance you can get just to have that spare moment of alone time together. And not to forget the fact your relationship had to keep secret, while it sucked, sometimes it helped add to the pure fun of it all.

You two probably would’ve been chasing each other for a long time before one of you finally admitted your feelings for the other. Probably while intoxicated or high in the back of his van.

If it was Eddie who confessed first, he would blurt it out but then feel terrified of your reaction, scared that for some reason you’re secretly homophobic. He would say something like, “you would make a pretty sexy bard, y’know? I love bards. I love you.” Then pause, “oh shit.”

But if it was you who had confessed first, you might go for the sweeter route, speaking to him sweet and gentle, clearly telling him how you feel. But maybe a more, awkward way, like just straight up kissing him in the middle of him speaking. He would say you’re rude, finish his sentence, then kiss you again.

The first date he’d take you on would be to a metal concert of some band you had never heard of, but you would enjoy it anyways seeing how happy it made Eddie to be there, moshing and singing along to whatever it was they were playing.

After your date, you’d take him to the only diner in town, letting him get whatever he wanted to since he did treat you to a show that night. He wouldn’t let you pay for his food at first, maybe argue a little bit but nothing actually serious. I think he would enjoy milkshakes a lot, especially making atrocious sounds of sucking up the whip cream at the bottom of the glass with his straw, just to annoy you.

Being the, oh so caring boyfriend he is, would let you sit in on his Dnd sessions on one exception, that you kept things strictly professional and don’t ask stupid questions. Trust me, you learned your lesson after you asked why you couldn’t just cast an instant kill spell on goblins at level freaking one.

Everyone may have tried to convince Eddie to ban you from HellFire after that. He obviously didn’t, but the thought may have crossed his mind a few times, not going to lie.

You two would keep your relationship a secret for a while from everyone, just out of wanting to be able to hang out together and no one poke fun or make suggestive comments. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t all support you two being together, but again, they’re stupid teenagers who would make the most horrendous jokes known to man.

The day the found out though, was at DnD when you made a joke after they all entered a brothel for a rest stop and said, “man, I wish I was playing, I’d try to seduce you.” Or something stupid and cheesy like that, and have Eddie respond with, “you’d have to roll to find out.” Hand you a die, and you roll a natural 20. “Damn, you definitely seduced me, L/N.” And everyone would be slow at first, making comments like, “Eddie, Y/N isn’t even playing.” “That’s not how that works-” and after a few moments, they would all run their brain cells together to figure it out.

You would just shrug and lean back in your chair, grinning at Eddie. “Uhh..anyways, back to the campaign..” he would try to get everyone back on track but they all would just keep asking questions until Dustin would finally ask if you two were dating or not.

Since then, you two didn’t really ever hide your relationship around the kids anymore, even making jokes that you two were the fun uncles everyone loved.

If you were artsy, you’d paint DnD mini figures for HellFire, while he would be working on the next campaign he’d be hosting.

And if you were more into writing, he’d let you give him ideas for things they could do, like encounter a dangerous cave system, or a hoard of evil werewolves, anything can happen you never know.

I feel like Eddie would be very touchy with you.

When working on DnD related things he would always try to have you next to him, on his lap, have you okay with his hair, just anything, absolutely anything to have your touch.

Speaking of hair, you would always mess with his hair, either braiding it, running your fingers through the soft curls, or even helping him style it in the morning.

Also, constantly stealing each other’s clothes, I think he wouldn’t really wear yours out in public due to the fact he favors sleeping in them, but you’re always wearing his clothes to school. His HellFire shirt, his vest sometimes, or a pair of his jeans, anything you could get your grubby little hands on.

And finally, he’d try his best to keep you safe and out of harms way and to just be the best boyfriend he could be, even if he messed up sometimes. You definitely love and appreciate that about him.

Okay, anyways, that’s the end of this bad boy, first time writing anything Stranger Things related! I think it’s pretty decent, sorry if some of it seems out of character for him but I feel like everything is just pretty cute.

If you have any requests for fics, send them my way!

Yours truly,

Rich <3

Master List!

#stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie x male reader #sfw #head canon #lgbtq #eddie headcanons

[hunterdadrius]

Right by your side for as long as I can

Summary: When Darius and Eberwolf are assigned to find a magic glove from wild witches and things don’t go successfully.

Words: 1,393

Darius and Eberwolf where currently taking a ship to 'Island Azul' where Belos had assigned them to capture a wild witch and find a magic glove, apparently the scouts that were originally assigned to go in this mission failed so Belos decided two coven heads were more suited for this mission. They have been on the ship for 4 days now and have made multiple stops at other islands to recover other objects Belos had requested. Unfortunately, the beds on the lower deck aren’t the most comfortable and Darius had been complaining about it most mornings.

“Hey Eber, how long till we get there?” Darius asked as he sat on his bed reading his magazine. “Probably till morning” Eberwolf growled as he looked outside then at the map next to him (he had been given the map since he was "good at tracking" and mostly because Darius was too tired to try and find the island.) They both had waisted much of their energy on other witches when trying to recover the other objects and hope this last task isn’t going to be as hard as the others.

"In that case I’m going to sleep” Darius placed his magazine on the nightstand and got up to check on the abomination that was currently driving the ship, hopefully it will still be there when he wakes up and won’t melt during the night. “Can I sleep in your bed Darius?” Eberwolf asked as he jumped onto his shoulder when he made his way back from the top deck of the ship. “Why can’t you sleep in yours?” He walked over to the bed where Eberwolf jumped off his shoulder and onto the right side of the bed where the wall was. "Too uncomfortable” Eber responded then made himself comfortable in his bed. “Both beds are uncomfortable get used to it and move over.” Eberwolf didn’t respond or move, he knew his brother was only complaining for the fun of it and didn't really care. He placed the blanket on Eber and himself before closing his eyes and tried to get some sleep. Just his luck, the bed was just as uncomfortable as the night before and he kept turning trying to find a comfortable position, after about 20 minutes he finally found a "comfortable" spot which was just him hugging a pillow with his knees by his chest.

A few minutes passed and Eber still lacked sleep just like the nights before. He blamed his lack of sleep on the bed but he knew it was his thoughts mostly keeping him from getting sleep. “Hey Dar, you awake?" Eberwolf sat up and turned to look at Darius who was hugging a pillow tightly as if holding on for dear life, “No I’m asleep” Darius rolled his eyes before sitting up and turning around to look at Eber, “Is something wrong?” He shook his head, "Can't sleep my head hurts" “You want your headphones?” Another head shake. “What's on your mind?” Eber opened his mouth then closed it, “nothing my head just hurts from the mission” Darius laid back down on his side, still facing Eberwolf, and extended his arm up. Eber immediately understood what he was trying to say and quickly moved over to Darius before he could change his mind. He curled up next to Darius and let him lower his hand onto his mane and run his hand through it. He placed his head on Ebers head before quietly speaking, “you don’t have to talk but at least try to sleep okay Eber?” Eberwolf nodded and closed his eyes drifting off to sleep by the sound of Darius's heartbeat.

*****

Darius and Eberwolf stepped out of the woods where they had been walking in for almost 3 hours, "here we are!" Eber said pointing to the cave that was in front of them, "told you I could do it!" "Says the guy that led us in a circle for 2 hours" Darius said as he walked past him and into the cave "let's just get this over with"

They walked through the cave as carefully and quietly as possible, Darius in front, "Hey Eb look at this" He made his way over to what Darius was looking at, it appeared to be fresh blood. "You think you can track the witch?" Eber sniffing the ground and led the way, "Its more than just one wild witch." After what felt like forever, they could hear voices. "Careful you're ganna break it!" She whisper yelled at him as he put on the glove, "I'm not that careless unlike you, you almost dropped it into the boiling water!" They were in the back of the cave at a high point with boiling sea water beneath them. "Shut it!" "you can't just-" She placed her hand over his mouth and looked around the room. "Did you hear that" She whispered and looked to her right in time to see abomination goo, she quickly moved out of the way and avoided the attack.

"FUCK!" Darius placed his hands on his head clearly angry at himself for missing even though they had the advantage. "Go around from behind while I get their attention" Eber signed then made his way around the rocks getting into position. After a minute he launched himself onto the guy who was still wearing the glove.

"KEV MOVE!" She tried to help him but then was stopped by abomination goo covering her feet slowly making its way up her body. While she was stuck in goo Kevin was able to get Eberwolf off and use construction magic to separate him and Eber, Darius used his goo to teleport her farther from his reach, The next 35 minute consisted of several uses of magic like illusions, construction, plant, abomination, and beasts. At this point all 4 of them were tired and wanted all this to end.

Darius successfully got the glove and was able to get Kevin on the ground with abomination goo and kept his foot on his back to keep him down. "Let him go or I throw your companion into the boiling water!" Darius quickly turned his head and saw Eber hovering by the edge were Janet (The other wild witch) was keeping him in place with her magic. "How do I know it's not an illusion?" He really wished it was an illusion, his heart felt like it was going to come out his chest, he remembered how in college Eber once got splashed with boiling water as a "prank" from a group of young scouts leaving him with a few scars. He still remembered how much pain Eberwolf was in for the next few months.

"You wanna test it?!" She laughed and moved Eber closer to the edge and Darius could have sworn he felt his heart stop for a moment, "You throw him and I throw your companion!" They stood staring at one another for what felt like forever, Eber could see it in Darius's eyes that his magic was starting to fail him. Kevin seemed to notice and took the opportunity to get out and take the glove causing Darius to fall on his knee and Janet took the opportunity to drop Eberwolf and run. "NO!!!"

Eber closed his eyes waiting for the water to hit his body and kill him, the only thing on his mind was Darius and the regret of not being able to talk to him one last time.

Darius felt the world stop around him as he saw his brother fall to his death, without a second thought he ran to the edge and jumped. He wasn't going to leave his brother no matter what, that was a promise they made to each other when they first met.

Eberwolf opened his eyes and saw Darius, 'wait... DARIUS!!!' in a second he felt Darius hug him and he immediately hugged him back of course he wondered what the heck was wrong with him to jump right after him, but it didn't matter right now. Nothing did after all, they had each other and that's all they needed.

"I promise to stay right by your side " Darius said looking in Ebers eyes, "for as long as I can" Eber finished and they closed their eyes waiting to reach the water, their destination

their end...

---------

notes: There was originally going to be a happier ending but I decided to end it this way (also cause I just got lazy so sorry if some parts don't make sence)

#darius #darius deamonne #toh darius #toh eberwolf #eberwolf #eberwolf the huntsman

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Who Is Chip Chan?

The creepy videos put out by a woman only known as Chip-Chan have been making the rounds of the internet since about 2006, when a user on 4chan’s /x/ board discovered her livestream. Since then, Chip-Chan has sat in her apartment and put signs up imploring her viewers to help her. No one actually knows what is really going on with Chip-Chan. Is Chip-Chan in trouble? Does she have a mental illness? Is someone really controlling her via microchip? Your guess is as good as anyone else’s on the internet.

One of the many strange folds to this story is the fact Chip-Chan is completely aware of the camera in her home. When she's not sleeping, she sometimes tries to hide from the singular eye of the camera, and at other times she tries to send messages to the outside world through her massive collection of hand written signs.

The signs are all written in Korean, so if you don't know the language you have to depend on Korean speaking Chan-ers for hints as to what she's trying to say. As you can probably guess, many of the signs make little sense and they're all very creepy. One sign reads like a strange poem: “Don’t get tricked, don’t get fooled. Early every morning. If someone comes that paralyzes the person. I can’t be stopped.”

While another reads like the description of a nightmare: “The stalker use this skill from 2006, I have slept for 20 hours everyday since then. I do not know what have happened while I sleep, I have been always afraid of sleeping.”

On May 5, 2017, viewers of Chip-Chan's livestream discovered she was trying to hang herself as she sat next to a clock that read "LIVE." Whether that's live as in "live from New York," or live as in "where do you live" is anyone's guess, but the one thing that's clear is she had a makeshift noose around her neck. 

The moment viewers saw a woman stuck in a room for days, they immediately jumped to the conclusion she was a kidnapping victim. That could be the case. One of the signs that Chan held up to the camera said she was being held against her will by a person whom she referred to as "P." Chan says P is a corrupt police officer who visits her when the cameras in her home turn off. No one knows what he does when the cameras are off, and no one knows why he's keeping her isolated in a room.

Chip-Chan claims P installed a Verichip in her skin just below her ankle to keep tabs on her at all time. A Verichip is an injectable identification chip that goes under the skin - like you would put in your dog in case it went missing. Chan believes the chip allows P to hear what she's thinking and control her movements. She also believes P can put her to sleep and listen to her thoughts with the chip.

The concept of the chip in her body points towards Chan being what's known as a "Targeted Individual," someone who believes they're being watched and stalked by a group of people for unknown, nefarious reasons. 

Thankfully viewers didn't sit idly by for long after discovering Chan's livestream. At some point, someone was able to get in touch with the Korean authorities and alert them to the fact a woman was being held captive in their country.

But the police already knew about Chan. They claimed she is a mentally ill woman who is a regular nuisance to the police. According to the authorities, when Chan isn't sleeping in her room or holding up signs for her viewers, she's taking photos of the police and protesting China Central Television.

Chip-Chan's livestream is still going. The singular shot into her apartment is blocked by one of her large signs, but you can still make out more of her signs that have been tossed around the room.

.According to a group of people online who've been keeping track of Chip-Chan since her livestream first appeared on /x/, Chan has been held captive since 1999 when P somehow kidnapped or coerced her into going into the apartment. Chan has been posting about her seclusion since at least 2008, and her most recent blog (she stopped updating in 2013) details how she believes she's being followed by the police who are using an "Electromagnetic wave" on her to make her sleep. 

#chip chan #mysteries #unsolved #UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #creepy

[the-rewatch-rewind]

Script below the break

Welcome to the Rewatch Rewind, the podcast in which I talk about the movies I watched the most times from 2003 through 2022! It’s the first official episode! If you haven’t listened to my introduction, maybe go back and do that if you want to know more details about exactly what I’m doing. In this episode I’m going to talk about my 40th most rewatched movie, which is the 1964 Disney musical, Mary Poppins, directed by Robert Stevenson, written by Bill Walsh and Don DaGradi, based on books by P.L. Travers, and starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke.

I feel like this movie is so well known that I probably don’t need to tell you what it’s about, but hey, no judgment if you haven’t seen it. I’ve seen over 1,800 different movies in the last 20 years, and I still haven’t seen a single Star Wars film, so I’m in no position to assume that popularity means universal familiarity. (Sorry if you were hoping to hear about Star Wars movies in this podcast.) For those who haven’t seen it, or saw it so long ago you don’t remember: Mary Poppins is the story of the Banks family, who live in London in 1910. The father, George Banks, played by David Tomlinson, appropriately works at a bank, and is far more interested in his work than his family. His wife Winnifred, played by Glynis Johns, is focused only on campaigning for women’s suffrage. Their children, Jane and Michael – Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garber – therefore feel rather neglected. When their nanny quits, she is replaced by the magical but firm Mary Poppins, played by Julie Andrews in her feature film debut. She takes the children on several fun adventures, often with her friend, jack-of-all-trades Bert, played by Dick Van Dyke, while also helping the entire Banks family learn some lessons about what really matters in life.

I don’t remember when I first saw this movie, or how many times I’d seen it before I started keeping track in 2003. I do know that I watched it 14 times in the last 20 years: once in 2003, once in 2004, three times in 2005, twice in 2008, twice in 2012, twice in 2015, once in 2016, once in 2020, and once in 2022. It’s one of ten movies that I watched 14 times, but the only one I will be talking about on this podcast, since I watched 39 movies at least 15 times. Mary Poppins made the list above the other nine because it was the longest, so I spent more time watching it than the others. At two hours and 19 minutes, it is quite long for a movie geared toward children, but I appreciate that it takes its time. Though there’s an overarching story, it’s apparent that this was adapted from a series of vignettes, and each little adventure is given the time it needs to make an impact. That being said, if the movie wasn’t this long, I probably would have watched it more often. There have been several instances when I’ve thought about watching it but decided to go with something shorter instead.

So why have I watched this movie so many times? Well, for one thing, the music slaps. It is truly the Sherman Brothers’ magnum opus. Every song is either a bop or a tearjerker. If I’d been tracking the albums I’ve listened to most in the last 20 years, the Mary Poppins soundtrack might be number one. While I still listen to it not infrequently, the period of time when I listened to it the most was in 9th grade – which would have been 2004-2005 – when pretty much every day after school, I would come home, grab a snack, get out my homework, and turn on the Mary Poppins CD. Needless to say, I was not exactly one of the popular kids, but I also didn’t really care – I liked what I liked. And I found the Mary Poppins music at once soothing and exciting. Also, the CD included a bonus track with the Sherman Brothers talking about how some of the songs came to be, which I found fascinating, even the hundredth time I listened to it. A kid gets a polio vaccine in a lump of sugar – his dad and uncle write a catchy song about it – and over 40 years later a teenager listens to both the song and the composers talking about it over geometry homework. It made me feel both insignificant and important, alone and yet part of something, and that’s one of my favorite things about movies and stories in general, and I remember really starting to understand this during that period of my youth.

If I recall correctly, my devotion to the Mary Poppins soundtrack led to me receiving the 40th anniversary DVD for Christmas of 2004, which would explain why I watched it three times in 2005. And if one bonus track from the Sherman Brothers was exciting to me, a two-disc special edition DVD was paradise. And the best part was the audio commentary. I didn’t track how many of my Mary Poppins views were with the commentary turned on, but I would guess around half? Good audio commentary is one of my favorite things, and several of the movies in my top 40 got there partly because of how much their commentary delights me. Mary Poppins is definitely one of those. If you’ve never watched a movie with the commentary track, I highly recommend trying it for some of your favorite movies, although I don’t know if very many filmmakers are recording them anymore since physical media has gone out of fashion. I don’t even know if most people have DVD players to be able to watch them anymore. But luckily for me, 2004 was the height of DVD special features popularity, and that’s when Disney decided to celebrate the 40th anniversary of this beloved masterpiece by giving us the gift of this amazing commentary. Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke are together, and Richard Sherman, one of the composers, and Karen Dotrice, who played Jane, are also together in a different place (or maybe it was the same place at a different time, I’m not sure). The commentary switches between those two pairs of people, with the occasional recording from someone else added in here and there. One of the advantages of the long runtime is everybody gets a chance to talk quite a bit. Since they’re recording it four decades after they made the movie, they don’t always remember all the details of what they’re talking about, but what they do remember is utterly delightful. Karen Dotrice’s perspective is particularly interesting, looking back on what it was like to make this movie as a child when she didn’t really know what was going on. She reveals that she didn’t realize Dick Van Dyke was playing the old man at the bank when she was acting with him; she saw the name reveal in the credits in the theater with everyone else. And Richard Sherman has lots to say about the music that wasn’t covered on the bonus CD track I’d listened to over and over, and Dick and Julie have lots of fun stories to contribute. But truly, truly the best part of the commentary is the fact that Julie’s first husband, Tony Walton, to whom she was married when the movie was made, was in the Mary Poppins art and costume departments, and apparently had a particular shade of bright red that he liked to use, so every. time. we see red on the screen, Julie has to mention “Tony Walton red” and it brings me so much joy and amusement that I have to mention it every time I talk about this movie.

But back to the movie itself, I do love experiencing it even without the commentary. The story is gentle and powerful and really sparks the imagination, the characters are unique and fun to watch, and again, THE MUSIC! I don’t even know if I could pick a number 1 favorite song. A Spoonful of Sugar, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, and Step in Time stand out, they’re all so fun and catchy. Sister Suffragette has some great lyrics – “though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they’re rather stupid”: perfect – and Glynis Johns sings it with such conviction! And even though I definitely thought it was boring as a child, Feed the Birds has really grown on me. It perfectly illustrates the recurring theme throughout Mary Poppins that small things can make a big difference, which is a message I find very encouraging. This movie is all about how it doesn’t take much – tuppence, a spoonful of sugar, a word, a kite – to make a difference in someone else’s life, and I think that’s an important message. Not as an excuse to do as little as possible, but rather as a reason to do anything at all. It’s easy for me to get overwhelmed by all the problems in the world, so much so that it sometimes feels pointless to try anything because I can’t do everything, and at that point it’s helpful to remember that actions don’t have to be major to be worthwhile. This may sound trite, but the way this movie presents it feels so genuine and beautiful, at least to me, and I love the way rewatching it reminds me of this message.

I also think a not-insignificant reason that Mary Poppins has resonated with me is that there really is no romantic love story, apart from the married couple learning to appreciate each other a little better, which is quite minor in the grand scheme of the movie. Imagine – a story with an iconic female and male lead who are just friends! I’m sure some people out there assume that Mary and Bert are romantically involved, but the movie itself specifically states otherwise. According to the commentary, the verse of Jolly Holiday that Mary sings to Bert about how he’s such a gentleman and never presses his advantage with a lady and whatnot was added at the suggestion of PL Travers. Apparently the author of the book insisted that the film make it clear that Mary and Bert were not “an item.” Now, the way they talk about it in the commentary implies a bit of exasperation, and Travers was notoriously difficult to work with – I mean, there’s a whole movie, Saving Mr. Banks, that…sort of tells that story, although that movie is way more sympathetic toward Travers than the Mary Poppins special features, but I digress. Clearly not all of PL Travers’s demands were met because she didn’t want any red in the picture and Tony Walton could not be stopped. But with regards to Mary and Bert’s relationship I think she was right. A romance between them would have detracted from the story about the Banks family. Also there are way too few purely platonic male/female friendships portrayed on film, and this is such a nice one, and it’s written and acted so believably. They enjoy each other’s company, they sing and dance and have adventures together, and they seem perfectly content with the state of their relationship. So often friendship as portrayed as “less than” romance – people say “just friends” as if it’s something to settle for – but friendship can be just as beautiful and deep and powerful as romance, and it's so lovely to see that here. Watching Mary Poppins as a young person, well before I understood that I was aromantic or asexual, it still made me so happy to see these two adults in the middle of such a sweet relationship that was clearly standing the test of time, since it’s implied that they knew each other long before the events of the film, but didn’t have anything to do with sex or romance. Not that I don’t also enjoy stories that feature those kinds of relationships, too, but I think it’s so telling that I gravitated so strongly to Mary Poppins when I was 14. At an age when most people are expected to experience serious crushes and start at least thinking about dating, all I wanted was a friendship that involved dancing with animals, singing nonsense words, and perhaps some magical cleaning.

Obviously, Mary Poppins has wide appeal to an audience far beyond aroace teenagers in the early 2000s. It was the highest grossing film of 1964, and the highest-grossing Disney film ever at the time, and its popularity with audiences was still high enough to warrant a sequel in 2018. It also received near-universal critical acclaim, and was nominated for 13 Oscars, winning five. As I mentioned earlier, Poppins was Julie’s feature film debut, although she had appeared on Broadway and on television prior to this. As most fans of musicals know, Julie Andrews originated the role of Eliza Dolittle in My Fair Lady but was replaced by established film star Audrey Hepburn in the screen adaptation, which was also released in 1964. My Fair Lady got the Best Picture Oscar, but Julie won Best Actress for Poppins, so one of my views in 2015 was part of my watching-through-Best Actress-winners project. I ranked the Best Actress winning performances at the time and put this one at number 12, which I’m sure is higher than most people would put it but I never said I was unbiased. Although I do stand by my ranking: it’s a great, delightful, iconic performance. The other Oscars Poppins won were for editing, special effects, score, and original song for Chim Chim Cher-ee. The visual effects truly were groundbreaking – audio-animatronics were in their infancy, and the bird in the Spoonful of Sugar scene was one of the first of its kind. I’m also very glad the music won two awards, although I’m not sure I’d pick Chim Chim Cher-ee as the best song, but it’s still great.

Andrews also won a Golden Globe, and in her acceptance speech thanked Jack Warner, the producer of the My Fair Lady film, which is just, practically perfect in every way. While I do love My Fair Lady – I’ve watched it 11 times since I started keeping track – and would have loved to see Julie Andrews in it, I feel like it must have been more interesting to get to make Mary Poppins instead. My Fair Lady is basically just the stage musical on screen, whereas Mary Poppins is full of movie magic and originality. I don’t think Andrews has any regrets about the way things turned out here.

Which leads me to another reason I love this movie, which is that Julie Andrews is one of my faves. She’s one of four actors to appear in at least 4 of my top 40 most-watched films, and the only one of those whom I have met – also the only one who is still alive, so the only one I will ever meet. She writes children’s books with her daughter, and in 2012, when I was in college, she was on tour promoting The Very Fairy Princess: Here Comes the Flower Girl and did a book signing at my university bookstore. I was absolutely starstruck and had no idea what to say to her. She complimented the t-shirt I was wearing and I think I said something completely incoherent in reply, and then she started to sign my book and said, “So how are you?” and I stammered, “I’m…amazing” by which I meant I was amazed to be standing in her presence, but she immediately and sincerely responded with, “Yes, you are” and I have never recovered.

That must have been at least part of the reason I watched this movie twice in that year, after not having watched it for four years. I don’t watch it nearly as frequently as I used to anymore, but I still revisit it when I’m looking for magic or motivation to clean my room, or just, nostalgia. High school was a really rough time for me, but Mary Poppins, both the movie and the soundtrack, really helped me keep my head afloat when I felt like I was drowning, so it will always be special to me for that reason, in addition to just being a nice, well-told story that I enjoy.

So there you have it: my 40th most-watched movie in the last 20 years. Thank you for listening, remember to like, follow, subscribe, rate, comment, do all the things if you want to keep listening. Following this will be a six-way tie of the movies I watched 15 times, from shortest to longest. I’ll leave you with a quote from my next movie: “Why do we even HAVE that lever?”

#rewatch rewind #mary poppins

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Bruno Bavota & Chantal Acda

Photo by Cath Van Laere

A Closer Distance, the new collaborative record by composer Bruno Bavota and singer-songwriter Chantal Acda, happened under the now-typical circumstance of long-distance remote creation. What was originally imaged as a small EP blossomed into a full album, with both parties finding the process “weirdly natural” (to quote Acda). Dusted’s Ian Mathers calls the result “the kind of record where its sparseness and concision feel like products of intense focus and care, both for the sounds produced and the people who might hear them.” The two artists have split this Listed between them, with each selecting five records that are important to them.

Bruno Bavota Picks

I'm picking music that had a real impact in my life before I became a musician. I started playing piano at 26 years old and before that I started playing acoustic guitar at 24 years old. Music has had a great impact in my life filling a big emptiness I felt during the beginning of university (18 years old) to my twenty-sixth year. This is really a selection that helped me a lot and as I’ve always said, music saved my life. This is also a music selection for things we lost.

Damien Rice — O

2004. I was in a car with one of my dearest friends. We were parking and the radio started playing “Cannonball” by Damien Rice. It was in the afternoon, a very strange hour to listen to this kind of track on the radio programs. I was 20 years old and that is the exact moment when music came into my life. Before that I didn't properly listen to music — it wasn't part of my life. I went to the music shop and bought the album that kept me company for the whole year, changing my feelings as a human being.

Nick Drake — Pink Moon

I really don't know how to start talking about this. After I discovered the album by Damien Rice, the guys from the music shop told me “Bruno, If you like folk, singer-songwriters you should listen to Nick Drake, who probably inspired all the current songwriters scene.” I never heard about him before and I bought Pink Moon at face value. When I went back home and put this album on my home-stereo I understood, not immediately I have to say, how powerful this album is. I’ve listened a thousand times to “Pink Moon,” “Place to Be” and “Things Behind the Sun”.

Balmorhea — All Is Wild, All Is Silent

This is home for me. I remember exactly the day when I discovered them. I was just surfing around on YouTube and then there was the “suggested for you” feature that worked really well before losing everything with the explosion of the digital era. The track I heard literally blew me away. It was something that I was looking for but never found. This album has always been a safe place for me and I always return to this album. I played “Settler” at my wedding.

Antony and the Johnsons — I Am a Bird Now

This is the time where I discovered new music at the music shop. In my town Napoli we used to have a very nice music store with wonderful staff that always suggested A LOT of wonderful music to me. I always trusted them and one day I came into the music shop and they called me. “Hey Bruno, I think you're gonna like this.” I put my headphones on and “Hope There's Someone” started. The right song and the right time — I was probably also hoping that there will be someone for me.

Micah P. Hinson and The Gospel Of Progress

I clearly remember when I saw him live for the first time in my hometown Napoli (South Italy) playing this album live. As I said, I picked music for the things that we lost and the place where this concert took place is gone. The concert was so intense and it was really for a few people in the audience and I still keep those memories. A really beautiful album.

Chantal Acda Picks

Music has always been a huge part of my life growing up, with a dad who was obsessed with pop music and a mother who was an opera singer. I always felt a bit weird within the kids in my school. But music gave me a safe haven and that actually never changed. It’s not what I choose to do. It happened and it makes me breathe.

Joni Mitchell — Blue

I refused to sing until I was 16 years old. I was quite an intense teenager and because of that I wanted to do what my mother did not! I also spent a lot of time surrounded by horses. A totally different world, but still the combination in my life that works best. My mum was often teaching in my house. In the room next door. I fell asleep with people singing. At a certain moment I took my guitar and started humming a bit. Someone waiting in the hallway heard me, drove home and took this record with her for me. I totally loved it. The stunning combination between melody, craft and depth really inspired me to start singing.

Nils Frahm — Felt

I love this record in so many ways. The sound of this record is just breathtaking. That on top of the choice in melody really sticks with me. I can listen to this album any moment of the day. Nils got on stage with me 10 years ago in Paris and we instantly connected. We decided that he would be the one recording my first real solo album. I had the best time. We were like two kids in a candy store. He put me in his strength. I guess we are both intense people. Both putting music first always. I will never forget what he did for me.

Amenra — Mass IV

Might sound like a weird choice for me. This is loud music. I play very slow music most of the time. But if there is a band I feel really connected to it's Amenra. Their music and being is all about connecting earth with all that’s above. Their approach is vertical in that way. Like mine. We both go for total surrender. To the music, to the energy and to each other. I don't think in genres or styles. I only think music. And they really touch me very, very deeply.

Kae Tempest — The Book of Traps and Lessons

What to say about Kae. How to love somebody you have never met. They are capable of changing people. Their words are reaching the bottom of my heart. They can break me and be soothing at the same time. They are impressive in being vulnerable and the biggest strength in one split second. Intensity. Depth. Realness. Truth. I saw them live once. The room shifted. Nothing felt the same anymore. The song “People's Faces” is not just beautiful but above all necessary. We need it. I need it and I will never be able to listen to this without tearing up.

dEUS — The Ideal Crash

The band that made me move to Belgium 22 years ago. This Antwerp band has been a part of my life since I was 16 years old and I followed them everywhere. They are exciting, different, edgy but soft at the same time. This record is full of beautiful songs. Great guitar parts. I know it by heart. I sing it when I am alone. It's my ideal crash.

#listed #dusted magazine #bruno bavota #chantal acda #damien rice #nick drake #balmorhea #antony and the johnsons #micah p. hinson #joni mitchell #nils frahm #amenra #kae tempest #deus

[lifewithoutmeds]

April 14, 2023

Oooh, another long spell without writing, curiously, and things haven’t been that good and i haven’t really been trucking along.

Not much has transpired in the last month. work, social outings, the usual to-do chore list. i was doing pretty well budget wise then went a lil manic and bought a new LL Bean jacket, new adidas NMD shoes, and a fly fishing rod/reel combo (new, but off of OfferUp.) Those three cost $350. I also bought a hair dryer, but I probably needed it, not having ever purchased one and having used a small portable travel one for the last several years.

Kinda feels nice actually having a few new shiny things in my life.

Buying and the contemplating of buying the jacket made me have to face my weight again and my body image. I could have gotten a regular small, or a petite small or a petite medium, and i realized that with my circumference, i’d probably have to go with the medium, and with some embarrassment/chagrin, i did so, and glad i did, because it fits almost snugly. realized again how much my body image/weight is negatively impacting me and making me feel like i can’t participate in fashion or what i consider to be good taste even in clothing.

so once again i’m re-dedicating myself to weight loss, to the discipline required in taking small steps in the right direction. Had a great session with kelda yesterday and she was saying how much i vacillate between extremes. i will binge eat then go to extremely restrictive eating, then binge some more. i don’t just eat pasta once; once i eat, i finish the box, i eat the entire pound, maybe not in one sitting, but i figure, i’ve already slipped, why not just go all the way. and she was encouraging me always find the middle, because i have such difficulty doing that.

yesterday was practice, as i watched what i ate, tracked my calories, and made sure i had good amounts of protein and some fruits/vegetables, but when i saw i still could eat some calories, instead of just starving myself, i treated myself to a haagendazs bar that still put me in a caloric deficit. but it didn’t make me feel like i was starving or limiting myself unduly.

kelda was saying that even if i didn’t feel like getting up or moving, if i just made myself move for five minutes, that would be better than just vegging. i think it’s called the two minute rule. just to commit to two minutes of any task that seems troublesome, and typically, upon having started, it’s easier to keep going and keep at it longer.

today feels better. yesterday, i had done all of the things, so maybe that contributed. i worked hard (at work), ran the vacuum twice, washed the dishes three times, walked for 40 minutes, exercised for 20 minutes, read some of my book, and filmed a bit for my fishing youtube. i ate a small salad, i ate well-portioned and relatively healthy meals throughout the day, had my one hour of facetime therapy with kelda. i brushed my teeth and even washed my face and put on overnight face lotion before i went to bed, a task which has been strangely difficult for me even though i hate myself for not doing it afterward.

this weekend’s plans: Today/Friday: a few chores, getting gas, in n out for lunch, then fishing from about noon - 7 p.m.

saturday: brunch with amy lee, exchange a few items with lana around noon, hot flash lesbian event in the evening

sunday: not much so far. a walk? some cleaning? probably preparing a bit for the trip to belfast/dublin later in the week.

i think it’s important to: keep moving, as kelda said. to have things on the calendar. to stop getting deeper when i already feel bad about myself. to have regularly scheduled social things, travel things, and have adequate rest in between times. it’s important to stop and process, and journal/write this stuff out. it’s important to pause and clean and purge as necessary.

it just occurred to me how much i enjoy matt and kendy’s company. i should probably schedule something with them soon. i love good conversation that flows, i love the banter, i love the cleverness, the wit, the undercurrent of care and kindness.

today feels better than others. probably some combination of a week that has felt accomplished, with some good coffee this morning, and anticipation of a few good things to come (fishing, amy, lesbians.)

also i’ve committed to living a lifestyle that allows me to lose 1.5 lbs a week. that means: calorie tracking/restriction, 80-100 grams of protein a day, 15,000 steps a day (which usually necessitates at least one longish walk), and 20 minutes of weight training daily. it’s nice to think that if i keep this up, in x days i’ll be y pounds thinner, and ooh by x month, i’ll be z pounds thinner! the trouble is the days, is the hours, is the minutes, is the boredom, is the emotions, is the tiny acts of slipping up or giving up. but i have to use that as exercises in discipline, which i admire, and feel i lack. i must be what i admire.

[writteninvisibly]

Fall B: Manic Episode

October 20

First day of class. You look lonely, so I sit at a seat closer to the front than I normally would. Just the two of us, and the start of… something. 

October 25

Group project. There's three of us now, but our third backs out at the prospect of a late night adventure. The donut shop is a three hour round trip away. Donuts are fine--maybe not worth a three hour drive at two am--but who gives up on an adventure when it's just getting good? (This is the beginning of so. many. sleepless nights.)

October 27

Crush is a funny word, when you think about it. I don't know that it's… the right word, either. It's the one I've got though. The thing about sleep deprivation is that it does funny things to your brain.

October 29

Good nights with good friends always leave you with a funny sort of feeling when you go home, don't they? If you're given a choice or an opportunity, be careful about who you're gravitating to. This is a make or break moment.

November 17

"Hey, beautiful girl with the laptop."

What did you mean by that? That’s not… that’s not just something that people say. Not for no reason, anyway. What are you… doing?

November 19

Thank you, for the offer to talk. It didn’t work out, and it’s probably better that way, but thank you all the same. I’ll let you know if I ever need a raincheck, okay? Do me a favor, keep me penciled in.

November 20

We were supposed to hang out. We didn’t. We didn’t, but we were supposed to. And then “I can’t tonight.” And that’s fine. Really, it is. Sometimes things just don’t work out. You could have maybe said that from the beginning, though. I don’t like how long I had to wait.

November 21

“Just admit you’re crushing on me”

I’d really rather not. What purpose would that serve? We’re both too busy to even hang out right now, so what would be the point, if there’s nowhere for the sentiment to go? I don’t embark on pointless endeavors, I should tell you that now. I won’t let this be a pointless endeavor.

November 21

Lying is a funny thing. It is to me, anyway. It’s funny because I can do it perfectly well, sometimes. In the name of self-preservation, usually. I’m good at it, too. You wouldn’t be able to tell, if I wanted to lie to you.

I don’t, though. I have no reason to. I didn’t want to tell you this early in the game, but now that you’ve asked me straight out, there’s no reason not to tip my hand; put all the cards on the table, as it were. Sometimes I wonder if you could see the cards all along and you were just… playing the game.

The answer is yes, okay?

November 21

“The worst thing that can happen is they say no.” Did you know that’s not true? Because I’m learning. And anyway, even if it was true, do you know how much “no” hurts? The answer is a lot. A crazy amount, actually. Anyway, if the worst answer I can get is a “no”, then explain to me why I’ve never gotten a straight no. Actually, I think the worst thing that can happen is “I would, but.”  The worst thing that could happen is “I always say yes as a rule and you’re welcome to take advantage of that, but I can’t make a commitment now and you need to know that.” The worst thing that could happen is a “no” that isn’t a “no” but a “maybe” instead, that changes every rule I thought I knew. Because it’s closer to the answer you want, but not close enough. Close enough to give you hope, far enough that it’s only going to torment you. Don’t hinge your hopes on “I would, but.” I’m begging you.

November 22

Same goose, different feathers.

November 22

I’ve never felt so out of my depth as I do talking to you. My scripts don’t work, I can’t ever predict where our conversations will go. You always manage to throw me off of my track so thoroughly that I feel like I’m treading in open water, and the funny thing is that I can’t swim. I just want to know what’s going on for once.

November 23

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m not the only real person in the world. Other people exist, and they’re just as important as I am, and none of the other people in the world can read my mind. And I can’t expect them to. That isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, but I really wish that it was.

November 23

“So what’s your definition of flirting?”

“Complimenting with emotional intent.”

November 24

“Admittedly I think you text me too much.”

Ouch.

That’s… that’s all I really have to say about that. There’s really no polite way to tell someone to leave you alone. I know that. It’s a sticky situation from either side, I’m not blind or stupid, contrary to popular belief. After a little over a month of almost constant communication, though, you would think that this might have come up earlier.

Maybe that’s the problem.

November 24

I was at Thanksgiving. This is not the time.

November 26

I know that I should maybe be concerned about my fixation on the aesthetic attractiveness of death. That seems like something you don’t look too hard at, though.

November 29

I didn’t know I was the jealous sort.

That’s a lie, actually. See, you believed me, I bet. I did know, but I never actually expected it to rear such an ugly head. Again, note to self: I am not the only person on the planet. And I’m certainly not the most important one, or the most available. A lack of face-to-face communication is as much my fault as anyone else’s.

Is it too much to ask to be thought of, though?

December 2

We talked. For real. Things are okay.

Funnily enough, isolated communication isn’t good for you. It does bad things to your brain, when you’re trying to talk to someone but the reality is you, all alone in a room. I suppose that’s the best advice that I’m able to give anyone. Just actually talk about it. It might hurt, a little bit, sort of like pulling a tooth, but if you don’t, the only thing you’ll have to show for your stubbornness is rot. And the rot hurts. Rot isn’t worth it.

But neither is “I would, but.”

#creative nonfiction #writing writing writing #writeblr #original work #journal

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 51

One of the fascinating things that happened in 2020, was the falling out of love with console video games, or specifically me falling out of love with long named franchises. It started slowly, I brought Animal Crossing before the first lockdown happened.

The first lockdown, besides being surreal and that is a story for a later date, was a blessing in disguise for me. I had purchased Animal Crossing, but had taken my vacation week the last week of February, meaning that it was unreasonable for me to take the March Break off. Not to say that work wouldn’t have allowed me to take the time off, but my work anxiety would be through the roof as there was still a lot to do before March Break and I was still catching up from my last vacation. But the first lockdown forced us all to be on hold, we couldn’t hold in person therapy sessions, and we weren’t set up at the time to do virtual appointments. So I canceled appointments for the rest of the month and didn’t rebook because we didn’t know what was going to happen.

On top of me being kicked home, this meant I had a lot of spare time on my hands. So after I cleaned up all my files at work, I played Animal Crossing at home. And I loved it… at first, but the game loop designed in Animal Crossing burned me out. I was one of those people who wanted to do all the dailies because it wasn’t effective otherwise if I didn’t. In theory, traditionally, you only spend an hour or two on Animal Crossing, but the way the dailies were set up, it took me about four hours to get through all my stuff, and it was just all chores. Coupled by the fact the amount of updates Nintendo had promised had fallen flat as time progressed it no longer became a game I enjoyed. In the end, while I loved Animal Crossing and had moments of joy out of it, there was also that lingering disappointment due updates not being kept up and it being more work than it should have been. It was probably fine during Covid when you had a lot of time.

I picked up Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town next, and that was even more burn out because of the crafting system. It was a lot to keep track of, especially because I wanted the 5 star crops, and there were always crafting machines to keep running in order to get enough resources. In the end, I wasn’t satisfied and the moment my character got married, I just stopped. I did play a lot, there was a good game loop, but it wasn’t a satisfying game loop.

And then there was Pokemon Snap, a game that probably shouldn’t have been using a level progressing system. That level system was used to extend the game’s play time, because in reality that is a game that isn’t very long. And that was goddamn boring, I only got the two areas because of that progression system. And I know there’s a lot of interesting things in that game.

It probably didn’t help at all that before 2020, I had also played Pokemon Sword and Shield. I do not, how to even describe the amount of annoyance I had over the storyline or the way it was presented. I hated it, I liked playing it but in the end, I hated how little agency my character had over the story. It was made worse by the fact there were glimmers of amazing story potential and it was just wasted. 

So four games, and either not satisfying at best or utterly disappointing at worst, and console games are expensive. What really put the nail in the coffin for me were two games I bought.

I had brought Spiritfarer and Battle Chef Brigade, the cost of both was still cheaper than any of the four games I had brought in the past. And I think I brought one of them at least on sale. They were not long games; Battle Chef Brigade, especially, could be finished in 20 hours or less. But I was delighted by both of them. I loved the mechanics, the story and the play. When I finished both of them, I felt satisfied, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was there I had fallen hard into the indie game scene, and I really began to enjoy it. There were genres I really liked and found more common within indie games. And if I did happen to come upon a game that didn’t really fully meet my expectations, I was fine with that. Often these games weren’t more than 30 dollars, or I had gotten them on sale. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt fully disappointed though, or that I wasted money. This has been a really good experience.

Now if I can just stop buying video games like I don’t work a full time job, that would also be good.

#why I play indie games #Spiritfarer updated ages ago and I need to replay this #my issues with old franchises now

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

today was not a good day, and I can tell that it was not a good day because I could not sing along to music in the car, and that seems ridiculous, but singing loudly and badly to throwback songs is my go-to method for cheering myself up, and it works every time. I could be in tears, and I’ll turn on a song, and start singing, and I’m fine by the time it ends, but today I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t smile, and I couldn’t sing, and when I tried, I almost cried, and I haven’t felt this sad in a long time. 

my day started with picking up my dad at 5:30 a.m. he disappeared for hours, and i told him not to come back because this was the third time, and he texted me at 5:30 a.m., and for some god forsaken reason, even though my phone was dead, i spontaneously woke up with an urge to check my computer, and there he was begging me to come pick him up from downtown. and i did. on just a few hours of sleep, i climbed into my car, still shaking, and i found him sitting on the sidewalk next to the train tracks on an empty street, and he made a joke when he got in, and tried to make up some excuse, and i told him i cried myself to sleep, and he looked away, and he said, ‘i’m sorry, chelsea,’ and that broke me. that absolutely shredded me, and i might never recover, because it’s not really his fault, right? he’s a crack addict. he’s been an addict for more than 20 years, and he had cash, and he was next to his dealer, and how could i expect anything less? i know on some level he doesn’t want to hurt me, he cares, he doen’t set out intending to lie, to steal and pawn shit that was precious and irreplaceable, to disappoint my son, to tangle me in this web. i know it hurts his feelings. i see it in his face, his eyes are fucking sad, and his face is so drawn down, and i feel guilty for making him feel bad, for telling the truth. i feel so guilty i regret ever saying it. but this is why i avoided him for almost ten years, this is why i said no every time he needed something, because it might not be his fault, but it isn’t mine either, and i’m tired of being swallowed by these addictions i do not possess because of an empty i can’t seem to get rid of. and on top of that, everyone in my life has just seemed unnecessarily cruel, unwilling to help me out, unwilling to even let me vent when I feel like i must self-combust. i need to go back to work, but no one will babysit for me, or even help me get my kid to and from school, and the only people offering me help are toxic and abusive and people i so desperately want to be rid of, and i feel so goddamn alone. and i’m having health anxiety, and i had two doctors appointments today where i got properly violated, and it’ll still probably be months of referrals before I get answers, and I feel like an awful mom for wasting years of my sons life working and leaving him with a shitty excuse of a father and for subjecting him to our arguments, our toxicity, and it eats away at me, remembering these things, knowing that i’ve subjected him to this trauma he’ll never erase form his dna, i spiral into a panic attack, vomiting, in hysterics, every time i let the thought cross my mind because i was a good mom, and i never yelled, and i put him first, always, and these last two years, i’ve been shit because i’m so fucking traumatized, i can’t reglate my own goddamn nervous system, and he’s seen it all. my panic attacks, my outbursts, our fights, me being assaulted, holes punched in walls, and dents put in cars, and it’s terrified him. and it’s my fault. it’s my fault  because I didn’t find a way to end it, and I keep telling myself it’s because I couldn’t afford it, it’s because I didn’t have help, and a part of me will always wonder what it would have been like to have a family who cared enough to help me escape, but still. people do it. every day people do it, and i couldn’t find a way to, and that’s on me. i’ll never forget. and i’ll never forgive myself. and somedays i think i’ll never be happy becaue of it. he’s the sweetest fucking kid, and he loves us both, and he’s still so goddamn good, but he deserved better than this. and i will give him better than this, and it’s never too late to do better, but.it will always be too late to undo what we’ve done and I really don’t know how to live with that. I hate myself for it, and I’ll accept this lonely, miserable life because I feel like I deserve it. and it’s just all piling up. my health & anxiety. my financial instability. the lack of support. the drug addicts. the guilt. so much fucking guilt. the fact that I don’t have one goddamn friend, and everyone wants me to give them so fucking much when I have nothing left. Everyone needs something, always, everything, but no one wants to give me anything in return. I’m tired. I’m sad, and I’m tired, and I’m doing my best. 

#it's honestly better that I don't have people in my life right now #I have nothing left to give anyone #and I'm too much of a wreck to pretend #and no one deserves that #no one deserves to be responsible for my messes #for helping me heal #this is something I need to do on my own #I know that #it feels bad #but I know that #and I'm glad I'm not in a position to hurt anybody else #I'm sill having a bad day #ignore me

[ethernluki]

The First Time I Accidentally Wandered Too Far Away. 

It was very rare for me as a kid to go to the beach or go swimming as the entry cost was usually a fortune for the 20 of us, but once a year we would go to this creak during the summer to meet up with family we hadn’t seen in a long time and as you can probably infer my extended family was very crowded with all the mass amounts of identical faces from all my brothers. Four sets of twins and three sets of triplets can really mess up a large family gathering. Plus of course; me. But I was usually just passed off as the illiterate one and most of the cousins and aunts/uncles would pity me and give me cookies or something so that I would just go away. I was ”mute” to most of them until about age 11. I think I really started grasping english a long time before but I still spoke and thought in Tsi so I didn’t often need to use english. (especially since at home my brothers would also speak in Tsi) Anyways the main point of the trip was always the food, then the games of kick ball and then to end the day with a whole ton of fireworks, like a whole ton. But usually at some point in the day my brothers would loose track of my non-english brain and I would venture too far down stream of the creak until the water expanded and got really deep and then spilled into a lake. Now the whole thing would eventually loop back around into the creak and as long as you stayed to the left of the water paths you wouldn’t end up in this lake. (and there were plenty of signs telling you to stay to the left and to move to the left, the currant wasn’t strong so this wasn’t hard. The hard part was again the fact that I could not in any capacity speak, read, or understand any english.)and it just so happened that one year (i was probably 6 maybe 7) I went too far down the water and failed to keep left and got sucked into deeper currents of water and seriously swept out into a giant lake.

Now nothing bad happened to me. I floated around a bit for a good couple of hours, eventually ended up falling asleep and then waking up on the lake’s beach. Which was mostly hard rocks and sand and sticks and trees and such. anyways at this point I just decided to get up and start walking in a random direction, (following the edge of the lake of course)

During the whole thing I saw and found a lot of cool things. That I just pocketed into the pockets of my brothers’ hand-me-down swim trunks. most of my trinkets were thinks like rocks and shells and the odd button or two, but I also pocketed a .38 caliber bullet, a bloody fox tooth, a raven egg, four nickels,(because I recognized money) a twenty dollar bill, an old soda pop cap, a joint, a magnet, the cap to a sharpie pen, a fake ID, and one of those mini bottles of vodka that they give you on airplanes. It was empty.

I’m not sure how long It took me to get back to the pavilion by the creak my family was staying in but when I did get back I knew it had been a really long time and expected someone to have wondered about where I was. My pockets were full to the max and I was waddling through camp looking for anyone of my multitude of brothers to tell them to call off the search party. The first one I found brushed me off and continued to only speak in english. This was until I told him I had gone to ”eyo’shena” other wise known as ”the endless waters” which was the word for ocean. To which he responded ”that’s impossible idiot we’re landlocked” and promptly left me by the swings alone again. The same reaction followed for most of my siblings. I say most because after getting the same reaction about 9 times I quit trying to find them all and just went back for more free cookies.

Tldr; when I was little my teenage brothers were jerks and didn’t believe me when I told them I had gotten lost at sea. ( I hadn’t it was just a lake) eyo’shena means endless water, and shena usally means water or waters. except when you are talking about drinking water because that word is illet. The word Itova means infinite. itova’shena (infinite waters) or just Ja’itova would be used as word for outer space.

#story time #siblings #large family #language #lost at sea #not really tho #dumb kids #family gatherings #funny story #also not #really though #that one time #when #i got lost #at sea #but not really #so yea <3 #fun times #fun times <3

[asahipleaseloveme]

Wait

A Part II to Threshold

Tsukishima x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: More Angst, but with a happier ending. Feedback is appreciated!

Warnings: mention of verbal abuse; mention of emotional abuse; alcohol consumption; let me know if I missed something and I'll add it

========================================

The period after a break-up has never been easy for you, and this one would surely be the one that you wouldn’t recover from. It had been a few months since you packed up and left Tsukishima all alone without an explanation. But the more you thought about it, the more evident it was that the signs were all there. And Tsukishima is a smart guy, you figured he could put two and two together. The arguing, the avoidance, the non-existent intimacy. He had to have known it was only a matter of time. He had to have known. He had to.

When you left, you tried to take everything of yours and leave everything of his. Even his old jersey he had gifted to you. You loved that jersey. It was such a thoughtful gift and in his own way, it was an act of love. You knew he loved when you wore it to games and everyone saw you wearing his name. He would always encompass you in a sweaty hug after the game and you reveled in it. Now, you can’t even watch him play anymore. You tried to watch a televised game once and had to turn it off before the first set even finished. It was too much for you. In fact, a lot of your daily routine was almost too much for you. Change was hard and you were still trying to get used to your new way of life. You avoided many of your favorite places in fear that you would bump into him. You honestly didn’t know how you could face him after everything.

“C’mon, ______. It’s been three months. Lingering on this isn’t helping you at all. Come with me to the arcade bar!” Your overly eager friend pushed.

“You know I can’t. What if I-”

“What if? What if what? You bump into him? There’s no rule that says you have to talk to him or that you even owe him an explanation. You can’t keep punishing yourself and depriving yourself of fun. You can’t live your life based on the “what ifs”. Start living by the “why nots”. Now, why not put on your favorite outfit and why not just come out with meeeeeeeeee.”

The more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t really fault their reasoning. It had been months since you had gone out and attempted to have fun.

You sighed with a smile, “I suppose you're right. I can be ready in 20.”

You were a ball of anxious energy until you finally reached your destination. An arcade bar was a pretty low key place. You could immerse yourself in a game and shut everyone out. It was a start anyway. You ordered your favorite drink at the bar and then went to find a game that was secluded in a corner. Galaga was the game you decided on as it seemed simple enough. The nice thing was that the bar was fairly empty so you didn’t have to worry about someone jumping in on the game when you went to get another drink. You were so focused on the game that you didn’t notice a tall figure occupying the game next to you. Once you lost your last life, the screen popped up that you had just earned the highest score.

“You’re pretty good at that game,” a familiar voice startled you. Your whole body froze up, your heart leapt up into your throat, you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Was it the alcohol or the extreme guilt surging through your body? A combination of both you decided.

You turned to the figure standing next to you. It was hard to breathe, let alone form words.

“Tsukki-” you squeaked out in a little more than a whisper. Heart threatening to pound out of your chest, you turned fast on your heel.

“Wait,” he reached out and grabbed your wrist. The action caused you to stop and stare at his hand. “Sorry,” he said as he let go, “I just-I saw you and I...you...Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“We can talk right here,” your voice hoarse as though you’ve been yelling for hours.

“______, I’m not going to talk about what happened right here. We can-”

“If you want to talk, then we can do it right here. And if you’re going to make any snide comments or demean me, then I’m just going to walk out.” You weren’t sure where this surge of confidence came from, but you were grateful that it happened.

Tsukishima put his hands up, “I promise that is not why I came over here. And you have every right to walk away if I say something that offends you.” He lowered his hands down to his side, stuffing them into his pockets. “______, why? Why just walk away without saying anything?”

“You had to have known something was wrong between us, Tsukishima. The constant fights, the way you avoided me, the way you talked to me like I was a piece of garbage. I tried to bring it up, but you put up your walls and kept me out. One of us was going to leave eventually. And I don’t know if I could have handled walking into a half empty apartment. You’re stronger than I am, always have been. I figured it wouldn’t be as hard for you to adjust to it,” you stammered as you struggled to form coherent sentences.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and staring at you. “Ever since you left, I realized you mean more to me than anything else in this world. ______, I was an idiot. Still am, probably. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I was wrong. For many things. Insulting you. Ignoring you. Letting you think you were all alone in a place where you should have felt at home.”

He paused, a slight red brushing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “But I think the worst thing I did was keep my walls up while you broke yours down for me. I took for granted your love for me, and for that I was wrong.” He slammed his eyes shut and for a moment, it looked as though there were tears forming along his lids.

A moment of silence passed.

“______, you’re the best thing I never knew I needed. Please, can we try this again?”

“You don’t need me, Tsukishima. You never have, so why would we start now?”

For a slight moment, you catch a glimmer of desperation on his face.

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t need you, just like you don’t need me,” the words burned your heart hearing them come from his mouth. “But, ______,” he grabbed your hands. “I want you to be with me. I want you to be the one who comes to see me for lunch at work. I want you to be the one who greets me at the front door. The one who presses up against my back in the middle of the night. The one who I kiss goodbye to in the morning. I want it to be you who wears my jersey and cheers for me. Please, I just want you back,” his voice cracked.

You were taken aback. This is not what you were expecting from him.

“What happens when I mess up or we have a disagreement? Are you going to shut me out and we’ll just have a repeat of the last three months of our relationship? As much as I want the good times with you back, I don’t think I can handle anymore of the bad times. Do you know how hard it is to hear the person you love belittle and berate you? All I ever wanted was to make you happy, and I’m not sure I can do that anymore. I-I’m sorry,” you let your hands fall from his and move to walk past him.

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. He only stares at the floor with his head down. You walked past several arcade games before turning around once more to look at him.

“He’s trying, ______,” Tadashi leaned over to you. You didn’t even realize he was here, too. ‘He’s been working on it. He talks about you every day and what he would do if he could just have another chance with you. I’m not saying he deserves another chance, that’s ultimately up to you. I think you leaving really opened his eyes to what he had and just how badly he messed up.”

Tadashi's words seem to resonate with you. He has no reason to lie to you. He's always been a good friend to you. You stare at the back of Tsukishima's head for a good 30 seconds.

“I still love him,” you whispered as tears started to fall from your face. He was still standing in the same spot, opening and closing his fists. You took a deep breath and walked back over to him.

“Tsukishima,” you placed your hand on his elbow. “Tsukishima, I still love you. After everything, I still love you. What’s that stupid saying “if you love something let it go and” ugh, I can never remember the last part.”

“If it comes back it’s yours forever?”

“Yeah, that. I don’t know if I can promise forever. But I can promise to give you my best, if you promise to give me your best. And when we’re at our worst, we try to work through it together. We might have to take this slow to build up what we used to have. But, I’m willing if you’re willing. Why not?”

Tsukishima wrapped you up and buried his face in the top of your hair.

A wave of relief washed over you and peace was what you felt at the moment.

“I love you, ______.”

You texted your friend to let them know that you were leaving and thanks for the afternoon outing.

“You wanna come back to my place and watch a movie?” You asked Tsukki as you both walked out of the bar.

“I would like to, but I already told Yamaguchi I’d hang out with him today.”

“Hm, that’s too bad. I saw that they’re streaming the Jurassic Park Trilogy. Maybe another time, then?” You said as you continued walking. “Um, text me later if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks and pulled out his phone, “Well, I guess Yamaguchi will have to accept a rain check from me this time. He’ll understand.”

His long legs made quick work of catching back up to you. He ever so delicately interlocked his fingers with yours as you continued to your apartment.

Something about him was different. It was too soon to tell if it was a good kind of different, but you were willing to get acquainted with him again to find out.

#tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima angst #angst #haikyuu!! angst #part II to Threshold

[waitimcomingtoo]

touch

chapter four: closure

Synopsis: you love him but you can never touch him

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

“Op. Timers up.”

You rolled off of Peter and reached for your phone to turn your alarm off, sighing sadly as you did.

“I hate that sound.” Peter groaned as he rolled onto his back. “That sound should be illegal.”

“Well if you feel that strongly about it, you can gather a group of strong willed individuals and start a petition.” You teased him as you sat up.

“Are you sure that was 20 minutes? That went by really fast.” He pouted as he rolled onto his side. He lazily played with your fingers as he looked up at you with puppy dog eyes. You sighed deeply, eyes filling with regret as you pulled your hand away.

“Pete.” You said apologetically. “It was 20 minutes. No more touching.”

Peter nodded in understanding and withdrew his hand, letting it rest on his chest instead.

“It’s not long enough.” He mumbled as he stared out the window. “No amount of time is long enough.”

“I know.” You agreed with him. “But it’s better than how we used to be. At least we get to touch now.”

“For less than half an hour a day.” He grumbled as he sat up, his mood entirely altered now.

“It’s for the best. You don’t even know what I’d do to you if I could touch you all day.” You smiled coyly, trying it bring him back to a good mood as you stood up on your knees and crawled towards him. Peter perked up with a curious gaze as he turned his body to face you.

“What would you do?” He cocked an eyebrow as he leaned towards you but didn’t make contact.

“I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” You teased him before swiftly pulling away. Peter groaned and threw a pillow at you before his mood shifted.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Peter said apologetically as his eyes softened. “This is so much better than what we were doing before. I would prefer if I had all the time in the world to touch you, but I’ll take my 20 minutes. I’m lucky I get even that.”

You bit your bottom lip and checked your phone, seeing that it was two minutes past your allotted 20 minutes.

“We still have a minute.” You lied, focusing all your self control on not hurting him as you leaned in to kiss him. Peter eagerly kissed you back, rising on his knees to hold you closer to him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered against your lips. “I’m never going back to what we did before.”

“Me either.” You smiled fondly at him as you stroked his face with your thumbs. “Okay, times really up now. No more touching.”

Peter pouted and let go of you before flopping on the bed with a huff.

“No pouting either.” You teased him as you rubbed your aching temples.

“It would be a lot easier to stop touching you if you weren’t so pretty.” Peter chuckled as he watched you get dressed.

“Sorry about that. It’s all my fault.” You sighed dramatically as you pulled your shirt over your head.

“It is.” He nodded repeatedly. “It’s unbearable trying to resist kissing you every time you walk into a room.”

“I know the feeling.” You told him as you looked at him through the mirror on his dresser.

“Don’t look at me like that, peaches.” He warned. “The 20 minutes are up.”

“I know.” You smiled a little sadly. “I’m just looking.”

“I have to get to training.” Peter sighed as he checked his phone. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

“I’ll see you later, lover.” You blew him a kiss. He caught it, despite how corny it was, and held it against his heart.

“You make it so hard to leave.” He whined as he walked up to you, leaning his hands on either side of you but never touching you.

“Go. You don’t want to be late.” You reminded him playfully. “I’ll see you soon.”

“All right.” He jutted his bottom lip out. “Bye.”

As soon as Peter left the room, you ran to the connected bathroom and threw up in the toilet. You brushed your teeth with the toothbrush he had left there before sliding against the wall and putting your head in your hands. Your brain was pounding in your head, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. You rubbed your temples as hot tears of anguish rolled down your face, the pain worsening before going away.

~

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked once he noticed the pained look on your face in the living room.

“Nothing.” You shook your head as you sighed. “I just have a headache.”

“Again?” Bruce began to worry. “You’ve been complaining of one all week.”

“Yeah. I don’t know, it’s probably just a cold.” You lied as you adverted your eyes. Bruce didn’t buy into your lies and pressed a hand against your forehead. You immediately jumped back, fearful that you’d hurt him.

“Y/n, you’re burning up.” He really began to worry now.

“Careful, Br. Banner. It’s not safe for you to touch me.” You reminded him as you kept your distance.

“Could I run some labs?”

“Is that necessary?” You asked. “It’s just a headache.”

“You’ve only been using the stun gun once a week right? Like I told you?” He asked making you stop in your tracks.

“Yeah.” You lied. “Just once a week.”

“Alright, good.” He sighed in relief. “I made it with gamma radiation, you know. Too much of that will kill you.”

“Kill me how?” You wondered as your mouth went dry.

“Well, you were born with your powers.” He explained. “Your abilities are a part of your nervous system. Temporarily taking your powers away for 20 minutes holds up with nervous system. Too much radiation will slowly weaken you until you die.”

“Oh.” You nodded slowly. “I see.”

“But once a week is fine.” He assured you. “That shouldn’t do too much damage. It might give you a headache though. Would you mind if I ran some labs?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.” You said quietly as a panic set it. You used the stun gun 7 days a week and you we’re finally feeling the consequences.

“Let’s go.” Bruce escorted you to the lab.

An hour later, you left the lab with an anxious feeling in your tummy. You ran into Peter in the hallway and plastered a fake smile on so he wouldn’t worry.

“There you are.” Peter smiled as he approached you. “I burnt my hand on the oven again.”

“You did?” You worried as you tan to him. “Let me see.”

You took Peters hand in yours and squeezed it but didn’t feel his pain transfer to you.

“That’s weird.” You blinked in confusion. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Hm.” Peter fought a smile. “Weird.”

“You’re such a liar.” You playfully hit him when you realized his trick. “You didn’t burn your hand.”

“No. I just wanted to hold my girlfriends hand. I’m sorry.” He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes, still holding your hand.

“I forgive you but don’t do it again. This isn’t a game, Peter. I could seriously hurt you.” You reminded him. You began to worry he was gonna make a habit out of tricking you to touch him. You were feeling horribly sick, and you were a fast healer. You had no idea what would happen to Peter if you accidentally transferred your pain to him.

“I know.” Peter smiled apologetically. “I think I have a paper cut, though.”

“Where?” You raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

“My lips.” He said sheepishly.

“Uh Uh.” You shook your head teasingly. “Not fooling me, Parker.”

“I thought that would work.” He whined. “Fuck me.”

“Aw, I so would but we already had our 20 minutes today.” You teased him, making his jaw drop.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.” He narrowed his eyes at you. Before you could respond, you heard your name called from behind you.

“Y/n.”

You turned around, your smile immediately fading when you saw Bruce standing there with a frown.

“I’ll catch up with you.” You told Peter before jogging over to Bruce.

“Hi Dr. Banner.” You smiled weakly. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry.” Bruce whispered, looking incredibly guilty as he held your lab results in his hands.

“What happened?” Your mouth went dry.

“There must be something wrong with the gun. I must’ve calibrated it to disperse more gamma radiation than I intended. Your whole body is full of it. There should not be this much. I don’t know how this happened.” He apologized as a sick feeling settled in your tummy.

“Dr. Banner, it’s okay.” You assured him. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I must’ve gotten the calculations wrong or left out a variable or-“

“I use it everyday.” You blurted, cutting him off. Bruce’s face twisted in confusion as he processed what you said.

“What?”

“The stun gun. I use it everyday so I can touch Peter.” Tears came to your eyes as your confession came out. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Y/n, your body needs at least a week to recover from a blast of gamma radiation.” Bruce told you. “That’s why I told you to only use it once a week. Your body can’t heal in just a day, even with your enhanced abilities. Every time you use the gun, you make yourself sicker. Your ability to heal quickly is the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

Your jaw locked in fear as the tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t say anything as you sucked in a shark breath.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Bruce rubbed your shoulder. “My body is full of it too.”

“I’m so sorry. You told me it was dangerous and I did it anyway. I’m so stupid.” You whimpered as you wiped your face on the back of your hands.

“You’re not stupid. I’ve been here before.” Bruce sighed. “I pushed people away, even when I really loved them, because I was scared of hurting them. You’re not a monster for wanting to be loved.”

“Am I gonna die?” You whispered.

“I don’t know.” Bruce answered honestly. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Everyday for the last three months.”

“You should stop for at least 6 months then, and we’ll reassess then.” Bruce advised. You felt the air get knocked out of your chest when Bruce told you you wouldn’t be able to touch Peter again for 6 months.

“Dr. Banner, I can’t go back to how I was before.” You protested. “I can’t do that to Peter.”

“The only other option is poisoning yourself with the radiation until you die. I think Peter will understand.” Bruce told you.

“What about me?” You shrugged sadly. “What if I don’t understand?”

“Go talk to him.” Bruce advised. “Just have a calm, adult conversation.”

“Okay. Calm and adult.” You nodded. “I will.”

You immediately went to Peter’s room and knocked on his door, waiting to enter until he told you to.”

“Hey, peaches.” Peter smiled brightly as you shut the door behind you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Peter we have to break up.” You blurted out, making Peter sit up and go to the edge of his bed. So much for your calm and adult conversation.

“What?” Peter’s face fell at your words.

“I…I did something really bad.” You shook your hands as you began to panic. You paces around his room as the guilt and anxiety ate away at you.

“Peaches, it’s okay. Talk to me.” Peter reached out to touch you but quickly withdrew his hands when he remembered he couldn’t.

“I lied to you.” You confessed as tears came to your eyes.

“About what?” Peter asked slowly as you stopped pacing.

“Dr. Banner told me I could only use the stun gun once a week. I knew it was dangerous to use everyday but I did it anyway and it’s killing me.”

“Killing you?” Peter’s eyes darkened.

“The radiation. Dr. Banner said if I keep using it, it’ll kill me. I’m so sorry.” You began to cry, wishing more than anything that you could reach out and touch him.

“Then we just won’t use it anymore, peaches.” Peter said calmly. “Not if it’s killing you.”

“But we can’t use it for at least 6 months.” You cried. “You said so yourself, you hated the way we were before. You don’t want to go back. So I’m letting you go. I’m not gonna make you stay in this relationship if we can’t touch each other.”

“Peaches, I don’t love you because I get to touch you.” Peter chuckled softly. “And don’t get me wrong, I love getting to kiss you and hold you, but just being with you is my favorite part. I can go another 6 months without touching you if it means you’re still my girlfriend.”

“But…but you said you’d never go back.” You calmed down long enough to realize Peter wasn’t mad.

“I’d never go back to us being just friends. I can go back to us not touching if it keeps you safe. That’s all that matters to me.” Peter promised you.

“Really?” You asked hopefully.

“Really.” He nodded. “I love you in any way I can have you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled gratefully at him before pulling him into a kiss. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t think about the pain you were holding inside and kissed him deeply. Peter kissed you back for just a moment before you heard a small gasp emit from the back of his throat. You felt him slid off your lips and opened your eyes to see him collapsed on the floor.

“Peter?” You asked as you knelt down beside him. You rolled him over and let out a gasp when you saw how pale he was.

“Peter?!” You shook him aggressively. “Peter?!”

When Peter didn’t respond, you let out a guttural scream for help.

“Dr. Banner!”

Bruce rushed into the room when he heard your scream, stopping shortly when he saw Peter.

“What happened?” He asked as he knelt down beside you.

“No no no the radiation.” You cried as you shook Peter. “I just gave him the radiation.”

“Okay, calm down. Let me get him to the lab.” Bruce instructed as he grabbed Peters feet. You hooked your arms under Peter and helped Bruce carry him to the lab. You laid him on the table and stood anxiously as Bruce hooked Peter up to a monitor.

“You said the only thing keeping me alive was my healing abilities.” You worried as you chewed on your nails. “He doesn’t have that.”

“But he has something like it.” Bruce reminded you. “He’s still enhanced. He might not die from this.”

“Might?” You whispered at the little hope he was able to offer you. Bruce gave you an apologetic look as he continued to work on Peter. You felt useless as you stared at Peter’s lifeless body until you got an idea.

“Wait.” You spoke up. “Let me take his pain. I’ve done it before.”

Bruce was quiet for a minute as he stared at Peter’s monitor.

“He’s not in pain.” He said quietly.

“He has to be. He has to be if I was.” You reasoned.

“Y/n, Peter isn’t in any pain.” Bruce repeated. You realized he had stopped working on Peter and felt a sinking feeling in your tummy.

“Why?”

Bruce looked away from the monitor and took his glasses off for full dramatic effects.

“Because he’s dead.”

“What?” You shrieked as all the color left your face.

“I’m kidding. Was that a bad joke?” Bruce grimaced as you gasped for air. “You can take his pain. It’s just gonna hurt a lot.”

You gave him a frustrated look before placing your hands on either sides of Peter’s face.

“Come on, Peter.” You willed him. “Come on, Spiderman.”

It took a minute, but his pain slowly drew out of his body and into yours. Your veins darkened to a jet black as the radiation seeped back into your body, making you let out a scream.

“Y/n, be careful.” Bruce warned as Peter’s vitals began to improve.

“It’s killing me.” You screamed in agony as the color began to return to his cheeks.

“Because it’s three months worth of radiation at once. You’ve been building it up.” Bruce grimaced when he saw the toll it was taking on you.

“It hurts so bad.” You cried.

“It’s almost all out.” Bruce told you. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“Dr. Banner, I need you to do something for me.” You said breathlessly, your body beginning to shut down.

“What is it?” Bruce asked.

“I need you to recalibrate the stun gun to permanently remove my powers.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

“So nothing like this ever happens again.”

“Then you can’t be an Avenger.” Bruce protested.

“But I can be a human being.” You shouted. “I want that more. I want that most.”

“But-“

“Please.” You cried. “Just do it.”

“Okay.” Bruce agreed. “I will.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “I’m gonna pass out now.”

“Okay.” Bruce told you, but you had already hit the floor.

~

Once Peter’s vitals were stable, Bruce transferred him to his own room. As soon as he was awake and responsive, you went to visit him.

“Hey.” You greeted Peter in a soft tone as he woke up from a nap.

“Hi peaches.” Peter lit up when you sat on his bed. “I’m surprised you came to see me. I’m…I’m really glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I come to see you?” You smiled teasingly

“Dr. Banner told me what happened.” Peter admitted. “I thought you were going to blame yourself for what happened and be too scared to come near me.”

“Are you scared that I’m near you?” You asked him softly as you kept your eyes down.

“No.” Peter shook his head immediately. “I want you to be near me.”

“Good. I want to be near you too.” You chuckled as you laced your fingers through his. Peter looked at your hands in happy shock before giving them a squeeze.

“You’re touching me?” He asked happily.

“After what happened, I had two options.” You explained. “I could’ve shut you out to ensure I never hurt you again, or I could make sure I never hurt anybody again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had Dr. Banner remove my powers.” You smiled sheepishly. “I told him to take them all away, but he found a way to let me keep the healing aspect. I can still heal, but I can’t hurt.”

“You had him take away your powers?” Peter asked in shock as he sat up straighter. “Why?”

“Because human beings need to be touched.” You shrugged. “I didn’t want to live without that anymore. I didn’t want to be allotted 20 minutes a day to touch the boy I love.”

“You did this for me?” Peter asked fondly as you stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“No.” You shook your head. “I did this for me. I didn’t want to worry anymore. I wanted to be free.”

“So this means…” Peter raised an eyebrow. You nodded a little before leaning in to kiss him, feeling weightless as the fear of hurting him was long behind you.

“It means we get to do this all the time, lover.” You whispered against his lips. “Anytime we want.”

“Anytime we want?” He asked for comfirmation.

“Yup.” You popped the p for emphasis.

“In that case.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “What were you saying before about what I couldn’t handle?”

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