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[sunnyleech]

Bro I just remembered I have management training courses 9-11 am on Friday then have a 3-10 pm shift

#i thought it was going to be a textbook or online thing but i think my general manager is teaching it? #im really excited to do something more educational again though #like...now that i think about it this is going to be so good for me #and not just for my resume

[otter-byte]

copilot calling my code a hack. Okay bestie how about I wave a magnet over your severs and we'll see how you feel.

#lmao shut up haz #before you try and pull my wig for using copilot. congrats for buying into the myth that code gen tools could ever actually replace devs #I use these tools mostly because it's good resume building. they're actually not bad at generating refactors for declarative code. #but once you start doing anything with meaningful complexity they just start confidently spitting out nonsense that doesn't work #copilot is basically just a streamlined version of using stackoverflow. which is great because stackoverflow is complete ass #and searching any code online just exposes you to extreme amounts of medium blog SEO spam

[mx-nada]

the desire to be online more is high but i sleep too much. and also college

#hal blips #I NEED TO GET TO THE REST OF THE TWOGATY REQUESTS BUT IM SO SLEEPY!!! and classes are resuming on tuesday im nooooot ready #i also wanna be online more in general to talk to people more so i rlly hope i dont end up getting too busy again :(

[fairuzfan]

"We have come together as Palestinian academics and staff of Gaza universities to affirm our existence, the existence of our colleagues and our students, and the insistence on our future, in the face of all current attempts to erase us.

The Israeli occupation forces have demolished our buildings but our universities live on. We reaffirm our collective determination to remain on our land and to resume teaching, study, and research in Gaza, at our own Palestinian universities, at the earliest opportunity.

We call upon our friends and colleagues around the world to resist the ongoing campaign of scholasticide in occupied Palestine, to work alongside us in rebuilding our demolished universities, and to refuse all plans seeking to bypass, erase, or weaken the integrity of our academic institutions. The future of our young people in Gaza depends upon us, and our ability to remain on our land in order to continue to serve the coming generations of our people.

We issue this call from beneath the bombs of the occupation forces across occupied Gaza, in the refugee camps of Rafah, and from the sites of temporary new exile in Egypt and other host countries. We are disseminating it as the Israeli occupation continues to wage its genocidal campaign against our people daily, in its attempt to eliminate every aspect of our collective and individual life.

Our families, colleagues, and students are being assassinated, while we have once again been rendered homeless, reliving the experiences of our parents and grandparents during the massacres and mass expulsions by Zionist armed forces in 1947 and 1948.

Our civic infrastructure – universities, schools, hospitals, libraries, museums and cultural centres – built by generations of our people, lies in ruins from this deliberate continuous Nakba. The deliberate targeting of our educational infrastructure is a blatant attempt to render Gaza uninhabitable and erode the intellectual and cultural fabric of our society. However, we refuse to allow such acts to extinguish the flame of knowledge and resilience that burns within us.

Allies of the Israeli occupation in the United States and United Kingdom are opening yet another scholasticide front through promoting alleged reconstruction schemes that seek to eliminate the possibility of independent Palestinian educational life in Gaza. We reject all such schemes and urge our colleagues to refuse any complicity in them. We also urge all universities and colleagues worldwide to coordinate any academic aid efforts directly with our universities.

We extend our heartfelt appreciation to the national and international institutions that have stood in solidarity with us, providing support and assistance during these challenging times. However, we stress the importance of coordinating these efforts to effectively reopen Palestinian universities in Gaza.

We emphasise the urgent need to reoperate Gaza’s education institutions, not merely to support current students, but to ensure the long-term resilience and sustainability of our higher education system. Education is not just a means of imparting knowledge; it is a vital pillar of our existence and a beacon of hope for the Palestinian people.

Accordingly, it is essential to formulate a long-term strategy for rehabilitating the infrastructure and rebuilding the entire facilities of the universities. However, such endeavours require considerable time and substantial funding, posing a risk to the ability of academic institutions to sustain operations, potentially leading to the loss of staff, students, and the capacity to reoperate.

Given the current circumstances, it is imperative to swiftly transition to online teaching to mitigate the disruption caused by the destruction of physical infrastructure. This transition necessitates comprehensive support to cover operational costs, including the salaries of academic staff.

Student fees, the main source of income for universities, have collapsed since the start of the genocide. The lack of income has left staff without salaries, pushing many of them to search for external opportunities.

Beyond striking at the livelihoods of university faculty and staff, this financial strain caused by the deliberate campaign of scholasticide poses an existential threat to the future of the universities themselves.

Thus, urgent measures must be taken to address the financial crisis now faced by academic institutions, to ensure their very survival. We call upon all concerned parties to immediately coordinate their efforts in support of this critical objective.

The rebuilding of Gaza’s academic institutions is not just a matter of education; it is a testament to our resilience, determination, and unwavering commitment to securing a future for generations to come.

The fate of higher education in Gaza belongs to the universities in Gaza, their faculty, staff, and students and to the Palestinian people as a whole. We appreciate the efforts of peoples and citizens around the world to bring an end to this ongoing genocide.

We call upon our colleagues in the homeland and internationally to support our steadfast attempts to defend and preserve our universities for the sake of the future of our people, and our ability to remain on our Palestinian land in Gaza. We built these universities from tents. And from tents, with the support of our friends, we will rebuild them once again."

#palestine #gaza

[maythearo]

" Welcome back to Night Raven College's 'Ghostly Gossip'! The school's unofficial main online source for the latest news, articles and trending topics circulating around campus! "

" I'd usually describe this as a super exclusive entry, but who am I kidding? If you've spent more than five minutes in this school, you've already seen his shadows lurking around in the background at some point (I mean, he's like. super tall.) "

Navigation:

R. Rosehearts ▪︎ T. Clover ▪︎ C. Diamond ▪︎ A. Trappola ▪︎ D. Spade ▪︎ L. Kingscholar ▪︎ R. Bucchi ▪︎ J. Howl ▪︎ A. Ashengrotto ▪︎ J. Leech ▪︎ F. Leech ▪︎ K. Al Asim ▪︎ J. Viper ▪︎ V. Schoenheit ▪︎ R. Hunt ▪︎ E. Felmier ▪︎ I. Shroud ▪︎ O. Shroud ▪︎ M. Draconia ▪︎ L. Vanrouge ▪︎ S. Zigvolt ▪︎ Silver

Design notes:

Man I've been postponing this for so long, I don't even remember half of what my process with this one was like. But I concluded that if I don't post this now, the loss of my mental notes will only get worse with time, so here you go, putting this out there once and for all lol

For a general picture I wanted Malleus' vibes to be more fairy tale-like. (He ended up reminding me a bit of Faybelle too, in a way.) The colors of those iridescent black feathers go well with him, I think. And did someone mention Howl's moving castle? Yeah, Howl's monster form.

I got this one ask before, reccomending the Cockatrice monster for Malleus, and searching a bit about it, is apparently also often taken as a synonymous with the basilisk? So like, Wyvern meets Basilisk, but it is also giving fae, idk. Listen, the idea inside my head is like, if you're asked to imagine a mythical creature that roams around a dark forest, outside the castle of a cursed princess, it's him. He's the creature.

And I'll admit I have not been catching up with the Diasomnia's chapter :( so give me 50 years at least so I can make up some more in-depth lore for his MH au counterpart (or maybe I'll just read a resume out of the wiki). Malleus enjoyers are free to drop headcanons onto him, you guys' knowledge of his character are always so astronomical it never fails to impress me /gen

#.the ghostly gossip #my art #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #malleus draconia #twst au #diasomnia #btw my clip studio trial has ended so I'm back on ibis paint for the text editing on the character intros so #if the font looks different that's why 👍

[star-anise]

are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

[emilybeemartin]

Hey! Hey, would you like to be a park ranger?

USA Jobs just posted a bunch of national park ranger positions for summer 2024--everything from small historic sites to the big flagship parks like Yellowstone and Yosemite. These are seasonal positions specifically for interpretive rangers, which means you begin around May-ish and end around September-October-ish. Interpretation is the branch of the NPS that does educational programming and frontline visitor services, like working in the visitor centers, leading guided walks and talks, and just generally interacting with the public in a friendly, helpful way.

If you have a four-year college degree in just about any subject (honestly, I've worked with people with degrees ranging from theater to business to geoscience), or 12 months' relevant work experience (customer service, retail, education, camp counseling, etc), or a combination of the two, you're eligible to apply. All you need is a resume and transcripts if you're using education to qualify.

Just go to USAJobs.gov and search for "park ranger interpretation" in the search bar. The key things you're looking for in the results are listings from the National Park Service, the code GS 5 (which is the entry level for this position), and the phrase Not to Exceed 1039 hours (which indicates it's a seasonal position).

Some tips!

>Each application requires you to answer a questionnaire about your experience with things like customer service, preparing educational programs, researching scientific topics, etc. Be generous with yourself on these, because other folks will be. Even if you don't think you're an "expert" in something, consider your past work creatively. Have you presented research projects in class? Have you worked retail? Can you keep up a professional demeanor when somebody's upset? You have the qualifications. Rate yourself as such.

>Be thorough and specific in your resume. The NPS isn't a one-pager resume organization. They need to see evidence that you have the qualifications you say you do. The best way to ensure this is to copy, word for word, the phrases in the above questionnaire and insert them in the relevant places in your resume. So if the questionnaire says "Can you research, prepare, and present scientific information to a lay public," go to the appropriate place in your resume and write "I researched, prepared, and presented scientific information to my peers" or something similar. I kid you not, my current resume is ten pages long.

>Cover letters are optional but helpful! There are lots of templates online to help you write one; be sure to be professional. Mine is around 250 words and has three short paragraphs:

1- Position I'm applying for

2- Quick summary of most relevant work/education experience

3- Additional skills/rizz that makes me stand out (for me it's writing/illustrating, which helps me create visitor programs)

>Two things the NPS loves that will boost you are foreign language skills and being a US military veteran. Highlight these elements if you have them.

>Are you a schoolteacher? Check out the Teacher-Ranger-Teacher program.

>The big flashy parks are posted as standalone listings, but most of the others are bundled into "Multiple Locations" that are based on region. Consider applying for many of these smaller monuments and historic sites---they get far fewer applicants and are easier to secure. And many are absolutely beautiful. Want to work at Arches? Also apply to Natural Bridges. Want to work in Yellowstone? Also try Lassen Volcanic. Prefer history over science? You have dozens of amazing options from every facet of American history.

>Apply today! Apply now! Many of these parks cap their applicants because they get so many, and the rest will close after a week or so. A glance at the ones that were posted today and yesterday show them either closing on October 15 or 22. Some regions haven't posted yet, so keep checking the website in the next few weeks.

I love my work as a park ranger---it's such a rewarding way to spend a summer (or two, or ten), and it can open doors to other things. You won't get rich, but you will make great friends and great memories, add a killer section to your resume, and spend four months immersed with smart, passionate people in some of the coolest places in the US.

Plus you get a SICK HAT

#jobs #national park service #park ranger #job search #job seekers

[cupid-styles]

lace (grumpy!h)

in which Harry is grumpy and mean to Y/N, who's just shy and trying to get through the day, and they're both teaching assistants for the same class.

word count: 4.9k

content warnings/author's notes: h being a dick, grumpy h x soft girl trope <;3 part two will be posted a week from today!

masterlist | talk to me |

part two | part three

Y/N thinks Harry hates her. 

Which is kind of silly, really, because they didn't even know each other prior to being assigned as teaching assistants to the same literary seminar. They roam in two completely different circles and never would have crossed paths if not for the fact that Y/N is an English major and Harry got an A- in the course last year. 

Y/N's initially really excited that Professor Donnolly asked her to be one of her TAs. At their first one-on-one meeting together, she lets Y/N know that there will be one other TA this semester since it's such a large class, but this isn't concerning to her. She's quiet and introverted and an expert at keeping to herself, and she's far more focused on helping students in the seminar and building up her resume. 

So, she's generally pretty careless about the whole thing until Harry strolls in on the first day. He's dressed in all black, a tattered band tee decorating his torso, inky tattoos covering his arms, and a coffee in hand. He doesn't even have a backpack with him, which Y/N finds weird — she'd spent the previous night printing out worksheets and contact information for her batch of students, all of which were neatly filed in a folder in her bag. 

He plops down next to her at the front of the lecture hall and pulls his phone out. Y/N isn't typically very nosey, but she can't help that as she sits there, anxiously awaiting for the class to begin, she notices just about 20 missed texts lighting up his screen. She doesn't think she receives that many messages in a week. 

Because she's shy, she's hesitant to introduce herself, but maybe he doesn't realize there's another TA for the course despite sitting down right next to her. So she clears her throat and nervously picks at a loose string on her knitted cardigan before mustering up the courage to say something. 

"Hi," her voice is scratchy since it's the first time she's said anything all morning, aside from ordering an iced vanilla latte at the on-campus cafe, "I'm Y/N. Are you the other TA for this semester?"

Harry peers up at her with a glaring look. His eyes are so piercing that it almost makes her jump under his gaze. 

"Yeah, I'm Harry. Please don't continue this conversation, I'm hungover."

Y/N's jaw snaps closed at his bluntness, a warm blush encasing her entire body. She's so embarrassed that it physically hurts — and it's enough of a reason to stay quiet every time she sees Harry, twice a week at the seminar.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, the pair seemingly fine with their lack of verbal communication. Every now and then they'll have to physically interact, whether it be passing papers or the one time Harry held the door open for Y/N when they were leaving the lecture hall. She's surprised he didn't purposely slam it in her face.

She'll admit, it bothers her just a tad, but it's just another facet of her personality — an incessant need to people-please — that she scribbles down in her planner as a reminder to bring up in therapy sometime soon.

On Tuesday after class has ended, she's packing up her things, her back to Harry when Professor Donnolly strolls over to their table, the sound of her pumps clacking against the tiled floor. 

"Harry, Y/N, are you two available right now?"

In any other instance, Y/N would find a reason to be busy — her social battery is drained from today's workshopping class, where she went around discussing thesis statements with her assigned group of students — but this TA gig matters to her, especially after she did some online digging on Professor Donnolly and found out she has connections at multiple publishing firms Y/N could only dream of working at. So she sucks it up and bears herself for whatever her presence is needed for, even if it means being around Harry.

"I'm free," Y/N replies and Harry grunts out some form of affirmative answer. 

"Great!" Donnolly claps her hands together, "So listen, I'm seriously behind in going through these outlines and they need to be graded and handed back by Thursday's class. Do you guys think you could make a dent in the stack this afternoon? You could use my office while I teach this next lecture."

The thought of sitting in an office alone with Harry sounds absolutely humiliating, but to her surprise, he's the one that agrees to it before she even has a chance to run it through her brain. She zones out while Donnolly hands Harry the keys to her office, providing instructions on where the papers and rubric are, before he's turning on his heel and heading in the direction of the English department. Y/N scrambles and throws her bag over her shoulder, her chunky oxfords squeaking as she rushes to catch up to Harry. 

"You don't have to join me," Harry grumbles once she finally reaches him so they're walking side by side, "I'm perfectly capable of grading these outlines by myself." 

With a wrinkle in her brow, Y/N hugs her backpack strap closer to her body. "She asked both of us, so I'm helping."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know if you duck out to do whatever shit you do in your free time. Volunteering with the elderly or summat."

He mutters the last part under his breath, but Y/N hears it. Pain quickly zips through her stomach but it's gone just as quickly as it entered. 

"I don't volunteer with the elderly," is her final comeback, albeit mumbled as they reach Donnolly's office. Harry stuffs the key in the lock and twists the door open before flicking the lights on and zeroing in on the stack of papers on her desk. 

"Right, well, you act like a fuckin' church mouse, so apologies if my assumptions are a bit off." 

Y/N huffs and drops her bag on the cushiony couch. She doesn't even know Harry, so what gives him the right to talk about her like that?

"You're the one that told me not to talk to you on the first day," Y/N says pointedly, walking over to where he stands with the papers in hand, "I'm only doing what you asked of me. And don't call me a church mouse, you don't know anything about me."

She snatches the folder from him and halves the papers as he cackles from above. She can't help but notice that he towers over her, and it makes her swallow nervously. 

"You took that seriously? Jesus, you need to lighten up. Haven't you ever been hungover before?"

Y/N rolls her eyes as she sits down on the couch, folding her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up. She digs in her bag for her favorite red pen, fetching it from her pouch of writing utensils.

"Oh wait, you probably haven't. Because you're a church mouse." 

Y/N grits her teeth. She's never had someone care to provoke her this much and it's so annoying. Harry is so annoying!

"Can you please stop?" She says softly, removing the cap from her pen. "You don't have to be mean to me just because you don't like me." 

"How do you know whether I like you or not?" Harry scoffs as he sits down at Donnolly's desk, "I don't even know you." 

Y/N has to admit, that one hurts. So instead of responding, she swallows the lump forming in her throat and starts to read over Amanda Mai's outline. 

Harry doesn't bother her again that day. In fact, he doesn't even say goodbye when he's done. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The following weeks go similarly. 

Donnolly stops them both after class with some ask of grading papers or outlines or otherwise, claiming that she thinks they work well together, which Y/N thinks is some cruel joke from the universe. Every time her and Harry walk the familiar route to her office in silence, she wonders what she did wrong in her life and what bullshit karma she's on the receiving end of. 

At a certain point, she wonders if someone has made a voodoo doll of her just to torture her, especially when she thinks Harry's finally skipping one of their grading sessions together, only to find his tongue down some sorority girl's throat. He nearly pushes the girl off of him when he notices Y/N's unintentionally interrupted their makeout session. She holds back a snicker when she hears the girl ask what his problem is as she unlocks the door.

"Gotta go," Harry tells the girl lowly, brushing past her to follow Y/N into the office. The girl garbles out a surprised "what?" just as Harry's shutting the door and plopping down at Donnolly's desk chair. 

It's quiet for a moment and Y/N debates saying anything, knowing that however she chooses to approach the situation — whether she ignore the confused, pissed off girl outside or comment on Harry's apparent distaste for her — he'll dole out some rude response. 

She rolls her lips into her mouth as she passes him his half of the papers, eventually settling on, "You probably shouldn't bring your girlfriend to your job. It's unprofessional, I think, and you both could've gotten in trouble."

Harry chuckles dryly and Y/N immediately regrets her decision. 

"Mind your business, little mouse." he mutters, but not before he utters something out under his breath. "She's not my girlfriend either."

Y/N nods slowly and lowers her eyes to the assignment in front of her. Today, they're working on editing the first drafts of the class' papers, which is guaranteed to take hours. She grimaces as she reads over Ty Baker's introduction, realizing that she has a hefty load of grading ahead of her. 

When she pulls out her pencil case from her bag, she hears Harry scoff from across the room. Mentally, she hopes it's due to the poor writing he's reading, but she knows she's wrong.

"Do you always wear shit like that?" he sneers. A hot flush instantly pulverizes her body, making her feel embarrassed and self-conscious within seconds. 

She doesn't reply, but of course — of course — Harry continues. 

"I mean, seriously, how old are you? 23? 24? And you come to campus in little skirts and cardigans and those stupid Doc Martens. Are you trying to look half your age?" 

Y/N swallows harshly, attempting to focus on the words on the page. If she ignores him, he'll stop eventually. Harry thrives on her attempting to fight back. 

"Are you even gonna defend yourself?" Harry spits, leaning back in Donnolly's chair, "Kind of pathetic, really—"

Y/N's head snaps up, tears blurring her vision. She sniffles and looks at him, the embarrassment now overwhelming when his face falls, realizing that he's made her cry. 

"Please stop," Y/N says in a watery voice, "You're just being mean."

Harry stares her down with low eyes, his raspberry lips slighted parted. She can feel his intimidating gaze even as she tries to redirect her attention back to Ty's draft, attempting to blink the salty tears away. She thinks she's made it through until a shudder racks through her body, a sad and involuntary quiver sounding from her chest.

The room is dead silent so she knows Harry hears it, and she wants nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself alive. It would be better than having to face the fact that Harry made her cry over rude comments. 

She braces herself for another tongue lashing but instead, he stands from the desk, grabs his things, and rushes out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting on the couch by herself with tear-stained cheeks. 

She wonders if she's ever been this embarrassed before in her life.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N spends the weekend wondering if she can ask Donnolly to transfer her to another section.

As she cuddles with her kitten, Ginger, on the couch, binge-watching episode upon episode of Love Island, she contemplates how to approach the situation. 

"Ging, what do you think I should do?" she murmurs to the orange cat perched on her thighs, "He's kind of awful and he's so mean to me, I don't understand why. I never see him act that way with anyone else. I don't think I did anything to him."

Ginger meows.

"Okay, meow again if you think I should try to move to Donnolly's other seminar."

The kitten jumps off her legs and traipses to her food bowl. Y/N lets out a sigh and falls to the side face-first into a mess of throw pillows.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Tuesday morning, Harry is tired.

He stayed up way too late last night and Jenna wouldn't stop blowing up his phone, wondering where he was over the weekend and asking if he wanted to come over and hookup.

(It was a Monday for Christ's sake, and she clearly couldn't take a hint — if he hadn't replied to her last five texts, why on earth would he want to go and get his dick wet now?

He realizes that he's done worse, so he takes it back.)

He typically spends his weekends ambling through parties and bars with his mates. Jenna is just one of his current and most reliable hookups, and he clearly made a mistake by tonguing her in public last week while he waited for Y/N to unlock Donnolly's office. It had been a spur of the moment rendezvous — Jenna happened to be walking through the English department just as Harry was, and she surged towards him for a kiss that quickly grew to a heated makeout once she stuck her tongue in his mouth. 

Harry was weak and rarely one to turn down a midday hookup, but the second he heard Y/N's clunky footsteps (those Doc Marten oxfords she wore were a dead giveaway), he tore apart from Jenna. 

Because of their public snog session, he assumes that she thinks their arrangement is something more. And she couldn't be more wrong, because ever since Thursday afternoon, all he's been able to think about is Y/N.

He doesn't even know why. She's quiet and shy and the complete opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to. She rarely even fights back when he tries to rile her up, which he thought would be fun, but then he went and made her fucking cry last week and now he feels like the worst person to walk the planet.

In hindsight, Harry knows he was a fucking dick to her on Thursday. He doesn't know what it is about her, but it annoys him that she's so shy. She's smart and pretty and sweet and he doesn't know why she doesn't see that, instead opting for quietness and soft smiles and a constant hope that no one will notice her. 

Harry very much notices her, and it makes him grumpy.

So on Tuesday morning, he decides that he's going to attempt to make it up to her. He can't promise that he won't be rude, but when he makes his daily stop at his favorite coffee shop, he orders his own drink and hers, an iced vanilla oat milk latte. He hopes that she also didn't grab one before class but figures that at the very least, the effort would be appreciated. Maybe.

And Harry is actually kind of... nervous as he strolls into the lecture hall. He usually arrives a minute or two before class starts but today he's a whopping 10 minutes early, giving tight smiles to the students that wave hello to him. He's surprised that Y/N isn't there yet though he's never been this early before — maybe she likes to get there with five minutes to spare, even if she strikes him as an obsessively early type of person.

His eyebrows furrow when Donnolly enters the room and greets Harry with a grin, setting her things up at the podium. Clearing his throat, he tries to seem as normal as possible as he glances at the clock at the back of the hall. 

"Where's Y/N?" he asks, turning to look at Donnolly. 

The professor glances down at Harry, who's sitting at the TA table, his leg bouncing. He's clutching his own coffee cup and Y/N's is next to him, but now the plastic cup is beading with condensation and sweating onto the wooden desk.

"She's not feeling well today," Donnolly replies casually, her eyes peering over to the extra coffee on the table, "She said she'll try to make it to grading this afternoon, but I told her that wouldn't be necessary if she needs time to rest."

Harry coughs awkwardly and nods, ignoring the pang of guilt zip through his heart.

Donnolly purses her lips before clearing her throat and typing something on her laptop. "You have her number, right? I haven't had a chance to check on her but I want to make sure she's doing alright. Would you mind?" 

"I don't have her number, no." 

She hums and nods, "I just emailed it to you." 

Harry goes to reply, but Donnolly is already clapping her hands to announce the start of class.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Harry can't stop staring at Y/N's phone number.

At this point, he knows he's being a total and utter weirdo. Donnolly gave it to him to check on her, but instead of texting her, he opens her email and stares at the 10 digits until they blur together. He types it in his phone twice but can't decide on what to say. He knows it doesn't have to be a big deal — he's never been this stressed over having a girl's number before! And besides the fact, this isn't even that kind of deal, it's Y/N. 

Silly, stupid Y/N, who he can't stop thinking about, who he feels bad for being mean to, who he wishes came to class today so he could give her her dumb iced latte but instead had to throw out the melted, watered down beverage.

He doesn't text her, but he does the next logical step of looking her up on social media. Of course, her Instagram profile is on private and she hasn't posted on Twitter in five years. He tries to find any public trace of her online only to come up empty, so he groans and leans back against his pillows, pulls up the empty text thread and pastes her number in. 

It takes him four rewrites and 10 minutes of agony to finally land on: Hey. Donnolly asked me to see how you're doing.

Harry wants to throw his phone across the room but he resists, instead clutching it tightly in his palm. It buzzes a moment later and he nearly yelps to see her number on his screen. 

who is this?

"Oh my god," he grunts, slapping a hand over his forehead, "I didn't even say it was me!"

Grumbling, he quickly types back. It's Harry. She said you weren't feeling well.

He keeps the text thread up and watches as the speech bubble appears, then fades away. It happens three times before she replies. 

yea I have a migraine. im fine thanks

Harry swallows. His mouth dries as he tries to figure out how he can continue the conversation but she's really not giving him anything to go off of. He can't say he blames her, though.

Do you need anything?

Again, the three dots pop up on his screen and disappear twice more. 

no thank you

This time, he replies quickly: Do you think you'll be able to attend class on Thursday? If not, I can bring you the papers you have left to grade so you don't fall too behind.

He figures that's a decent response — maybe one that warrants more than three words, and he even wonders if it portrays his attempt to patch things up. 

if i need anything im capable of doing it myself. 

Harry sighs and locks his phone. He definitely deserves this.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Thursday, Y/N doesn't show up to class again. 

And at this point, Harry is ready to call her up or text her, or even email her to demand some answers. He's not sure what answers he's looking for — she said she had a migraine on Tuesday, but how could she still be dealing with it two days later? — but he's annoyed that she's not here. 

When class is over, Donnolly wordlessly hands her keys to him. He flashes her a tight small, dumps the rest of his coffee, and walks the short distance to her office, stewing in his anger. Had he really been that mean? He didn't think so; he knew he was a dick and yeah, he still regrets making her cry, but was it worth missing two days of class? She'll be so behind in grading, what's the point in even being a teaching assistant if she's just going to—

Harry's face wrinkles in confusion when he approaches the small office space, noticing that the lamp is already on, radiating a warm glow from the corner. The door is unlocked, too, which Donnolly never does. 

"Go fuckin' figure," he mutters to himself, prepared to have to deal with some sort of English department break-in, when he pushes the door open to find Y/N inside, sprawled out across the blue velvet sofa with her pink cardigan bunched up over her eyes.

He's immediately perplexed, and he wouldn't know it's Y/N if not for those clunky Doc Martens on her feet. Instead of her usual Levi jeans or rotation of mini skirts, she's wearing leggings and a baggy t-shirt over her form, her hair tied up and flopped over her head.

He can't tell if she's awake or not, so he very quietly shuts the door behind him. Her lips part and she takes a deep breath, her hand flying up to her temples with a wince.

"Y/N?" Harry whispers, dropping Donnolly's keys on her desk. 

"Leave me alone," she croaks, "Everything hurts, just shut up. Please."

Harry smiles gently as she tacks on a please at the end of her request. Something about her delicate state is very sweet, but it's quickly replaced with concern as he kneels down next to the couch. 

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, fingers itching to move the cardigan covering her face.

"No."

"What's the matter?"

"Migraine."

"Why are you on campus, then?"

"Stop asking me questions." 

He does, allowing her to ruminate in the silence as he decides what he should do. It's but a minute or two more before she slowly moves the cardigan down her face, revealing tired, squinty eyes that stare up at Harry.

"I've missed two days of classes and I didn't want to miss anymore. I came to campus this morning and I couldn't even make it through my first one. Donnolly said I could rest in here."

"All from a migraine?" Harry presses, a bemused expression on his face.

"Yes. I get them from stress."

It's the most that she's spoken to him in days and he chalks it up to her disoriented nature. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are bleary, fatigue and pain apparent in her every move. 

"Do you want to go home?" he asks. He doesn't know much about migraines, but his sister gets them sometimes and she always complains about his voice being too loud. He tries to keep his questions at minimal volume, teetering just above a whisper.

"Yeah, but I don't have a car and it's too bright outside to walk." 

"I can drive you," Harry murmurs without a second thought, "My car is in the building lot." 

"Isn't that a faculty lot?"

He rolls his eyes, "Are you really gonna harp on that right now?"

Y/N doesn't reply to this, instead trying her best to sit up, only to be met with a painful recoil. Harry jumps to keep her stable, his hands stretching out to steady her arms and keep her upright. 

"Sorry," he quickly mutters, "Don't want you to pass out on me."

She nods, and that's how Harry knows she must be really sick. He scrambles up and digs his car keys out of his pocket, then grabs his sunglasses dangling from his tee-shirt. 

"Here, you can wear these." 

Y/N doesn't reply and his shoulders droop in concern, carefully reaching forward to place them over her eyes. 

"Don't tell me if I look dumb." she mumbles, making him laugh.

"You don't. You look quite sweet, actually." 

He ignores the compliment that seems to fall from his lips effortlessly, instead choosing to focus on getting her home safely. Harry grabs her backpack and swings it over his shoulder, "Do you need help getting up?"

With squinted eyes, Y/N looks up at him, nodding once. She looks so sad and it kills him, mumbling out an "alright" as he reaches his hands out to help her stand. Once she's on her feet, she's capable of moving on her own, clutching her soft cardigan in arms. He doesn't want to touch her any more without her permission, especially if she hates him as much as she acts. He may be a dick, but he'd never intentionally try to make her feel uncomfortable when she's in such a vulnerable state.

Together, they walk out of the building and to the parking lot, where Harry's navy sedan is parked. He wants to make a joke about her pointing out that yes, technically he left his car in the faculty lot, but she just looks so exhausted that he doesn't have it in him. Gently, he guides her to the passenger's side and unlocks the car, making sure that she gets in safely. When she does, he rushes around the vehicle, placing her bag in the backseat and starting the car. 

"Where do you live, Y/N?" Harry asks quietly. She looks over at him in his black Ray Bans and a small smile quirks at his lips. He knows she would never be caught dead in this style of sunglass, but for the time being, he wants to take a picture on his phone so he never forgets the way she looks.

"On Maple." she grunts out as she tucks her arms into her cardigan. It's the end of summer, slowly crawling towards fall, but the daily temperature is still quite warm. He frowns and lowers the air.

"Do you have a roommate that can take care of you?" 

"I live alone."

His frown deepens at this as he pulls out of the parking lot and down the road. Yes, they're in grad school, both fully capable adults, but she has to get lonely living by herself, didn't she? He's never seen her out at bars or parties, and if stress migraines are a persistent thing in her life, how does she typically get through them alone?

Harry lives a few streets over from Maple so he knows how to get there. She makes some grumbly noise to let him know that he's reached their destination, so he parks outside and turns the car off. 

"I'll walk you in, if that's alright," Harry says. She pauses as she undoes her seatbelt, taking a moment to glance at him through the dark sunglasses. 

"Okay. But only because I need you to carry my bag in and make sure I don't puke on the way to my bed."

"Sure," he murmurs, making quick work to follow her inside. He realizes he must look ridiculous, dressed in all black with her pastel pink bag looped over his shoulder.

Y/N's house is very... Y/N. He's not sure what he expected since he's never really wondered about her living conditions, but the one-bedroom apartment is small and cozy, filled with art and plants and candles. Her favorite colors — or what Harry assumes to be her favorites — are constant threads throughout the home, accents of light pink and forest green dancing through her kitchen on mugs and in her living room on throw blankets and pillows. She has a large vase of sunflowers on her coffee table and a sting forms somewhere in his body, wondering if someone — a romantic someone — gave them to her.

Harry notices a small cat toddle towards her, instantly pawing at her shoes as she kicks them off. 

"Not now, Ging," Y/N mumbles, "Love you bunches, but 'm still sick."

"Ging?" Harry asks as he gently places her bag on the velvet green armchair in her living room. He picks the tiny kitten up and strokes the white patch on its head.

"Short for Ginger," she replies, turning to look at him. Her eyebrows raise behind the sunglasses when she sees that Ginger is already in Harry's arms, purring away at his pets. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would roll her eyes at the little traitor. "Um... I'm just gonna go upstairs and change and go to bed."

Harry nods, "Do you need anything?"

If she's being honest, Y/N hates going through migraines alone. She can't do anything by herself and she feels far more isolated and lonely than usual. In college, her roommate, Kelsey, was helpful and understanding, but Kelsey moved across the country after graduation. Besides her parents, Y/N doesn't have anyone else to help her in times of need like this.

"Yeah," she finally sighs, much to both her and Harry's surprise, "Can you... just stick around for a little? It's fine if you have things to do, but migraines give me a lot of anxiety and I... it helps to have someone here. Also, Ginger is lonely."

"Well, if Ginger needs company, then I'm more than happy to stay."

It's the first time he's ever made Y/N smile.

Read part two here :) | Read part three here :)

#writing #harry styles #grumpy h #harry #fic rec #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #one direction #harrys house #hslot #long hair harry #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fic rec

[dreamdolldeveloper]

back to basics

mostly free resources to help you learn the basics that i've gathered for myself so far that i think are cool

everyday

gcfglobal - about the internet, online safety and for kids, life skills like applying for jobs, career planning, resume writing, online learning, today's skills like 3d printing, photoshop, smartphone basics, microsoft office apps, and mac friendly. they have core skills like reading, math, science, language learning - some topics are sparse so hopefully they keep adding things on. great site to start off on learning.

handsonbanking - learn about finances. after highschool, credit, banking, investing, money management, debt, goal setting, loans, cars, small businesses, military, insurance, retirement, etc.

bbc - learning for all ages. primary to adult. arts, history, science, math, reading, english, french, all the way to functional and vocational skills for adults as well, great site!

education.ket - workplace essential skills

general education

mathsgenie - GCSE revision, grade 1-9, math stages 1-14, provides more resources! completely free.

khan academy - pre-k to college, life skills, test prep (sats, mcat, etc), get ready courses, AP, partner courses like NASA, etc. so much more!

aleks - k-12 + higher ed learning program. adapts to each student.

biology4kids - learn biology

cosmos4kids - learn astronomy basics

chem4kids - learn chemistry

physics4kids - learn physics

numbernut - math basics (arithmetic, fractions and decimals, roots and exponents, prealgebra)

education.ket - primary to adult. includes highschool equivalent test prep, the core skills. they have a free resource library and they sell workbooks. they have one on work-life essentials (high demand career sectors + soft skills)

youtube channels

the organic chemistry tutor

khanacademy

crashcourse

tabletclassmath

2minmaths

kevinmathscience

professor leonard

greenemath

mathantics

3blue1brown

literacy

readworks - reading comprehension, build background knowledge, grow your vocabulary, strengthen strategic reading

chompchomp - grammar knowledge

tutors

not the "free resource" part of this post but sometimes we forget we can be tutored especially as an adult. just because we don't have formal education does not mean we can't get 1:1 teaching! please do you research and don't be afraid to try out different tutors. and remember you're not dumb just because someone's teaching style doesn't match up with your learning style.

cambridge coaching - medical school, mba and business, law school, graduate, college academics, high school and college process, middle school and high school admissions

preply - language tutoring. affordable!

revolutionprep - math, science, english, history, computer science (ap, html/css, java, python c++), foreign languages (german, korean, french, italian, spanish, japanese, chinese, esl)

varsity tutors - k-5 subjects, ap, test prep, languages, math, science & engineering, coding, homeschool, college essays, essay editing, etc

chegg - biology, business, engineering/computer science, math, homework help, textbook support, rent and buying books

learn to be - k-12 subjects

for languages

lingq - app. created by steve kaufmann, a polygot (fluent in 20+ languages) an amazing language learning platform that compiles content in 20+ languages like podcasts, graded readers, story times, vlogs, radio, books, the feature to put in your own books! immersion, comprehensible input.

flexiclasses - option to study abroad, resources to learn, mandarin, cantonese, japanese, vietnamese, korean, italian, russian, taiwanese hokkien, shanghainese.

fluentin3months - bootcamp, consultation available, languages: spanish, french, korean, german, chinese, japanese, russian, italian.

fluenz - spanish immersion both online and in person - intensive.

pimsleur - not tutoring** online learning using apps and their method. up to 50 languages, free trial available.

incase time has passed since i last posted this, check on the original post (not the reblogs) to see if i updated link or added new resources. i think i want to add laguage resources at some point too but until then, happy learning!!

#study #education resources #resources #learning #language learning #math #english languages #languages #japanese #mandarin #arabic #italian #computer science #wed design #coding #codeblr #fluency #online learning #learn #digital learning #education #studyinspo #study resources #educate yourselves #self improvement #mathematics #mathblr #resource

[linkclickssmallseotoll]

Unlock Your Potential: Harnessing the Power of a Free CV Maker and Download Tool

Free CV maker and download tools offer a convenient and efficient way to create professional-looking CVs without the need for expensive software or design skills. These online tools provide templates and guidance to help users create polished CVs tailored to their specific needs and preferences. Additionally, the ability to download the CV in various formats allows users to easily share it with potential employers or print it for offline use.

#resume maker #generate resume #resume builder #create your resume #curriculum vitae maker #free resume maker #free resume builder #free resume generator #create resume online free #make resume online free #build your resume for free #make your resume online free #online resume maker #help making a resume for free #online cv maker #online curriculum vitae maker #ai resume builder #cv builder online for free #resume editor online #free ai resume builder #best resume maker #free cv maker and download #resume app #best free cv maker online #build my resume #cv editor online #resume writing app #cv for doctors #cv creating app #cv making apps

[dostoyevsky-official]

The use of the internet to obtain information is an increasingly common part of hiring processes. This often takes the form of ‘cybervetting’, which Berger and Zickar (2016) describe as ‘performing supplemental background checks in prescreening and selection by ‘Googling’ job applicants and reviewing their profiles on Social Network Sites like Facebook’ (p. 43). Survey results from the Society for Human Resource Management (2016) show that 43% of organizations in the US engage in some form of cybervetting, though other surveys suggest that the figure may be as high as 70% (CareerBuilder, 2018). According to SHRM (2016), 36% of organizations claim to have disqualified an applicant because of the information they found online. There are few laws to restrict cybervetting [...]

First, many employers use cybervetting as a form of risk management, a way of ‘reducing uncertainty’ about job candidates. For instance, they look for evidence of problematic behaviors and report eliminating job candidates based on online content revealing provocative behavior, substance abuse and expletive language. Second, employers use online content to infer the extent to which candidates fit well with organizational goals and ‘culture’. They look for evidence of ‘professionalism’ online in the form of broad interests, creativity, good communication skills and high status network connections. Content deemed ‘unprofessional’ negatively affects applicant ratings, as well as hiring and salary recommendations.

Cybervetting practitioners—usually HR personnel or other hiring agents—often take its purported organizational benefits at face value and interpret online content as accurately reflecting mental ability and personality. In actuality, correlations between online content and personality scoring are modest and personality assessments of online content offer little predictive value for subsequent job performance and turnover.

[...] About 70% of the [interviewed] HR professionals were engaged in some form of online screening. They looked at a variety of online sources, including resumes on job boards, social media profiles on sites like Instagram and Facebook, Twitter feeds and even Craigslist posts.  

[...] Risk management is pursued through the search for two types of signals: ‘red flags’, which indicate a potentially risky employee, and ‘professionalism’, an indicator of positive qualities and low risk. Red flags include signs of immaturity, lewdness, criminality or dishonesty; they generate uncertainty about a candidate’s character or judgment. [...] Another ‘red flag’ was online blog and status posts where candidates ‘bad-mouthed’ their employers. 

[...] These assessments are highly subjective and emotionally charged, as Alicia, an accounting firm recruiter, recounted:

Alicia: Honestly, the thing that scares me away more than anything is just somebody who looks mean. If you have a mean photo, because I'm kind of a softie, I don't like that. It doesn't make me feel good. I won't not send [the job candidate] on to the hiring manager because of that, but it will linger with me.

Steve McDonald, Amanda K Damarin, Hannah McQueen, Scott T Grether, "The hunt for red flags: cybervetting as morally performative practice"

#abridged to remove in-text citations #open access article - it is horrifying #i have always hated HR

[moonchildstyles]

neglect

harrys in an unhappy marriage and didn't realize he was missing so much sunlight until y/n came in

cw: toxic relationship? idk harry's wife isn't nice:(

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Bye, honey. Love you." 

Harry didn't realize he had his hopes up for a reciprocated response until nothing came. Minerva left though the door with nothing more than a wave tossed over her shoulder, eyes glued to her phone with a smile that wasn't for him on her lips. He didn't know the last time she said I love you back.

Heaving a sigh that lifted his shoulders before deflating into a slump, Harry locked the front door after his wife as the start of his day alone. 

It'd been two weeks since he lost his job in the third round of layoffs his office (ex-office?) was going through. It had been heartbreaking for Harry, having given almost a decade of his life—he was just months short of his ten year anniversary, actually—to this job; having given up on his dreams, and sacrificing time with his family all throughout those years. It all had been thrown away after one bad investor's meeting, leaving him with a measly severance package and a generic goodbye card left on his desk on his last day. As if that day couldn't get any lower, when Minerva finally came home and Harry sat her down to tell her the news, she barely looked up from the ping that lit up her phone screen. 

"That's what happens when you stay with a failing company, Harry. You should have been paying more attention." 

With that, she had left him to sit alone at the dining room table, his head in his hands as he tried not to let tears fall from his eyes. She always said he was too sensitive, crying would only serve to make her more annoyed with him.

Since then, he had all day long to shop around his resume online and through networking channels, only to field rejection emails by the end of the day. Minerva offered no support, only giving small hums or "I told you so" when she bothered to answer at all when he told her about his day over dinner. It broke his heart. 

While their marriage hadn't been anything close to perfect for a very long time (Harry didn't think it really ever had been, the more he thought about it), this was the worst it'd ever been. Minerva was always the harder one out of the two of them, which worked for a long time. It was all about balance, Harry remembered thinking back when they first moved in together after getting engaged. He was the soft one that cried watching romantic movies, and she was the one that would scoff at the logistics and talk about how unrealistic the stories were. She preferred horror with unhappy endings.

It worked, until it didn't.

Something changed after those first months of living together. Since then, Harry had been trying to play catch-up to get on the same page as her, but she seemed to be chapters ahead by the time he was even going in the right direction. His degree was never good enough, his dreams of being a songwriter or music producer were too silly to even entertain, and his family didn't support them enough. By the time he realized Minerva didn't even like him much anymore, let alone love him, he was left with a broken heart. 

But, even when he suggested counseling or even one of those couple's retreats that offered hands-on help, she shut him down immediately. That was all hippie shit he should have grown out of after they graduated college, she told him. It was her that brought up divorce, the word that had all but split Harry in half when it hung in the air between them, only for her to shut it down and tell him it wasn't an option as far as she was concerned—it would look bad for her to be a divorcee while she was still trying to climb the corporate ladder. Maybe after she made it to the executive level, she mused, if he still felt this way anyway. 

Harry did the only thing he felt he could: pretend everything was normal. If he wanted any chance of not losing his mind, sinking into a depression that he feared he would be unable to climb out of, he had to fall into the motions of loving her. He woke her up with breakfast ready before they'd leave for work—before he lost his job, of course—, telling her goodbye with a kiss to the cheek and hollow declaration of love that he still felt hurt by every time he didn't hear her say it back. When he made it home before her, he'd clean up the house, sorting through bills and mail, and get dinner ready, giving himself just enough time to slip back into his steeled character by the time she came through the front door and ignored him. 

But, Harry had always told himself it could be much worse—he was still lucky in some senses of the word, even if some nights he had to search hard for those moments—, and right he was about that. He was currently living through the worst it had ever been, moping around the house and feeling more down on himself than he knew was healthy for the fragile grip he had on his composure. 

As anxiety inducing as it all was (was finding a job always this hard or was he really as unimpressive as Minerva said he was?), the free time did allow him to work on projects he'd pushed to the side in favor of his nine-to-five. The attic had been successfully cleaned out and reorganized for the first time since moving in, the walls in the basement finally painted the eggshell blue Minerva picked out years ago, and the garage was spic-and-span. The last couple of days, he'd dedicated his time to maintaining the garden out front as well as the backyard, something he'd found himself enjoying more than any of the previous items on the honey-do list he was working through. His mom had always loved gardening, so he felt a lot closer to home when he plodded through the soil with fresh sprouts. 

After spending the first hour of the morning sending out his resume to a fleet of job postings and rifling through his email in hopes of getting anything back about a possible interview, he got changed for his day in the sun. He picked a white tank top with red stitching on the side declaring him as loved (though he didn't always feel that way) to adorn his torso with a pair of black shorts covering his thighs though his knee tattoos were left on display. Pulling his hair back with a tiny clip that left a sprout of hair fluffed on the top of his head, Harry slipped on a pair of large burgundy sunglasses before heading out the front door. 

Headphones plugged in his ears, he grabbed his supplies he'd left on the porch, fitting his hands into the pair of sturdy gloves he'd dug out when he cleaned the garage. Along the porch railing was the row of flowers he planned on shoveling into the soil, their planters barely containing the rich blooms rooted inside. The furling petals brought a smile to his face as he got to his knees near the plot of yard that had previously been nothing other than mulch and dandelions. Maybe having a garden out front might sweeten Minerva's sour mood if he did it just right. 

Tucking into the soil with the tools he had to reach out to his mom to verify were the right ones for the job, Harry started planting his rose garden. Green bushes with barely there blooms began to line the porch, making the tiny, white picket railing seem that might brighter against the rich hues of the buds. He was lost in his head, humming along to the music playing through his headphones as he built his garden, lavender and candy floss pinks joining his roses as the perfect growing companions. 

He didn't know how long he'd been out under the sun until he heard the faint sound of a car running behind him, the thrumming earning a glance over his shoulder. For a split second, he'd worried it was Minerva, home early. He had a feeling she wouldn't be happy to see him tending to the garden, tending to something they could have just hired someone to take care of if he'd been smarter about his career path. Instead, it was the car of the not-so-new neighbor that had moved in next door less than a year ago. 

A smile stretched across his face as he peered at her concentrated face through the tint of her window, a furrow to her brow as she navigated parking in the driveway. A breath of relief slumped her shoulders when she did so without incident; Harry understood, he'd seen her patching dings on her car too many times to count since she'd moved in. A clumsy driver, she was.

Harry plucked out his earbud as he sat back on his heels while she rifled through her car for a moment longer before stepping out onto the driveway. A bright smile covered her features as soon as she matched Harry's gaze, lifting his spirits higher than they'd been all day. A bubbly wave tinkled her fingers. 

"Hi, Harry!" she chattered out, hiking her bag up her shoulder as she lingered on the concrete. 

"Hi, (Y/N)," he reciprocated, his voice coming out a lot dreamier than he anticipated. 

"Your garden looks really nice," she beamed at him, toeing the ground with her teeth sinking into the plush of her bottom lip.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, knowing his entire face lit up at the praise, "'M not done yet, but 'm really liking how it's turning out." 

"I'm excited to see what it looks like when you have it all together, then," she offered, edging towards the open garage to head inside, "I'll see you around, Harry." 

"Bye," he told her, his voice carrying along with her as she went out of view. 

His gaze lingered in the spot he swore he saw a phantom of her form still. Even at the sound of the garage door closing signaling he was well and truly alone, Harry could still feel the effects of her presence, no matter how minute the interaction was. Plugging his headphone back in his ear, he went back to his work though he barely made note of anything he was doing. 

He liked (Y/N). Probably more than he should. 

She was just so sweet, enough so that her attention could make Harry blush. Even the first time they met, he remembered wishing he could have spent more time with her as she flitted about the neighborhood block party. She was a wonderful neighbor, always so considerate even though her roommate was very partial to a late night party now that they'd finally moved into an actual house after a spread of dodgy apartments through their college and some post-grad years (he'd overheard that during the block party). Minerva never seemed to like her much, though. She called her nosy, always talking to their neighbors, and attention-seeking with the way she supposedly paraded around the subdivision in her workout gear while taking her roommate's dog for a walk. 

Harry couldn't disagree more when his wife went off on her dislike for their neighbor, but it was something he had to keep to himself. Minerva would have his head if he defended (Y/N) the way he wanted to—with more than a shrug and "she's not like that, honey". Besides, he worried that if he truthfully spoke about how good he felt she was, that his little crush on her would turn into something more troublesome. He already had too many things going on inside his house, he didn't need to add the guilt of something more than a small crush on a nice girl worming it's way into his head. 

And, he cared for Minerva, still. Right? If he didn't, he would have insisted on getting a divorce and wouldn't worry so hard about what would make her happy with him. (Y/N) was a constant, happy presence in his life, even if their interactions were spread apart and only lasting some minutes here and there. Of course, he would get attached to the pretty girl who spared him attention and gave him praise without a second-thought. That didn't mean anything, though.

Even with the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of his neighbor, Harry reminded himself of his reality. He was a married man, someone who cared for his wife and would continue to be a good husband to her until he signed his name on the dotted line. (Y/N) would always be nothing more than a nice friend. That's all.

—————

Harry sighed as he sank to his knees in his garden. Looking at all of his hardwork, he felt his heart break when he recalled Minerva's attitude the night before. 

She hated it. 

A waste of his time, she'd said. How was he supposed to find a respectable job when he was too busy with dirt up to his elbows doing a job fit for 'the help'? He had been floored when he heard her, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as she rolled her eyes and stomped upstairs, disregarding the dinner he had set out on the table. 

Looking at the bushel of lavender that still needed to be planted as well as the border that needed to be filled with his candy floss pinks, Harry didn't feel the same joy he had the day before. He probably could be a lot more useful browsing the job sites, checking in on his network connections again. If he tried hard enough, dedicated himself enough, he would get a response, right? 

His only saving grace was the music playing through his headphones, pushing him out of his head and into whatever the writer was urging him to feel with every beat and sprawled lyric. Music was everything to Harry. Way back when, he even had dreams of becoming a songwriter, or producing tracks and working in a studio—anything to put him in the industry. But that was years ago, before he was married and had to stop being so selfish with his dreams. Minerva wanted something better for him, so he had to let that go. 

Concentrating on the notes that filtered through his headphones, Harry was finally pushed out of his head and back into the moment. He would finish the garden, then go inside and job hunt some more, he decided. 

The sun was especially warm on his back today, soaking into the black fabric of his t-shirt (a bad choice in hindsight, he realized as soon as he checked the high temperature on his phone). Sweat dripped from his hairline as he dug into the soft soil lining his front porch, following the line of his nose before dropping into the dirt. If he was lucky, he would beat out a sunburn and leave with a tan coloring his skin, but the more he soaked in the heat, Harry didn't feel good about his chances. 

By the time only a half of the candy floss had been planted along the border, the neckline of his top was drenched in sweat and Harry was running out of the motivation to finish his project. It wasn't until he felt a soft hand nudge at his shoulder did he look up from the flowers he was plotting in the ground. That definitely wasn't Minerva, he knew that much before looking over his shoulder. She never touched him that gently anymore. 

Sitting back on his heels, pushing his sunglasses into the mass of hair on the top of his head, Harry turned onto only to see (Y/N) clad in her workout gear with her arms cradling snacks. 

He was quick to pull his earbud from his ear, looking to her with a shaky smile he hoped didn't embarrass him any more than the sweaty state she'd caught him in. "H-Hi, (Y/N)." 

"Hey," she greeted him with a bubbly smile, warmer than the heat clouding the air, "Looking really good, Harry." 

His mouth went dry as he processed her words. "Wh-What?" 

"Your garden," she clarified, nudging her chin in the direction behind him, "It's looking really good. Almost done?" 

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he blinked, rolling his lips between his teeth as he granted himself a reprieve of following her line of sight to his blooms. She made him so nervous it was hard to look at her. "Only a little more to go, so I should be finishing up today." 

"You've been at it all morning, I'm surprised you haven't passed out with how hot it is," (Y/N) continued, huffing out a laugh through a soft smile, "I just came back from walking my roommate's dog and made some snacks and lemonade, so I thought I'd come over and share, if you wanted any?"

Dropping his gaze to her hands, he found a paper plate with a bagel covered in cream cheese, and a handful of dried cranberries. In the crook of her elbow, a small, chilled water bottle was cradled. 

A smile crooked his lips as he gazed at her. 

Cute. 

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said, twisting in his spot so he could properly face her, "Y'didn't have to." 

"It's alright," she beamed, offering him the refreshments with an outstretched hand, "I was already making my own, so I thought I'd make some for you, too." 

It was simple, what she brought out for him, but even just a single sip of the sugary lemonade was enough to have Harry's heart bloating. He couldn't remember the last time someone thought about him so considerately. 

"No, this is really kind of you, (Y/N)," he cemented, looking up at her from where he sat in his yard, trying his best to keep his gaze from going too soft, "Please, let me know if there's anything I can do for you, ever. You've been so nice to me ever since y'moved in, I want to pay y'back somehow." 

"Harry, really, it's alri—" 

"Humor me? Please?" She was giving him undeserved kindness, and he didn't want to take advantage of her.

The way her features softened as she looked down at him, hair messy on the top of her head and face glowing with the dew of a fresh workout, had Harry's heart clawing at his chest. She was looking at him like that. How lucky was he? 

"Alright, I'll let you know, okay? I'm sure something will come up soon enough; I don't know if you've noticed with the amount of times I've accidentally backed into my garage door, but I'm not great about not breaking things. Be prepared with the amount of help I'll be needing now that you've offered, Harry." Faux seriousness covered her features as she pointed an accusing finger at him, thought her facade was cracking with the curl of her lips and the soft set of her eyes. 

"I'll be ready, promise," he beamed up at her, pleased with the way she bit back her smile like she was afraid of how big it would grow if she didn't.

She lingered for a moment longer, her tender gaze dropping for her feet before she matched his gaze again. "I should probably get back to the dog—he doesn't like to be alone for long—, but, I'll come by if I need anything, Harry." 

"O-okay," he breathed out, catching a flutter in his heart at the sound of his name wrapped in her voice, "I'll be here." 

Her grin widened at his small joke as she edged back towards her home. With a little wave, she was on her way, Harry watching her the entire time. 

When he saw her twist to look over her shoulder, he felt silly for a moment to have been caught staring, but then she spoke: "Tell Minerva I said hi, too, please! I haven't seen her in so long!" 

It was the genuine smile on her face that had his heart dropping to his stomach. He kept quiet as he gave a confirming nod, waiting for her to disappear back inside her home before he dropped his gaze. 

She was a sweet, sweet, sweet girl who wanted him to say hello to his wife for her—the same woman that would smear mud across (Y/N)'s name at any given chance. She saw the best in everyone, even people who didn't deserve that rose-tinted view. She was much too good for him, he knew that much. Much too good to have a married man become infatuated with the idea of her. 

—————

Clicking out of his email, Harry ran a heavy hand through his hair. 

Nothing. Not a single response to all of his cover letters, tailored resumes, and followups. 

He knew in the grand scheme of things that four weeks really wasn't that long to be unemployed, but sitting in this house all day long, waiting for his wife to come home with whatever jeering remarks she stewed over all day, felt like years of torture. There wasn't anything else to fix up in the house that could distract him for hours on end; the gardens in both the front and back were planted and well maintained now, the garage still tidy, attic still clean and clear, and he'd even fixed that leaky faucet in the guest bathroom Minerva had been complaining about since they moved in. What else was there to do but marinate in his own short-comings and make himself go mad until it was time to make dinner?

Slumping into the couch cushions, Harry tried to distract himself by flicking on the television, hoping to find something to take his mind off of the replay of last night's silent dinner with Minerva. Sometimes he couldn't figure out what hurt more: her silence or her deprecating words that broke him down? 

Just as he found a daytime soap he remembered his mother tuning into, a quiet knock rang at the front door. He didn't make a move to answer it, assuming it was some delivery service dropping off something Minerva had ordered or a door-to-door solicitor that would be smart to get out of this neighborhood before one of the more haughty neighbors reamed him for doing his job. But, when another round of the soft rapping came, he dared to peek his head through the gauzy curtains and glimpse at the visitor. 

It was (Y/N). 

From the limited view he had, he could see the way she was glancing back and forth from his front door and to her house, toeing anxiously at the ground with her phone clutched in her hand. Today was her day off, he remembered that (don't ask him how, he knew it wasn't something he needed to remember but he couldn't help his memory), only emphasized by the comfy shorts she had on her legs and the large t-shirt that was much too cold to be wearing so early in the morning without a sweater. 

It was that one peek at her that had him rising from his spot on the couch and rushing towards the front door. By the time he twisted the locks and pulled the door open, (Y/N) was reluctantly stepping off the porch with her phone pressed to her ear. As soon as she saw Harry in the threshold, she ended her call with a sigh of relief.

"Harry," she breathed, hands falling to her sides, "I was so worried you were at work, or something." 

"Is everything alright? Are y'okay?" He didn't even realize he was scanning over her form for injuries until he met her gaze from where it had drawn down to her feet. 

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, toeing at the ground as she glanced towards her house, "I just... You said you would be willing to help me if I needed anything, right?" 

"Yes, of course," he affirmed, a furrow pinching at his brows. 

"So," she started, looking guilty already, "I was about to go take a shower, but I think I broke it." 

"Broke what?" 

"The shower." 

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?" 

"Its..." she started again, scrunching her nose as she tried to find the words, "I don't know, it's just not working and I don't know what happened." 

"Okay," Harry said slowly, passing a hand through his hair as he stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, "I'll take a look and see if I can help." 

"Thank you so much, Harry," (Y/N) babbled, relief touching at her features, "My roommate is going to kill me if I break one more thing in the house." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips with a dimple pressing into his cheek, "Have y'been breaking a lot of stuff then?" 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she started across the lawn with Harry following after. "I don't think so, but Mitch swears that I broke the panini press, the wifi-thing, the ice maker, and I somehow, apparently, fucked up the coffee table, or something. I think he's just dramatic and doesn't pay attention when he's using things, but whatever."

A smile bloomed across his features as he listened to her list off every appliance and piece of furniture that could be in a house. Now, including a shower (whatever that exactly meant) on that list. 

Humming, he nodded his head, "Do y'think he breaks it and tries to blame it on you, or something?" Harry wouldn't like that. (Y/N) didn't deserve a roommate like that. 

"No," she waved off, pushing open the unlocked front door before letting Harry in ahead of her, "he's not like that. I just think some of the things we have are old, so of course they stop working or break, and he knows he didn't do it so he thinks it's me. But, I think it's just the universe." 

"I see," Harry smiled, stepping into her home. 

While it was a shared space, he could still spot the (Y/N)-esque touches littered throughout the living room; a soft knitted blanket in creamy tones thrown across the back of the deep green couch, a bookcase spotted with novels he'd heard her reference to her friends in the neighborhood along with little crystals and delicate trinkets, and photos framed on the wall with her beaming smile lighting up the setting. Everything looked worn and loved, handed down from relatives or second-hand shops—nothing at all like the stiff decor and furniture that Minerva had picked out from a catalogue exactly as it was. It looked like a home. 

"It's the upstairs bathroom, if you wanted to follow me," (Y/N) explained, stopping him from wandering out into the space to see what it would feel like to wrap himself in things that were (Y/N). 

"Right, the shower," he murmured under his breath, trailing behind her, "What exactly happened?" 

An exasperated shrug of (Y/N)'s shoulders was the view he was granted a couple of steps behind, "I don't know. I got all my stuff ready to take my shower, and I was waiting for the water to warm up and when I pulled the thing to make it come out of the shower head and not the faucet, it just... didn't work." 

She took him to the bathroom in question, opening the door to the brightly lit and femininely decorated bathroom (her own personal one, he'd assume) with the remnants of steam still touching the top of the mirror. 

"Watch this." She beckoned to him, settling on her knees on the tiled floor. Twisting the knob on the temperature control, water started streaming through the faucet and splashing across the tub. She paused for a moment as if to ensure Harry was properly watching before she reached across and pulled the pin at the top of the faucet, the same one that should redirect the water flow up to the shower head. The second it was pulled, there was a sputtering of water flowing for a moment longer before only a single bead fell from the shower head. The faucet stopped leaking, leaving the water to go down the drain before the shower was dry, none of the outlets dispensing. 

"Huh," Harry breathed, gaze drifting back and forth between the faucet and the shower head as if either one would explode at a moment's notice with all the water pent up. 

"Right?" 

"It just started acting weird today?" he asked, reaching into the bathtub and pulling on the pin again. The same result: silence and dryness. 

"Yeah, it was perfectly fine last night. And everything else like the sink, and the kitchen, and Mitch's bathroom are all working. It's just the shower." 

Harry tested it out for a few minutes, (Y/N)'s eyes following him as he tinkered with the knob controlling the pressure and temperature, the pin, and the shower head itself. Nothing changed as he poked and prodded, a furrow pinching his brow. 

"Do you know where your water heater is?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to her as he twisted the knob to off. 

Pausing when he saw the way she was sat so prettily behind him, Harry suddenly felt flush under her attention. He had felt the warmth of her gaze the whole time as he worked and messed around with the appliance, but it was different seeing her with wide eyes looking up at him with her legs tucked carefully under her body. Even with her messy hair and ill-fitting clothes, Harry swore for a moment she was surrounded by starlight and puffs of cotton candy clouds—a dream on earth. 

His heart skipped a beat with butterflies filling his tummy. Since when was he this far gone? 

A loud thud sounded from the floors below, the only thing that shook Harry from whatever was running through his head that only jumbled the second he remembered this was (Y/N) who was gazing up at him like that. 

"(Y/N)?" he stuttered over her name, his arms dropping limply at his sides.

The call of her name brought focus to her eyes. "Hm?" she hummed, with with a flutter of her lashes. 

"D-Do you know where your water heater is?" he tried again, running a nervous finger under the tip of his nose. 

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," she breathed out on a laugh, rising to her shaky legs, "It's in the basement."

They were quiet as Harry followed her on an impromptu tour of the house, down the two floors to the chilled basement. It was when she reached the landing did she stop in her tracks with a gasp. It took him only a second to peer around her shoulder and find the cause of her widened eyes and fists clutched to her chest. 

The concrete floor of the space was covered in a shallow pool of water. Some spaces the level was lower than others, but there was definitely enough water covering the floor to account for what hadn't been streaming through the shower upstairs. 

"Shit," Harry whispered, spotting the pack of boxes pushed into the very corner of the basement, the bottom row slowly taking on water.

"Those are Mitch's things," she rushed out, following his line of sight, "I need to get them upstairs before anything gets messed up." 

(Y/N) didn't falter after that, splashing through the water with her bare feet. Harry went to follow her, only to have to step out of the way as she was on her way back with a box stacked in her arms. 

"D-Do y'want help?" The question felt a little dumb leaving Harry's mouth, but he didn't want to start rummaging around if she would prefer he stand back.

"Would you, please?" (Y/N) asked from halfway up the stairs, "Thank you so much, Harry." 

Hearing that strain in her voice was all he needed before he was setting off to help her pick up the boxes, trudge through the water and up the steep stairs. By the time there was nothing more than the last few boxes, the bottoms all soaked in the leaked water, he was out of breath but (Y/N) looked a little less stressed. Only a little. 

"Thanks," she panted out again once all of her roommates things were safely tucked away on dry land. Her eyes fluttered closed before she ran a heavy hand over her features, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. "I think Mitch is really going to kill me for this one. I don't even know what happened." 

Hands on his hips, Harry remembered the shimmering lake that had taken over the level below. "I don't either, love, but you're going to need to call someone to fix it. 'M sure something is blocked." 

"Probably," she sighed, eyes focusing on a random spot by her feet as she pinched at her lips, "H-How do I get the water out of the basement, though?" 

"Jus' gonna have to mop it up, and use some towels, I think. 'S not a lot, so it shouldn't be too bad." 

"Yeah," she breathed out again, focus coming back to her gaze as it flitted up to return Harry's. "I'm so sorry to ask, but would you be able to help? Even just for a lit—"

"Yeah, of course I can help." A heat touched at his cheeks as he realized just how eagerly he had offered up his help. But, with the way (Y/N) lit up at his agreement to help, he didn't really mind how silly he sounded. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. So much, Harry," she beamed at him, already seeming to have more life in her as she toed towards the stairs leading her up a level, "I'll go grab some towels, but the mop is in the kitchen, over there, if you can get that. I'll be right back. Thank you so much!" 

It was with a scuttle of her feet and a twist of her hair fluttering behind her that she disappeared up the staircase. Harry's gaze followed after her for a moment longer, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he felt a smile coming on. 

—————

"Did you always want to do accounting?" 

(Y/N)'s question echoed in the empty basement, sounding over the slopping sound of the mop in Harry's hands sopping up the water that didn't seem to have an end. He shrugged, having expected this question when they started talking about their career-paths (apparently, (Y/N) wanted to be a writer, but she was currently working retail so she could pay the bills in the meantime). 

"Not really," he answered honestly, wringing out the mop into the accompanying bucket that was just under half full at this point, "I actually wanted to get into music, but this seemed more practical." 

"Music?" (Y/N) perked up, wringing out a soaked towel before opting for the slightly drier ones as she worked on her hands and knees, "Like as a singer?" 

A smile plucked at Harry's features at the enthusiasm in her voice. He couldn't remember the last time someone sounded genuinely excited at the idea of learning more about him. 

"Maybe if I felt right, but mostly songwriting and producing. I liked the idea of being in one of those big studios, you know?" The images he'd had of his life when he was young flashed through his head. His heart almost broke at how easily it was to conjure up those pictures despite how long it'd been since he allowed himself to indulge in those what-ifs.

"Did you write a lot of songs then? Anything I might have heard?" (Y/N) wasn't even working anymore, that much Harry could tell when he peeked at her through his lashes. She was sitting back on her heels listening to him, attention rapt and unwavering. 

"No, I never really made music. Everything I've ever written is packed away in some journal in m'attic. I haven't seen it since university, I think." That was a little bit of a lie, if he was being honest. He'd seen it when he was reorganizing the attic space and moving things around. He just didn't have the guts to open it.

He could hear the pout in her voice as she humphed. "That's a bummer. I would have loved to read what you wanted to put to music," she mused, "If you ever find it, would you let me read some of it?" 

Against his will, a memory of him shoving his book into Minerva's hands, asking her to read his latest work—one that was inspired by her—before she refused, not wanting to read any of what his silly hobby spawned. It was a waste, she had told him in her own way; music wasn't a stable job and he needed to wake up before it was too late and he'd sung them into living in a cardboard box. 

Harry made quick work of shoving that thought to the side, inserting himself into the moment with (Y/N) once more. It was the glimmer in her eyes, the smile on her lips, and the fact she asked to read his art that had him answering in a heartbeat. "Of course. You'll be the first person I call." 

The creases that lined her face as her smile grew was enough to wipe those awful moments with Minerva away like the water he was sopping off the floor. Speaking around her smile, she dropped her gaze to the towel in her hands, "So—um—if you wanted to be a songwriter, why did you end up going into accounting? That's a huge field change." 

"Yeah," he sighed, plucking at his bottom lip for a moment of comfort, "Um, she—sorry, Minerva, she thought it would be a better idea to go into something like finance. More stable and real than music." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, voice neutral though he could see her features scrunch up some, "I can see that a little, I guess. Did she ever help you write or anything like that?" 

"Not really. It wasn't something she thought was..." Harry floundered as he remembered all the things she called his songwriting (not worth her time, stupid, an excuse to not find a real job, ect.). Those probably weren't the kind of things to dump on his neighbor. "It was jus' hard for her to get into it the way I did. I usually did all of it alone." 

"Well," she started, a slight pinch lingering in her brows as she crawled to the next section of floor, "I'm sure if she could have helped, she would have." 

Harry didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. 

"Yeah, but what about you, hm?" he switched, wringing out the mop once more, "What kind best-seller are y'drafting?" 

It seemed that was the perfect question to ask her as she shot into an explantation of the creative writing class she had taken in college and the idea of a narrative that never quite left her (of course only after she rolled her eyes at his best-seller comment. I haven't even finished a single chapter, Harry, she told him though the smile she was biting back still bled into her features). He was wrapped up solidly in the world she was painting for him, even when she shyly brought up the romantic aspects as she was most excited about adding. 

Despite the water seeping through his Vans and chilling him from his toes up, Harry swore he could have stayed in that basement all day long hearing her talk about the things she loved. 

What a privilege that would be.

—————

Minerva didn't even bother to wake Harry up before she was off to work this morning, only leaving a note tacked to the fridge about the shopping that needed to be done today and that she would be home late due to after-work drinks with some of her colleagues. He wasn't all that surprised at that. She seemed to prefer to spend any time she could away from him, no matter where it was.

At least, he had a task that would take up some of the morning and direct his mind off of the sourness that was filling his lungs every time he thought about Minerva. 

Taking his time to clean up after the breakfast his wife made for herself before her day at work, Harry didn't leave for grocery shopping until late in the morning. Armed with Minerva's list as well as the mental one he'd developed after spending so much time at home and in charge of meals, he plucked a trolley and started off through the shelves. 

The store was luckily fairly empty given the time of day he was waltzing through the aisles, and Harry couldn't be more grateful for the chance to move at his own pace. He was feeling particularly slothly today, sluggish limbs and tired eyes, so at least he wasn't being pushed around and feeling rushed to get out of there as soon as he could. He marked off every item he grabbed from the shelves as he went, putting together a menu for the rest of the week. 

It wasn't until he was armed with the ingredients to Minerva's favorite pad Thai recipe—one she probably wasn't even going to eat, he pessimistically decided—that he ran into another's cart. 

"Oh gosh—" 

"I'm sorry—" 

The second he saw who he had accidentally bumped into, every bit of exhaustion evaporated from his limbs. 

(Y/N)'s expression cleared up just the same, the apology on her lips falling away in favor of wrapping her voice around his name. "Hi," she greeted him, "Fancy seeing you here." 

"Yeah, sorry about that," he told her, sounding much too chipper for an apology, "Wasn't watching where I was going." 

"It's alright, I'm happy it was you," she cemented, parking her cart on the other side of the aisle from him, settling in, "How are you?" 

"'M good, thank you," he smiled, "How's your shower and everything? Did that guy end up making it out there?" 

"Yeah, he came a little after you left," she sighed, shaking her head as if recalling the memory made her just as exasperated as she was in real time, "It was so stupid. I don't even know what it was that was blocking my shower, but something was blocking that specific channel so every time I turned it on and tried to get water to come out, I was breaking something else and flooding the basement. I feel like he was being a jerk, but Mitch says that I was probably just in a bad mood." 

Harry shrugged, biting back a smile though he was sure his dimple still poked through. Maybe she was in a bad mood—he wouldn't blame her—, but she hadn't been in one by the time he left. If he really let his heart run away from him, he'd let himself imagine he had been the one to keep her happy.

"At least he got it fixed, right?" he tried, leaning his forearms into the seat of the trolley, chin resting on his fist. 

"Yeah," she smiled, apparently forgetting the supposed attitude she was given, "I got to wash my hair afterwards, so that was nice." He watched as her gaze dropped to the contents of his cart, eyes lighting up when she caught sight of something to pique her interest. "Where did you find that pizza dough? Mitch and I keep ordering out for pizza so I was trying to get stuff to make it ourselves instead." 

An apologetic smile curled his lips before she even finished speaking. "It's over by the cheese counter, but I did grab the last couple. 'M sorry, (Y/N)." 

The second he watched her deflate, the makings of a pout itching at her lips, Harry couldn't help himself. He just wanted to see her smile again. 

"I was planning on using them for lunch today, but, if y'want, y'can come over and-and try it with me? I haven't tried this one before either, so if y'like it, y'can take some home." 

He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat as he allowed his mouth to run ahead of him. 

(Y/N) hesitated from where she stood in front of him, the blunt edges of her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. With a flutter of her lashes, she returned his gaze. "Are you sure? I can just get some next time, it's alright." 

Swallowing, he saw the way out she was giving him, but he found himself wanting to stay just where he'd put himself. 

"'M sure," he cemented, surprised by how lightweight the words felt, "I was going to eat by myself anyway, so at least we could talk a little." 

A beat passed before she offered him a sweet smile and a nod of her head. "Alright. I still have some more shopping to do, but when I'm home, I could come by? As long as you're alright with waiting for me." 

Harry didn't need to think before he was nodding his head. 

Of course he would wait for her.

—————

Was this cheating? 

Harry's chest constricted at the thought. 

He wasn't a cheater, was he?

All he'd done was invite a friend over for lunch and to talk, just as they'd done before. He'd ran into her at the supermarket and asked if she wanted to share some of the food he was planning on making anyway, especially as she was only a door down. That's not cheating, right? 

No, he told himself. They hadn't even touched outside of passing each other when they were lugging up her roommate's belongings upstairs, let alone kiss or go further. And nothing they'd talked about had verged into romantic territory, not even for a second. He talked to her like he would talk to a friend. He'd had female friends before—before Minerva, of course—and this was how he would treat any of them. He would even argue he's held her at a larger distance away, especially since he was married. 

Just because he thought his friend was pretty, didn't mean he was cheating. 

Minerva even knew about he extra time here and there he was spending with (Y/N), though she definitely scoffed and made faces whenever he spoke her name. If he was doing something wrong, he wouldn't have told Minerva anything, right?

Harry couldn't calm his spinning mind as he put away his groceries, spiraling out of control as he contemplated turning (Y/N) away when she came to the door—with all the ingredients for a pizza to make at her own home. But, as much as he was worried about the blurry line he was approaching, he didn't want to say no to her and make her leave. He didn't want the sunshine that was leaking into his life courtesy of his neighbor to become shrouded by clouds once again. 

It was an innocent friendship, and if Harry couldn't handle himself, he would stop it. He vowed to himself that if he came to a point where he was worried he wouldn't be able to not cross into the shades of grey safely, then he would end it. Because he was someone's husband before he was someone's friend. 

It wasn't until he heard a knock on the front door that Harry's frantic hands came to a sputtering halt. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter where he stood in front of the ingredients for his pizza project, he took a steadying breath. He centered himself for one more moment before going to the door to let his friend in. 

(Y/N) greeted him with a bright smile when he swung the door open. "Hi, stranger," she bubbled, hands folded in front of her dressed in the same comfy set he'd found her in at the grocery. 

"Hi," he greeted her, feeling the stretch of his grin as he took her in. 

Even as he widened the berth of the door, clearing way for her to pass through, (Y/N) nervously toed the porch, eyes giving way to a tinge of anxiety he'd never seen there before. A pinch drew his brows together as he watched her. 

"You're still hungry, right?" he prodded, giving her an out if she decided she would rather be at home. 

His question seemed to shake her from wherever she had crawled to in her head. "Y-Yeah, sorry," she brushed off with a smile, stepping over the threshold and into his home, "I just realized I've never been inside your house before." 

"That's right, huh," he said, smile going lopsided with only a single dimple in his cheek, "Busy couple of weeks for us, then, right? Packing a whole lot of basic friendship things into a few days." 

Harry knew he uttered the word friendship for his benefit only, feeling stiff as it passed his lips. Because this was what this all was. Friends went to each other's houses, and got to know each other through quality time. Nothing nefarious or wrong about that. 

"We've been neighbors for almost a year, and I think I just learned your last name," (Y/N) laughed, waiting for him as he locked the front door before starting off towards the kitchen with her behind him. 

"That's what happens when y'wait to break your shower so y'can invite me over," Harry shrugged, looking over his shoulder with a smug smile on his lips. 

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes, and shook her head as they entered the kitchen. Harry's set up was just as he'd left it: dough rolled out and floured, his favorite pizza sauce set off to the side with every fix-in delegated to different bowls and packages for easing picking. She followed after him with a light to her eyes, taking in the station he'd set up for them. 

"I didn't know what y'might want to put on it, so I jus' got everything out," he explained, starting to feel a little sheepish over the amount of effort he put into his friend's meal. 

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled at him, standing in front of one of the two slabs of rolled out dough, "This is perfect. You're so nice." 

He had to pretend that his heart didn't flutter some at the gentle compliment she gave him. 

Smiling down at his hands, Harry turned towards the sink to wash up before starting to assemble the food so she didn't see the flush he was sure was pricking the tip of his nose. 

Once she'd followed the same procedure before returning to her station, Harry finally chanced a look at her where she stood with expecting eyes. Yeah, she was still pretty.

"Ready?" he murmured, swallowing around the word. 

"Ready." 

—————

"So, you didn't even actually work in the bakery? You did that on purpose, didn't you? So I would be lulled into a sense of trust even though you were only winging it on the bake time for the pizza." 

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he listened to (Y/N)'s very true accusations. There had been something of a squabble over the bake time and temperature, as (Y/N) had supposedly googled the best combination of how long to let them sit under the heat and just how high the dial needed to be twisted while Harry swore by his own method. A wicked smile had curled his lips when he brought out the best end to the argument: his so-called experience.

"You're the worst," she challenged, shaking her head when she saw the quirking of his lips, "You just didn't want me to be right." 

"They turned out jus' fine, didn't they?" Harry countered, jutting his chin out in playful defiance.

(Y/N) muttered out a muted whatever, though the flutter of her lashes and sparkle in her eyes didn't diminish to go along with her faux-attitude.  

A warm silence settled within the dining room as they each took bites of their food, Harry unable to stop himself from looking at her through his lashes. He swore he even caught her drawing her eyes away at the last second during one of his peeks. 

"I hope this doesn't come out wrong," (Y/N) broke the silence, wiping her mouth of the pizza sauce that had collected on the corner, "but, I'm kind of happy you're not working right now. We've actually gotten to get to know each other now that you've been home." 

Looking at her, moony eyes with fluttery lashes and dewy skin glimmering in the sunlight leaking through the windows, Harry wanted to kiss her. That scared him. 

While it might not have been the first time he thought about what it would be like to kiss (Y/N), it had previously always been in the abstract, someone in his place before the fleeting thought was out of his head in a blink. But, this time... this time was it's own beast that has Harry's heart rattling against his ribcage like a criminal in a jail cell.

This time, he had a solid vision of himself, reaching across the dining table he had dinner with his wife at, fitting his hand around the back of (Y/N)'s neck—wedding band and all—before slotting his lips against hers. She was happy she'd had a chance to get to know him, and that was something he hadn't realized he'd ever wanted to hear.

And, that scared him. This was cheating, wasn't it? Married men don't think about kissing other women like that. They don't look across the table and try to pick out the glimmers in their neighbor's eyes, or wonder how soft her lips would be, or wish they could tuck their face into her neck and see if she really smelled like strawberry poundcake like the lotion on her bathroom counter suggested. Married men shouldn't do that. 

Harry swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to his unfinished slice of misshapen pizza. 

"Is everything okay?" (Y/N) broached, speaking to him as if he were an injured animal, "I didn't mean to make you upset about work. I shouldn't have said it lik—" 

"No, no," Harry shook his head, a stray curl landing across his forehead, "'S not that, don't worry. I know what y'were trying to say." 

"Okay," (Y/N) sounded, the syllables coming out quietly as she placed her pizza down, "Is something else wrong then?" 

How was he supposed to explain to her that he crossed into territory that was too blurry to be safe for him—the one with the wedding band on his finger? She had no idea of what was running through his head as she spoke, the way his heart skipped a beat when she gave him attention he hadn't even known he'd been craving since she approached him in the garden weeks ago. At this pace, he was ruining two relationships at once: his marriage to Minerva and his friendship with (Y/N). 

"(Y/N), I..." he started, unable to think clearly with the way his heart crawled up into his throat. Was there an eloquent way to tell someone you can't see them anymore because you fear you might cheat on your spouse if you became any closer? Was there ever a good time to confess to having feelings for another woman while also cutting them off? 

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured, "you're worrying me. Can you at least tell me if you're alright?" 

"I d-don't know, (Y/N)," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands that were propped up on elbows pinned to the table, "I don't—It might—... I think I might need to take a step back from you." 

Silence fell over the room once more, this time lacking the warmth that it had been filled with less than ten minutes prior.

"I... don't think I understand," she responded, sounding stiff. 

Harry shook his head in his hands, his hair fluffing around his face. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other anymore, es-especially alone like this." 

Heat crawled up his features, starting at the base of his neck as he choked out the words. He couldn't even look at her, but he could fantasize about cheating on his wife with her? 

"Um, okay," (Y/N) said after a beat, words stilted, "I understand. May I ask why, though? Because if it was something I did, I want to apologize at least." 

He shook his head as she spoke. None of this was her fault. Never was an apology from her lips needed over this situation. He dared to peek up at her through the cage of his fingers, finding her with her gaze downcast and shoulders deflated. 

His tongue felt thick as he tried to speak around it, dry throat not helping any. He floundered over the honesty he knew he owed her. "It's jus'... 'M married and all, you know?" 

The pieces seemingly clicked together for (Y/N) without any extra explanation. She gave a slow nod of her head. "Right. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries, or anything. I didn't mean to." 

Before he could offer any consolation, tell her that the fault was all his own and she'd been nothing more than the sunshine he'd been aching for since he found himself on a clouded shore, but she was quick to pushed away from the dining table. She offered a polite thank you for lunch, before she was out of the house in record time; the sound of the door shutting behind her lingered longer than she did. 

Scrunching his eyes tightly, Harry couldn't help but dig the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of his eyelids. "Fuck," he whispered to himself in the empty house. In a burst of frustration at the feeling of tears filling his eyes as if he had earned the right to be upset over the entire situation, he slammed his fists onto the table. The china rattled on the surface, only joining in with the ruckus of the loud Fuck! he screamed into the void of his home. 

Slumping back into his chair, Harry stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long until he felt a nerve in the muscles pinch over the position. A labored breath was all he managed to pull into his lungs as he looked over the state of his home. 

He needed to clean up before Minerva came home.

—————

Harry pushed the pad Thai around in his bowl, chopsticks making a dull scraping sound against the porcelain. Minerva—surprisingly home for dinner, which he hadn't been anticipating—had her eyes glued to her phone with a curl to her lips. The house was filled with silence just the way it had been for the last week and a half since Harry brought on his own heartache. 

Since (Y/N) walked out, Harry hadn't been able to get her off his mind. 

Nothing had been the same since the sound of the door slamming after her reverberated through the house. He swore that a part of his heart walked right out after her, trailing behind the home it had been trying to make in the warmth of her. He lied awake that night, wallowing in the mistake he'd made on two women in his life he was supposed to care about and protect. He'd failed on both fronts. 

But, even after he cut himself off from the wallowing—he determined he didn't deserve more than a couple of days since this was all his doing—he found an ache lingering in his bones and a fog clouding his brain. He didn't want to eat, barely made sure he drank some water each day, and wanted nothing more than to hole himself up in the master bedroom though he never managed to actually sleep. If he wasn't distracted enough, his mind would wander too far away, waking up things he'd rather stay asleep. 

He could only recall feeling like this once before: when Minerva had changed, making it very clear she was no longer invested in him or their relationship. 

He was broken-hearted. Over losing (Y/N). 

Maybe he had more than a silly crush on her like he had thought. He found himself wondering in the aftermath if she was alright. Was she blaming herself? Was she keeping busy with her roommate? Was she taking care of herself? It only worried him when he saw her roommate walking the dog around the neighborhood, something that seemed to be (Y/N) job exclusively before this. When he told Minerva that (Y/N) wouldn't be hanging around much anymore, he remembered how angry he became when she laughed, the noise cruel, and said something about how it was about time she'd run off. 

How dare she? he recalled thinking. (Y/N) had never once said a single bad word about her, and yet Minerva couldn't even spare a question on why she wouldn't be over anymore or if something had happened. He'd shared the fact he'd made a real friend for the first time in years, and she didn't bother to ask what would be the cause of the separation, even going so far as to rub it in his face with an I-told-you-so-esque comment? Who was this person he had married?

But, in the end, (Y/N) sat at the forefront of his mind, stealing any selfish thought and reminding him of the real innocent in this situation. She deserved better. 

His feelings for her had been a lot more real than he even realized. If he had known, he liked to think things would have turned out differently for them. 

Holding back a sigh, Harry pinched a bean sprout between his chopsticks as he slumped over the table with his chin in his hands. 

"I heard back from that auto-body place I told you about," Harry offered, filling the silence with his raw voice. Minerva didn't even look up.

"Hm?" 

"That job I applied for—bookkeeping at that auto-body place just out of town. They emailed me back; I have a phone interview with them tomorrow," he shared, hoping the good news would at least make her happy. Maybe, that would be enough to get him out of his head, the static of the house surely not helping him feel normal. 

"Oh," Minerva sounded, a sour expression pinching her features, "You actually applied there? I thought I told you it sounded gross." 

Rolling his neck, he swallowed. "I know, but work is work and that's what I need right now. I can keep looking even if they hire me, I jus' need something right now." 

A roll of her hazel eyes was granted in response to his words. "It's like you don't even listen to me. Sure, you're unemployed, but do you not think it would look worse for you to work at some greasy mechanic? Harry, it's gross, and you would know that if you ever actually listened to me." 

Her biting words touched a nerve Harry didn't even know had been exposed. 

"I listen to you all the time, Minerva," he grumbled, voice low and controlled. His heart pounded in his ears, the sound rising from his chest.

She scoffed at his retort, her phone finally dropping from her hand as she sat up straight in her seat. "Excuse me?" 

"I said," he breathed, tempering himself before he raised his voice, "I always listen to you. Jus' like how I listened to you when y'said I wasn't trying hard enough and thinking too much of myself and not applying to jobs on my level. So, I broadened my search—like you asked—and found this place that would pay nicely and might appreciate what I could bring."

"Oh, now you're just blaming me, like it's my fault you couldn't find anything other than some slum to hire you. Stop being a dick, and just listen to wh—" 

"I am listening! I have listened for the last seven years! And, I don't want to listen anymore, Minerva!" 

It was like the universe knew about the changing tide, a sudden clash of thunder echoing outside that ramped up the storm that had been brewing in the clouds. The second the sky settled, Harry realized the tone and volume of his words and the fact Minerva hadn't said a single thing back, already feeling guilt in his system. 

"I shouldn't have shouted at you, 'm sorry, M—" 

"This is about her, isn't it? 

Harry was taken aback at the accusing tone of voice she used on him. Flicking his gaze between her eyes, he found the anger that had been brewing in her silence. She hadn't been scared or upset that he'd raised his voice—no, she was trying to find the best way to one-up him. 

"Who?" 

"The fucking neighbor you're so obsessed with. This is about her, isn't it? She's been telling you I'm the bad guy for wanting you to get a good job, is that it?" 

Stinging offense touched at Harry's chest. "This has nothing to do with (Y/N), leave her out of this, Minerva. She's never said a bad thing about you, you know that? When all you do is shit on her for no other reason than the fact she exists." 

"I have reason, Harry," she spat, leaning over the table as he voice grew, "Like the fact that my husband eye-fucks her every time she's around! Did you really think I didn't fucking notice?!" 

"'S not like that, Minerva, and you know it." Harry slid his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. "Why would you even care, anyway? 'S not like you even like me anymore." 

"Because you're my husband. You are mine, until I decide otherwise. Then you can sleep around with every girl you see—but until then, you have to listen to me." 

Harry didn't even realize a sheen had collected over his eyes, tears in his waterline as he just realized just how trapped he was in that moment, not until Minerva pointed it out to him. 

"Are you really about to cry, right now?" 

"I know you're cheating on me." 

The words slipped past his lips before he even realized they were on the tip of his tongue. He'd barely let himself think about what Minerva was really up to those nights she was getting drinks, or staying late to finish a project, let alone speak them aloud. But now, there they were. In the static silence of the dining room, he was tired of pretending and listening and hoping. 

Minerva seemed to be floored for a second, floundering over her words. "Don't try to turn this on me, Harry—" 

"I do your laundry, you know" he sighed, exhausted now that the biggest weight had left his chest, "I've seen what you wear those nights you're supposedly at the office until one in the morning." 

"Oh, so now I can't wear sexy underwear without your permission—" 

"And, remember when you insisted I share my location with you? Even went through my phone and did it all when I was in the bathroom." Harry swallowed at the memory, but he felt numb to the panic that began to rise in Minerva's eyes. "But, I can see your location, too. I know you're not at the office or whatever bar you pretend to get drinks at when you don't come home." 

She was stock still for a moment before Minerva crossed her arms heavily over her chest, slumping back into her chair. "Okay, and?" she spat, rolling her eyes as if this were another petty argument, "It's not like we haven't been over for years—sorry I wanted to feel loved for once." 

Harry didn't even pay her jabs any mind. None of this mattered anymore to his battered heart. 

"I want a divorce." 

"Harry, we've talked about this. It's no—" 

"I don't care about your job. I want a divorce." 

Venom filled her eyes as she locked her gaze on him.

"You only want this now that you have your little whore next door, isn't it? Yo—" 

"Minerva, please," he heaved, exasperated as his hands fell limp into his lap his neck rolling back to pin his gaze to the ceiling, "Why can't we just be happy? That's all I want. We get a divorce, and you can feel loved by whoever you want and I can get the fuck out of this house." 

Harry didn't look at her even as he heard the sound of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Fucking fine, Harry," she spat his name out like bile, "Get the papers and I'll sign them—no contest, or whatever makes this fastest. But if you want to get out of this fucking house so bad, you can start tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep, asshole." 

With that, his soon-to-be ex-wife stomped upstairs, slamming the master bedroom door hard enough he was sure that his wedding photos would have fallen from the walls had this been a movie. The sickly silent house was filled with the sound of the pelting rain from outside, the interior lit up by lightning strikes and shook by the pounds of thunder. 

He needed to get out of here. 

It was as if he was on autopilot as he moved through the kitchen and out the front door with nothing more than his phone and keys. He didn't even realize where he was going until he was dripping wet with rain soaking him to the bone on (Y/N)'s door step.

He must have missed knocking on her door because he was surprised when he saw the door open wide with (Y/N) standing in her pajamas, concerned etched all over her face with his name forming on her lips.

"I'm getting a divorce." 

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as he cut her off, taking in the rain-sodden man. The water dripping from his hair onto the stained wood of her porch mimicked the watery gaze he stared at her with. 

"Harry, you didn't because of m—" 

"No, no," he swallowed, his mouth working faster than his brain, "No, it's not-not because of you. I should have done this a long time ago, I just let her decide everything for me even if I hated it. You-You made me re-real again. I couldn't stay with her knowing I could be happy again somewhere—somewhere that wasn't with her." 

He watched through bleary eyes as her shoulders raised with a deep breath before she reached out to him. 

"Come inside, you're going to get sick," she murmured, a sad smile on her features that shouldn't have tugged at his heartstrings. 

Taking wooden steps, the cold finally registering on his skin now that the option of warmth was presented in her home as he crossed the threshold. Water dripped onto the hardwood that was identical to what was next door, but felt completely different in a space that actually knew happiness. A man was sat on the couch, long dark hair falling over his shoulder with a pinched mouth and wide eyes taking in the new visitor. 

"Harry," (Y/N) said, stepping around him once the door was locked and closed, "this is my roommate, Mitch. Mitch, this is Harry... our neighbor." 

Mitch nodded his head, rolling his lips between his teeth before he straightened up from his slumped position. "Nice to meet you," he smiled politely before his eyes slid to (Y/N), "I'm gonna go to my room, so if you need anything, just let me know." 

Harry stood with his arms crossed over his chest as they stood, seemingly waiting for the click of Mitch's bedroom door before (Y/N) unfroze. "Um," she mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met Harry's gaze, "I'm gonna go grab you some clothes to wear while we wash your stuff. Just... wait right here, but I'll be right back."

(Y/N) lingered for a moment longer, placing a gentle hand on his arm to go along with her softened features before she was padding up the stairs. It could have been two minutes or two years that it took (Y/N) to return from her search, but Harry had no idea about the difference. He only took note of her soft hands urging him towards the bathroom, a set of oversized clothing tucked into his arms she told him was her brother's. He wouldn't mind if Harry borrowed them, she assured him. 

Maybe it was the cold or the shock that lingered in his system that kept his joints stiff as he dressed. Once his wet clothes were nothing more than a puddle on the titled floor, heavy and thick with the new set cozied to his form, a hair too big, Harry stopped. With his hands braced on the lip of the counter, he spared himself a glance in the mirror. 

Bloodshot, glistening eyes. Wet, dark hair that lost its curl to the weight of the water. Ruddy cheeks. Swollen lips. He looked a mess. 

But, Harry couldn't remember himself ever looking so relieved. 

He carefully gathered his clothes into his arms, ensuring he didn't dampen his borrowed clothing as he exited the bathroom. (Y/N) was there in an instant, having been waiting just outside the door with a softened smile on her features as she offered to take his clothes, already grabbing for them before he'd even relinquished them. 

It wasn't until she returned from the laundry room, telling him something about the detergent, that Harry realized he was crying. Only because (Y/N) had pointed it out with a short gasp, hands instinctively reaching for him before she bundled them together at her chest. 

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what you're going through—" 

"C-Can I hug you?" 

(Y/N) didn't even hesitate before she was gathering him into her arms, Harry's head dropping to her neck with his body pressed flush against hers for no other reason than he hadn't been hugged like this in years. His breathing came in pants against her neck, fanning across her skin while his tears dripped over the curve. (Y/N) settled him as best she could, running a gentle hand over his back while the other swirled through his curls as best she could with their dampened state. 

"'M so relieved," Harry whispered to her when he found his voice, "'M so relieved. Thank you." 

Harry didn't know what he was thanking her for, and he was sure (Y/N) didn't either, but that didn't stop her from holding him tighter.

—————

"Bye, Harry!" 

The delighted shouts that were called through the parking lot at the end of his work day brought a smile to Harry's face. He twisted on his heels, walking backwards for a moment as he waved for all the guys at the mechanic's yard to see. 

"See you all on Monday!" 

Harry couldn't remember ever loving his job the way he loved this one. 

The mechanic was full of some of the nicest people he'd ever met in his life; some grumpy and a bit rambunctious—something he was sure they played up around their quiet accountant, as they called him—but none of them were anything less than welcoming since the day he was brought onto the team. He was excited on the days he worked in office solely because he got to see his friends. There were even nights they went out for drinks or went to a local venue to watch live music, something to relax into the weekend they always told him, and Harry was invited each time. How he worked in an office for almost ten years when this was out there waiting for him, he'd never understand. 

But, Harry didn't like to think about the before years. Thinking about all he missed out on wasn't going to bring back the wasted time, that's what his therapist had told him. 

It had only taken one night at (Y/N)'s and another week and a half at a hotel before Harry had another place lined up—how he was able to manage that, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to say no. It took him one weekend to get his things out of Minerva's house, have her sign the divorce papers he filed the days before, and it was over. His wasted time was up. 

As difficult as Minerva liked to be, when she was done with something, she wiped her hands clean. Just as she did with Harry. She was quick to come to agreements about their assets and belongings, staying true to her word about wanting to take whatever route would be the fastest out of the marriage. 

He didn't mind that she got the house and a sizable chunk of their savings. He could get all of that back, and nothing could compare to the relief and freedom he felt now that he was out of that oppressive house. 

Plus, it was cheaper to go grocery shopping for one. 

(Y/N) had been so encouraging through the first few weeks that Harry was trying to make sense of the new world he had called upon for himself. Never interfering or pushing him to do anything he didn't want to. Everything she told him was about his happiness—putting his happiness first. It was her idea that he reach out to someone to talk to about what happened during his marriage, and how to navigate making his own choices without heavy amounts of doubt pushing him back. 

He hadn't seen her much since the night he crashed at her place, knowing that he needed to spend some time with himself, clear headed and heart in his own hands, before he could be in her distracting presence again. He needed to be the best version of himself first before he could be anyone else's. But, she never backed away from him, always there when he needed her, even if just to talk to someone. 

Harry didn't worry about the dirt on his feet as he opened up the door to his apartment, only shucking off his shoes messily by the threshold. He'd get to them later. 

It'd been three months since he moved in, so the place was a little sparse, but it was perfect in Harry's eyes. He'd never lived by himself before. Everywhere he looked, it was him—his things, his family photos, his memories. He loved his little apartment, no matter if it was a downgrade from a two-story, three bedroom house. This was his first home. 

His clothes were left in the hamper as he changed into a comfy set of clothing. He could do laundry tomorrow, no worries, he reminded himself. He had more important things to do. 

Reaching under his bed, Harry grabbed the final unpacked box he had taken from the attic of the old house. Nothing more was written on the cardboard than Harry's Stuff in Minerva's handwriting. Flipping open the top, he found his university gear (really just a pair of sweatpants he swore got him through exams seasons without any complete failures), a set of messily colored pictures gifted to him from when his niece was only a baby, random items from his childhood, and a leather bound journal. 

The journal was wrapped tightly closed with a matching length of string. The cover was doodled upon with stars and quotes, Harry's name scrawled across the front of the book. It mimicked him, he realized; covered in sketchbook like drawings, but it was all him. 

Inside, he knew there were songs from years ago he probably didn't even remember writing. A smile touched at his features as he untied the string holding the journal together. 

But, before he could flip through the pages again, he knew he had to make a call. 

With his phone to his ear, the ringing echoed in his ears until he heard the telltale click.

"Harry!" (Y/N) happily chirped on the other side, "How are you?

Hearing her voice, he swore it was easier to breathe. "Hi, 'm doing good," he greeted her, voice dreamy and mellow, "Are y'doing anything tonight?"

A beat passed before she spoke again, the smile he could hear in her voice easy to imagine. "I don't think so, why?" 

He promised (Y/N) she would be the first he called when he found his music again. 

"I want to show y'something."

He was happy to wait for her. 

—————

this is....very different for me ngl HUSHFUSHF I had a very different direction I was thinking about when I started this and then completely went off the rails and turned into something sadder than anything else ive written so...thanks for sticking through it I guess shfushfush thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes (and the fact they don't even kiss ???)! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry imagine #harry styles angst #harry angst #harry styles au #harry au #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harrys house #love on tour #my policeman #as it was #late night talking

[klapollo]

some basic tips for getting a job in this horrible market

hi all -- long story short, as many of you know, i just finished a three+ month job search after being laid off. here's what i learned:

Your resume should be your accomplishments, not your tasks. When I started searching, my bullet points in my resume were things like "used x software" or "wrote x content." Your resume should be you bragging. EX: "I used x software to turn around 100 deliverables a month," "I managed [x amount] sales associates and was named highest commission earner x months in a row." These don't have to be lifechanging things or massive projects -- any metric that demonstrates your capabilities well can do the job.

Make sure your resume is ATS optimized. Most jobs/companies use automated resume processing, and lots of great people get rejected this way. If you're getting rejection emails on Sunday morning or in the middle of the night, these are probably auto-rejections. ATS is the automatic system that sifts through resumes -- you can find free ATS-optimized templates online, I got min through resume.com. Do NOT use fancy graphics, headshots, any extraneous info. Use sites like jobscan to see if your resume is able to be parsed by an auto resume processor.

Use numbers. Make sure your resume has lots of numbers indicating your skills. "I helped my franchise achieve X% of revenue growth," "I drove x amount of deliveries daily." Any impressive numerical amounts are useful. If your company is tight-lipped about numbers, go to press releases. Ex: an app I did a considerable about of work for generated a lot of money that my company disclosed, so I put down that i contributed to that revenue via my work.

Have a template cover letter. Cover letters can give you an advantage, but they're tedious. Take note of what qualities are most sought-after in your field/ideal role, and write a generic cover letter that applies to most of them. When applying, do minor tweaks such as including the company name or any unique qualifications. Be careful about typos and leaving in old tweaks!

Use the free month of LinkedIn Premium if you're on there. I got some results from cold DMing recruiters for jobs I was interested in, and Premium lets you do that freely. Remember to cancel at the end of the month!

If you're looking for remote work, here are some boards I used: Remote.co, Otta, Remote Rocketship, Swooped, Best Writing (writing-focused)

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 8 (2024)

By Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, and Noi

Now Available!

Itch.io. - Keep Reading below

Due to Internal things, the June and July issues will only update on events and games. We hope to resume regular activities and include more pages by August. Note: while Axelle is mentioned, they are currently on a break.

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : RAFFLE FOR PALESTINE ~

The IF COMMUNITY RAFFLE FOR PALESTINE is a charity drive spearheaded by Kit from “The Northern Passage” (@northern-passage) to raise money for Palestine families trying to evacuate Gaza.

To participate in the raffle, you must provide a receipt that you donated 5€/$5 to one of the five selected GoFundMe to receive one ticket for the raffle.

Each further 5€/$5 donation (to the same or one of the other 5 GFM) will grant you another raffle ticket.

Prizes will be assigned to valid raffle ticket at random, using a generator. These prizes include portrait of characters (bust/full, coloured/sketched, background/clean), as well as writing snippets (500+ w/) or playable in- character micro-IF. The list of the 50 participating artists and authors can be found here.

You can redeem tickets for the raffle up until the 21st of June. Winners will be contacted shortly after.

~ CONFERENCE ~

While you cannot register for the Narrascope in person, you can still do so for the online option until June 17th! The event is happening June 21-23. It is also possible to participate in their game jam even if you are not attending! You can already submit now!

~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~

With this edition of the 🔥 Fuck Capitalism Jam 2024 🔥 being ranked, the jam is currently in its voting period until next week. If you did not submit an entry (and thus, cannot vote), you can still share your thoughts in the games comments!

The Rayuela (Spanish IFComp) is also still in their voting period. If you are Spanish speaking, come support the entries!

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Still ongoing is the ParserComp, which are looking for parser games, both with a classic feel or a more experimental approach.

If you are looking to make a Visual Novel, the Otome Jam will be looking for entries until July 1st. There is also the Josei jam running parallel to it.

While it is not IF-focused, the Anti-Romance Jam is once again looking for anti-romance submissions!

Love/Violence is another unranked game jam looking for entries dealing with Love and Violence and all the things in between (also accepts non IF)

Come submit to the Neo-Twiny Jam for charity! Until the end of June, every 500-word micro IF will help raise money for LBGTQ+ causes. Reach out to the organisers (@neointeractives/@neo-twiny-jam) if you want to donate instead!

From now until the start of July, you can participate in the Fix the Worst Visual Novels Jam.

Can you write something in French? Or use Google Translate? The annual Nouvim3000 is an unranked francophone IF jam where you need to write between 500 and 3k words. This year's theme is “INCOMBUSTIBLE”.

~ ENDED ~

The Tomatoes bitsy jam ended last weekend. Check you the cool half-dozen entries!

~ OTHER ~

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running! If you have completed an IF piece this year, consider submitting it! It is happening only on itch!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

The Zen of Kayaking (Z-code) is a text adventure game inspired by 1980s Infocom games, where you go on a Kayak trip on a Sunday morning. @pixelturkey

Goodnight Molly (Ren’Py) is a short visual novel about stories and how we don't always remember them the way we think we do.

Blank Canvas (Ren’Py) is a visual novel where you play as an illustrator asked for a time-sensitive comission.

What Grackle Told the Stranger (Twine) is a short mystery game based on D&D.

Don't forget about the cool games released in the events mentioned in the previous pages! There were a lot of really cool games! (Erika really liked the Neo-Twiny entries.)

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance (CScript) is a cosmic horror where you inherit a creepy manor. @darielivalyen

A Rose by Another Name (Twine) is a Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet inspired project with a queer twist. @triscuit-writes

Text Your Life (Ren’Py) is a romance mobile phone chat simulator.

Stygian—Elves of Darkest Night (CScript) is a high-fantasy project.

Project Xavier (CScript) is a high-fantasy project where you play as a hunter.

~ GAMES UPDATES ~

Burning Academia (Twine) has released its second chapter. @burning-academia-if

The Bureau (CScript) has updated its demo with 40k+ words. @morbethgames

One Knight Stand (CScript) is releasing the next update at different Patreon tier. @oneknightstand-if

Honor Bound (CScript) has released its seventh chapter on Patreon. @hpowellsmith

Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse (Twine) has released the first part of Chapter 1. @stygiansun-totaleclipse

The Night Market (Twine) released Chapter 5 on its Patreon. @night-market-if

Dimension Jumper (Twine) added Chapter 11 to the demo. @dimension-jumper-if

Shattered Eagle: Fall of an Empire (CScript) released its third chapter.

Saturnine (CScript) added a new chapter of 36k words. @satur9-if

~ OTHER ~

The Queer Games Bundle (@queergamesbundle) is now live on itch.io. Support a bunch of queer creators (including Interactive Fiction authors!) by purchasing the bundle!

We apologize if we missed an update or a release. We are but volunteers trying to find as much info as possible, but sometimes news pass through the cracks.

Please, let us know if something should have been added to the zine, and we will shout it out next week!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, AND NOI

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 8

#interactive fiction #if news #visual novel #parser #choice of games #choicescript #twine #ink #twine games #ink games #itch.io #interactive game #interactive novel #IF #games #hobby #indie dev #choose your own adventure #if-whats-new #What's New in IF #NEW ISSUE IS OUT!!

[blackgirlcinephiles]

Incoming: Long post! Black media discourse! Zendaya think piece!

Two years ago I wrote this post about Zendaya, Keke Palmer, and how colorism shapes the career trajectories of Black actresses.

This past weekend Challengers released in theaters, sparking a round of online discussion about Zendaya, her star power, her talent as an actor, and how a raunchy film like Challengers fits into a cultural landscape that’s less enthusiastic about on-screen depictions of sex.

Early reviews of the film lauded Zendaya’s performance, and even after it’s release, the general consensus remains overwhelmingly positive, with quiet buzzing of a potential Oscar nomination for Zendaya. Kudos to her!

I’m not here, however, to discuss or analyze Zendaya’s acting chops. (To some ppl, she’s outstanding, to others she’s overhyped. Personally, I think Zendaya is talented. Her work in Euphoria was no small feat and she’s proved herself capable.)

The reason I’m writing this now is that an excerpt from this article about Zendaya and Challengers got me thinking again about what it takes for Black actors to become “stars” in this day and age. I’ll insert screenshots here.

Now I’m sure the reviewer’s tone in these excerpts will be off-putting to some, esp those who identify as a part of the Zendaya standom. It’s clear that Ms. Angelica Jade Bastien has yet to buy into the fanfare about Zendaya’s acting abilities.

But she touches on something very interesting to me. Zendaya is THE most prominent Black actress of the younger generation and I’d argue her degree of star power is unmatched by even her non-Black peers, some of them having comparatively longer (& more impressive) resumes. Zendaya is incredibly well liked. People want to see her and she’s been so visible these past 6 years that it’s hard to believe Challengers is her first leading role in a big release.

So…why her? Why has Zendaya been able to garner this level of star power and leverage behind the scenes while other equally talented Black actors fight for adequate roles and visibility? After reading several opinions, I’ve come to some conclusions.

I think colorism, racial identity, and desirability politics all play a role (as was discussed in the colorism post). But I also think Zendaya has been very smart about managing her online presence and overall brand. She’s maintained Beyonce level privacy about her personal life (virtually scandal free since her teens) and has managed to exude poise while still being seen as delightfully down-to-earth. That in itself is praiseworthy b/c it’s a delicate balancing act and many have faltered.

I also think that as AJB states, there’s an indictment on Hollywood to be made here. I think since Zendaya’s exit from Disney, the projects she’s taken on have used her likeness to stoke public interest in the films. (Similar to the way ppl watched Selena’s film choices post- Wizards of Waverly: “What’s this beloved disney kid up to next?”)

And this is noteworthy b/c the significance of Zendaya’s roles in the early films of the Spiderman and Dune franchises have been disproportionate to her visibility in promotional materials. Zendaya’s screentime in the first Dune couldn’t have amounted to more than 10 minutes, but she was prominently featured on the press tour and red carpets. The same goes for the first Spiderman. She’s clearly been used to sell tickets to these movies, even when she doesn’t have a lot to do in them.

And Zendaya, to her credit, has made the most of these opportunities (earlier this year she received high praise for her performance as Chani in Dune 2). She once stated in a vogue interview that she started going out for roles initially written as white to see if she’d be able to change the casting team’s mind. And it seems that she’s succeeded, as evidenced by her presence in several huge releases over the past 6 years. But these were often small, supporting roles where her identity as a biracial Black woman didn’t impact her character’s arc within the overall story. (This is not necessarily a bad thing in itself, but stay with me)

This then begs the question, “What does it mean for a star like Zendaya to take up roles originally reserved for white actresses?”

The conclusion I’ve come to is that it means providing a film with enough racial diversity to give the impression that Hollywood cares about being inclusive, while not being so different that certain audiences are unable to “connect” to the character. I think that “Hollywood’s acceptable Black girl” has to be Black enough to fulfill a diversity quota, but not so Black that audiences are reminded the character has a different lived experience from them and feel uncomfortable.

Like AJB said, I don’t believe mainstream audiences are actually interested in Black female rage. It makes them uncomfortable and lately certain factions of the population have been extremely vocal about being “tired of woke.”

I find it strange that Justin Kuritzkes (the Challengers screenwriter) stated it only made sense to write Tashi as a Black woman bc of the visibility and dominance of Black women in tennis, but didn’t think it’d be important to explore any of the challenges that come with that in the film. And for this to be followed by the decision to cast a light skinned, biracial actress in the role? It doesn’t make any sense.

We’re shown that Tashi Duncan is a fierce, unapologetically competitive athlete. And yet, these are not qualities that Black female athletes are usually applauded for having. Just look at the narratives that have swirled around athletes like Serena Williams and Sha’Carri Richardson since their debuts. There’s always a barely concealed desire to humble high achieving Black women who are confident in their abilities. The press coverage around Serena & Naomi’s infamous match (which Justin Kuritzkes said inspired Challengers) is a perfect example of that. It’s strange to model a character after these figures and give no mention of these struggles and how they’d influence character motivations.

IMO, this reads as another case of not wanting to be critized for lack of diversity in your film, while also not wanting to do the work that goes into making your diverse cast authentic. (like getting input from or writing alongside other BIPOC screenwriters. That “little white boys” line is truly meaningless without any context or backstory. And it doesn’t sound like they’ve given Tashi much.) The result is an Black female lead character who is under-written and whose importance has been overstated in the promos in contrast to the actual story. (Which seems to fit right on trend for films Zendaya’s been a part of.)

Zendaya seems to have become the go-to Black actress for when big budget films want to “go ethnic.” She’s mixed race, conventionally beautiful, near universally well-liked w/ a loyal fanbase, and has been recognized as talented enough (Two Emmys! Count ‘em. Two!) to get the job done. She’s a safe bet that allows them to kill two birds with one stone. By adding Zendaya to the mix, the studio gets to check a diversity box for their cast and gets leading star guaranteed to get them sales.

I really don’t want anyone to misconstrue this as downplaying Zendaya’s achievements or her talent, b/c it’s not. But no part of the society we live in is a true meritocracy. As I discussed in the original post re: colorism, there are always structural and social forces at work shaping our ability to advance. Like Beyonce, Zendaya is an incredibly privileged Black woman who is talented, has worked hard, and has made the most of the advantages she’s been afforded. And I don’t think Zendaya has any control over the way she’s been used to advertise the films she’s done over the past 6 years.

I just think this conversation is another opportunity to adjust our perspectives and examine the limitations of representation in Hollywood. I’m reluctant to acknowledge Zendaya’s current success as a marker of progress or even see it as a win for Black female representation.

“Zendaya is officially Gen Z’s Hollywood star. Gen Z’s first true Hollywood star is a Black woman!”

What does it say about the stage of progress we’re in if our generation’s chosen Black leading lady has to have such close proximity to whiteness that people can choose to overlook her Blackness, if they so desire? Is the mere presence of a Black face in a high place progress? Or is it what that person’s power allows them to do for others who are also marginalized? As AJB asked, how meaningful is Zendaya’s position as a Black female producer if everything about the projects she’s involved in is white except for her? (Just throwing out food for thought: How different would Challengers have been if a MoC was casted as one of the male leads instead of the two “white twinks” everyone can’t stop talking about? No shade to Mike Faist or Josh O’Connor, but would it still have gotten buzz? Would the marketing team have known how to advertise the film if there were two main actors of color instead of one?)

I think it’s amazing to see Zendaya’s growth and success as a biracial Black female entertainer, but I won’t attach any meaning to her success that isn’t there.

This is actually a really shitty time for Black art and Black actors in Hollywood. Last year, so many wonderful Black shows were cancelled. DEI rollbacks are hitting all parts of society, but especially entertainment and the trend doesn’t seem to be reversing any time soon.

It’s not comforting to see Zendaya reach the heights she’s soared to, while other equally talented yet less privileged Black actors fall into obscurity waiting years before they get another role that showcases their abilities. Black actors continue to suffer from lack access to opportunities/roles. Their projects are not marketed and given time to grow. And even when the support is there, the shows will still be cancelled. What does it say that the one Black actress who has had consistent enough access to these opportunites to achieve “star” status is the one with the closest proximity to whiteness?

Things are actually very bleak.

#blackgirlcinephiles #black girls on tumblr #discourse #black actresses #black actresses in hollywood #zendaya #challengers #what does it mean to be a star in this day and age #what is the true importance of having a Black hollywood star? #should it mean anything? #black representation #black representation in media