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guacam011y · 3 years

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***SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 5 OF WANDAVISION***

HOLY SHITE MY MIND IS BLOWN

TOMMY AND BILLY CRYING

“Do you want me to take that again?” “Take it from the top?”

Agnes knows ! Tiger - Ralph

“Dark liquor” Vision being concerned

Billy and Tommy aged up?!

I DO NOT TRUST HAYWARD

SCARLET WITCH - TALKING ABOUT HOW WANDA DOESN’T HAVE A CODENAME

SIS STRAIGHT UP TOOK VISIONS CORPSE

HEX — HER POWERS GET REFERRED TO AS HEX POWERS SOMETIMES IN THE COMICS

CAPTAIN MARVEL REFERENCE

NORM SAYING NONE OF IT IS REAL

SPARKY THE DOG - VISION HAD A STAND ALONE AND STOLE A DOG

HER ACCENT

LAGOS

SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW ANY OF THIS STARTED IN THE FIRST PLACE

EVAN PETERS AS QUICKSILVER

DARCY GOING “SHE RECAST PIETRO?” MOOOD

X-MEN, START TO THE MULTIVERSE?!

WANDA CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE CONTROLLING IT

IS MONICA MAD AT CAROL???

MONICA X DARCY?! WHAT A POWER COUPLE THAT WOULD BE

SIS REALLY ENDGAME - ENDGAME ENDED WITH TONY’S FUNERAL AND WANDA PROBS WENT STRAIGHT FROM THERE AND STOLE HER DEAD BF’S CORPSE (can’t really blame her, it looked like they were trying to experiment on Vis and could it be Hayward behind it?)

WHO WAS THAT ENGINEER THAT MONICA WAS GOING TO CONTACT?

BABY VISION

AND AGNES DEFINITELY KNOWS SOMETHING

DARCY FINALLY GOT HER COFFEE

SO VIS SAID THAT WANDA COULD’VE MADE EVERYTHING SUBCONSCIOUSLY AND THAT OVER TIME SHE BECAME AWARE OF IT, AND SIS DEFO HAS SOME CONTROL BUT IT’S NOT ALL HER. I THINK AGNES IS AGATHA HARKNESS AND EITHER MEPHISTO IS BEHIND IT OR IT’S NIGHTMARE AND THEY’VE MAYBE POWERED UP NIGHTMARE

***FURTHER UPDATES AND EASTER EGGS***

Auntie Agnes and Agnes saying she has a few tricks up her sleeve - we should definitely take note of that seeing as Agnes definitely has something to do with the whole situation

Wanda and Vision’s house changed again, being inspired by Family Ties, possibly Full House and Growing Pains

“Do you want me to take it from the top?” It seems as though when someone, this time Vision, steers away from the script, things either reset themselves or people become aware to some capacity, although Agnes probably already knows

Speaking of Growing Pains - It had a spin off called “Just the 10 of Us” in which the director for Wandavision, Matt Shakman, was apart of the cast - and seemingly also inspired the theme song for this week

We should definitely keep an eye on Monica and her potential for powers. With Maria last episode revealed to have gone by the name ‘Photon’ (which is a name that Monica uses as one of her aliases in the comics) and could inspire Monica’s name as she develops her powers - those scans didn’t look 100% normal. Monica has also used the Captain Marvel monicker in the comics

Wanda’s energy field and such being referred to as “Hex” short for Hexagon, could be a little nod to the comics where Wanda’s powers are sometimes called Hex powers

She’s never been referred to as the Scarlet Witch on the big screen - and it seems as though she soon may earn that code name

So we now know that Wanda stole Vision’s corpse from S.W.O.R.D, but did she actually re animate him fully? He’s still got the gem in the centre of his forehead, but the last time he had it was in Infinity War where it promptly got ripped out by Thanos - so has Wanda found her own way of reanimating him and he’s alive or is he dead and just a trick of the mind - though from other trailers/previews, Vis is seen trying to and looks successful at leaving Wanda’s barrier

They had a little call back to Captain America: Civil War with the Sokovia Accords, which were targeting the Avengers in general but were created when Wanda lost control of her powers and killed civilians

A little joke towards Vis as playing “Father Knows Best” in their little suburbia - Which was a sitcom that ran for 200 episodes in the 50’s

Sparky ! A little nod to the little green dog from the Walta and King comics run for Vision and unfortunately soon meets the same fate 💔

A little nod to Endgame when we hear from Monica that Wanda definitely could’ve taken down Thanos by herself had Thanos not rained fire - and Jimmy arguing that Captain Marvel could’ve just as easily done it - which leaves Monica with an angry look on her face

Good ol’ dial up internet

Can Vis “save” the residents of Westview? He can still seemingly interact with people’s minds, with or without the mind stone - Norm soon comes out of his trance as Vis snaps him out of it and asks to call his sister and that he has to save them all from “her” - now this “her” could be Wanda...but it could also be Agnes and then Vis shuts him down soon enough again and Norm goes back to his sit com self

Billy and Tommy are fully aware, or at least suspect Wanda’s abilities - after asking her to bring back Sparky from the dead and speaking of Billy and Tommy - could they be semi permanent fixtures in the MCU, it would help to introduce the Young Avengers eventually. They'll do Young Avengers at some point since Kang is supposed to be a thing in the third Ant-Man.

Teddy, unfortunately, I don't think will be here for a bit (I really hope he is though!). I think the guy they hired that everyone is rumoring to be Teddy might just be an episode about Billy coming to terms with his sexuality and Wanda and Vis learning to accept it in the way that era of tv they're in would go about with that kind of episode and the dude is just a dude - but again, I really hope it’s Teddy 😭

Wanda leaves the hex after a mini missile/plane tries to shoot at her - and she’s in her Scarlet Witch costume and is seemingly mostly back to her “normal self”, which includes her accent !

Lagos brand paper towels - “For when you make a mess you didn’t mean to” - a nod to Civil War again in which Wanda accidentally blew up a building in Lagos and caused the Sokovian accords to come to fruition

The mail man again - I also think he was in the commercial but anywho - “Your mom won’t let him go far” similar to “Much like she won’t let anyone leave” a potential nod to Wanda or Agnes not letting anyone leave?

“We can’t reverse death” and yet she brought Vision back - keeping in mind that he’s an android but still a little foreshadow to what happened at the end of the ep? Better yet, could Pietro coming back be a distraction for Wanda? Agnes or whoever introducing someone that Wanda lives in hopes that she won’t go full on breakdown superpowers or just to give her an attachment to Westview even more and make her not want to leave at all

“She recasted Pietro” EVAN ! I’m so pumped for this - it seems this could turn into the X-Men making their debut earlier than expected possibly? In any case, it’s a nice little Easter Egg to the previous Fox franchise of X-Men movies where Evan played Peter Maximoff “Quicksilver” alongside James McAvoy as Prof X, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine and so many others - and with Deadpool being confirmed as Disney’s first R rated film, it seems Mutants are definitely on their way to the MCU

Agnes is definitely Agatha or a gender bent Nightmare

The way Billy shed himself and Tommy up was scary - definitely a little nod to his powers coming in

Multiple different perspectives of Wanda saying that Monica left

Red Hex dialled up to around light sources (computer, window, etc.)

Vision mentions reading Charles Darwin’s The Descent of Man - which could refer to Mutants entering the MCU, Mutants being superior to humans

Agnes calls herself Auntie Agnes - in episode 2 during the title sequence in the grocery store there’s a product called ‘Auntie A’s Kitty Litter’

Agnes refers to herself as a Tiger and in the episode, there’s a Tiger on the dining table in the kitchen - could that be a listening device, her eyes and ears?

There are no other children in Westview - Billy and Tommy are immune because they have no prior trauma

Elizabeth Olsen’s photos are real and slightly altered with Sokovian flags in the background

In the birthday shot of Billy and Tommy, they have ‘1,2,3,4,5’ candles all on one cake

In the holiday photos, Vision goes from Turkey to Easter Bunny, to Santa and progressively gets more unhappy - realising he no longer wants to play along in Wanda’s Hex

During Monica’s callbacks to seeing Wanda’s pain inside her head, we see a new shot of Wanda crying - it looks like it’s around the time she stole Vision’s corpse, as the outfit she’s wearing is very similar, if not the same - could this be an after shot of when she’s trying to bring Vision back?

During the scene where we see the footage of Wanda stealing Vision’s corpse, the S.W.O.R.D logo that appears on the table has 8 stars around the rim of the logo but then has a 9th one in the middle - could this be a little Easter Egg to the nine realms of the Cosmos? And there’s also a map showing Cape Canaveral, could that be where S.W.O.R.D’s headquarters are?

Wanda and Pietro were born in 1989 to Irina and Oleg Maximoff - who were killed in an air raid when the twins were 10. In the comics, Wanda and Pietro were raised by Django and Maria Maximoff, before their true parentage was revealed as being the children of Magneto, however, in the comics this has been retconned so that Wanda and Pietro are no longer Mutants and the High Evolutionary had just disguised them as Mutants (something I think they should undo tbh - MARVEL, PLEASE MAKE WANDA AND PIETRO MUTANTS AGAIN!!!)

Speaking of the air raid, that was also referenced in Age of Ultron by Pietro and Wanda - “We were 10 years old, having dinner the four of us. And the first shell hits 2 floors below, makes a hole in the floor” - was the beeping Stark toaster be what that was referring to?

WHIH reappears for a brief cameo as the news service in the MCU - and Hayward cuts off Jimmy as he was trying to defend Wanda’s reputation, in which Jimmy then turns to Darcy and says “I try not to speak ill of people” Darcy then follows up with “Then allow me, Hayward’s a-“ and then she’s cut off by a shot back to Hayward saying the word “Terrorist” which would make sense as it seems with Vision’s corpse, he may have been trying to make sentient weapons and by subverting Vision’s will and blaming Wanda of doing the same. In the footage shown of Wanda stealing Vision’s remains, we see Vision broken up into parts and S.W.O.R.D seems to be experimenting on him and this seems to be the robotics/nanotech project that Hayward was referring to. Monica asks Hayward about the footage saying “When was this?” to which Hayward replies saying “9 days ago. Maximoff stormed our facility, stole Vision’s body and resurrected him” - this would mean that Wanda took Vision 2 weeks after the events of Endgame, about a week before Monica returned to S.W.O.R.D and Hayward didn’t tell her any of this and when he sent her in there, he knew exactly what he was doing - with her reputation after Civil War, this makes it easier for Hayward to paint her as the villain.

Back in Westview, Tommy wears red and Billy wears green - which are the colours that Wiccan and Speed wear in the comics, respectively. And it’s also the colours that Wanda and Vision are known for and appears quite a lot in their wardrobes

More in regards to Sparky, he was the synthezoid dog in Tom King’s run of Vision - the story being that he was originally a dog named Zeke who unfortunately passed away after digging up the Grim Reaper’s corpse and getting zapped. The Grim Reaper’s helmet appears during the title sequence of Episode 2 in the floorboards. Could Sparky have been trying to dig up a similar thing when he was caught by Agnes and consequently killed?

Monica mentions that she knows this aerospace engineer, they’re never shown but she is seen texting them. Could it be Reed Richards a.k.a Mr Fantastic? Hayward did mention that some astronauts used to work for S.W.O.R.D before a mission went haywire - though it seems a bit lacklustre to introduce such highly anticipated characters this way. Could it instead be the Skrull daughter of Talos that Monica befriended at the end of Captain Marvel? She mentioned that they had extraterrestrial allies in episode 4 working with her and Fury as apart of S.W.O.R.D - in the Spanish subtitles they use the feminine articles for this engineer - so I think it’s more likely to be Talos’s daughter

The board that we saw in Episode 4 now includes the mailman, drivers license and all - could he be Jimmy’s missing witness?

The tension in the room after Jimmy references Carol is similarly seen when in Spider-Man: Far From Home, where Peter asks Skrull Fury/Talos “How about Captain Marvel?” To which Talos replies “Don’t involve her name”. Fury, Monica and Talos were all on the side of the Skrulls by then end of Captain Marvel and the space station that Fury was on maybe apart of S.W.O.R.D. So did Carol betray them?

A slight reference to Captain America: The First Avenger is made when Monica pulls a Peggy Carter and shoots at something to see if it’s bulletproof, in Peggy’s case it was the iconic Captain America shield and in the case of Monica, it was her clothes that she was wearing after Wanda threw her out of the Hex

Abilash (Norm) never states that Wanda is the one that Vision has to save them from, it’s just “her” - could this instead be Agnes?

When Billy is training Sparky to sit, he puts the treat by his ear up to his temple - a future reference that Billy will one day share the same powers as his mum?

During the scene in which Wanda leaves the Hex briefly, she turns the guns onto Hayward but none are trained on Monica - she may still trust Monica slightly, whereas with Hayward, she slightly more pissed off because of what he was doing to Vision’s remains. And turning a bunch of guns on the people you don’t trust? Like father, like daughter as Magneto pulls a similar move in one of the X-Men films - Hopefully, the big cameo they keep teasing will be Ian McKellan as Magneto or the Magnus of this House of M adaptation

During when Agnes “found” Sparky, she says he died from eating too many leaves from her plants - in the Tom King Vision run, one of Vision’s kids ends up killing Sparky and sees inside his stomach that there’s a plant that Agatha Harkness grows in her garden

All the names that appear during the credits that Wanda tries to run to end the show and to stop Vision from talking are names of people who work on the actual Wandavision show itself

When Evan Peter’s version of Quicksilver shows up, he says “Does a long lost bro get to squeeze his sister to death or what?” I DO NOT TRUST THIS PIETRO - Similar to Wandavision, the Fox X-Men movies moved up decade by decade - First Class was in the 1960s, Days of Future Past was in the 1970s, Apocalypse was in the 1980s and Dark Phoenix was in the 1990’s - which would make even more sense as MCU! Pietro wasn’t born until 1989, whereas Peter was active during the 1980s. I reckon that this Pietro is Jimmy’s missing witness, Agnes’s husband Ralph and is disguising itself as a comforting presence to Wanda as Vision no longer brings comfort and is trying to bring Wanda back to reality - and when he shows up, the mirror in the background behind Wanda is slightly distorted but his hand looks red and in the shot as well, there seems to be a grey arm reaching towards Pietro - in the shot itself behind and in front of Wanda, there’s nothing there but in the mirror, there is! Either way, I do not trust this Pietro and it’s just an entity trying to give Wanda the last thing that could make her happy - but it won’t last, as everything is already breaking down around her.

I seriously seriously love this show so much 💙

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Arpeggio

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

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

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

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

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

“Did you see this interview?”

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

“How––”

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

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

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

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

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

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

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

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

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

----

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

“How’s the album?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had songs written before––”

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

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

“What do you mean––”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out!”

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

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

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

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

She took your songs away from you.

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

You felt your throat tighten up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

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

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

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

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

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

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

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You definitely went to music school.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shawn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

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

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

“I like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice cracked, “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And we’re back!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head, “You lied––”

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

“How is this my fault?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shawn was gone.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music lesson in twenty?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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esperwatchesfilms · 3 years

Text

Dead Poets Society (1989)

John Keating: O Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody? Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, in this class you can either call me Mr. Keating or, if you're slightly more daring, O Captain, my Captain.

John Keating: I was the intellectual equivalent of a 98-pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.

The above gif is misquoting a bit here. It annoys me, so I’m providing the proper quote:

John Keating: Because we are food for worms, lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.

[after hearing "The Introduction to Poetry"] John Keating: Excrement! That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe! We're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? "I like Byron, I give him a 42 but I can't dance to it!"

John Keating: This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls.

John Keating: We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering; these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.

John Keating: Beauty. Romance. Love. These are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish ... What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here -- that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

McAllister: "Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and I'll show you a happy man." John Keating: "But only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be." McAllister: Tennyson? John Keating: No. Keating.

John Keating: Language was developed for one endeavor, and that is... Mr. Anderson? Come on, are you a man or an amoeba? [Todd stays silent] John Keating: Mr. Perry? Neil Perry: To communicate. John Keating: No! To woo women!

Todd Anderson: YAWP! John Keating: There it is! You see, you have a barbarian in you after all! Now, you don’t get away that easy. There’s a picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don’t think, answer. Go on. Todd Anderson: A m-m-m-madman. John Keating: What kind of madman? Don’t think about it! Just answer again. Todd Anderson: A cr-crazy madman. John Keating: No, you can do better than that. Free up your mind. Use your imagination! Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it’s total gibberish. Go on, go on! Todd Anderson: A-a-a sweaty-toothed madman. John Keating: Good God, boy, there’s a poet in you after all! There. Close your eyes. Close your eyes! Close 'em! Now, describe what you see.

Todd Anderson: Uh, I-I close my eyes. John Keating: Yes. Todd Anderson: Uh, and this image floats beside me. John Keating: A sweaty-toothed madman. Todd Anderson: A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain. John Keating: Oh, that's excellent! Now, give him action; make him do something! Todd Anderson: H-His hands reach out and choke me. John Keating: That's it! Wonderful, wonderful! Todd Anderson: And all the time he's mumbling. John Keating: What's he mumbling? Todd Anderson: Mumbling truth. John Keating: Yeah, yes. Todd Anderson: Truth like-like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. John Keating: [some of the class start to laugh; Todd opens his eyes, Keating blocks them to get him to close them again] Forget them! Forget them! Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket! Todd Anderson: Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying t-to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream. [Todd opens his eyes, there’s a long pause, then the class applauds] John Keating: Don't you forget this.

John Keating: Even though others may think them odd or unpopular; even though the herd may go, [imitating a goat] John Keating: "That's ba-a-a-a-ad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Neil Perry: [finds Todd sitting alone on the roof] Hey! Todd Anderson: Hey. Neil Perry: What's going on? Todd Anderson: Nothin'. Today's my birthday. Neil Perry: Is today your birthday? Happy birthday! Todd Anderson: Thanks. Neil Perry: What'd you get? Todd Anderson: [indicating the desk set lying beside him] My parents gave me this. Neil Perry: Isn't this the same desk set... Todd Anderson: Yeah. Yeah, they gave me the same thing as last year. Neil Perry: Oh. Todd Anderson: Oh. Neil Perry: [laughing] Maybe they thought you needed another one. Todd Anderson: [laughing] Maybe they weren't thinking about anything at all. The funny thing about this is, I-I didn't even like it the first time. Neil Perry: Todd, I think you're underestimating the value of this desk set. [picks it up] Neil Perry: I mean, who would want a football or a baseball or... Todd Anderson: Or a car. Neil Perry: Or a car, if they could have a desk set as wonderful as this one? I mean, if-if I were ever going to buy a desk set twice -- [both boys chuckle] Neil Perry: -- I would probably buy this one. Both times! In fact, its shape is... it's rather aerodynamic, isn't it? [walks to the edge of the roof] Neil Perry: You can feel it. This desk set wants to fly! [hands it to Todd] Neil Perry: Todd? The world's first unmanned flying desk set. [Todd throws it off the roof, giving a yell (or a yawp!) - papers fly everywhere and things crash and clatter to the ground while the boys laugh] Neil Perry: Oh my! Well, I wouldn't worry. You'll get another one next year.

Charlie Dalton: [answering disconnected phone] Welton Academy, hello. Yes, he is. Just a moment. Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It's God.

John Keating: There's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.

John Keating: Phone call from God. If it had been collect, that would have been daring.

The above is also not what is said in the film. “Tell me what you feel!” is the actual line.

*didn’t put us *up* to anything - these gifs misquoting are killing me.

ESE: 120/100

50 +5 for young Ethan Hawke +10 for Robin Williams +4 for the alternative four pillars: Travesty. Horror. Decadence. Excrement. +5 for Kurtwood Smith -10 for Neil’s father, Mr. Perry +5 for Keating walking straight out of the classroom on day 1 +5 for Carpe Diem +5 for Keating instructing the boys to rip the shitty introduction to poetry out of the book +2 for Keating’s whistling -5 for Cameron being a little wussy boy +2 for “rude squeak” +2 for sneaking out to read poetry +10 for the centerfold with poem written on the back +10 for the Congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with the golden track -10 for calling Todd out in front of the class +5 for the bed chase that finally gets Todd involved +5 for Neil getting the part of Puck in Midsummer Night’s Dream -10 for students like Hopkins +15 for Keating helping Todd to find his voice +5 for saxophone -10 for the same desk set -5 for bringing the two girls to the DPS meeting -5 for kissing the forehead of a girl you barely know while she’s asleep -10 for the over-reaction of Chet -10 for corporal punishment +10 for “Nuwanda” not breaking -10 for Neil’s super-unreasonable father +15 for Keating’s advice to Neil -5 for Knox’s persistence -5 for Neil lying to Keating about talking to his father +10 for Neil’s performance as Puck +5 for the amount of praise Neil receives for his performance +10 for Keating’s concern -10 for suicide aftermath -15 for Cameron being a fucking fink +20 for Nuwanda (Charlie) punching Cameron in his stupid face -10 for the school using Keating as a scapegoat +20 for Todd’s show of appreciation and those who joined in solidarity on their desks +10 for Hopkins joining and standing on his desk, too

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antisocial-af · 3 years

Photo

Title: A Chance at Forever

Gift for: @brightasstars

Chapter: 3/3 COMPLETED

Square Filled: Free Space (For @shadowhunterbingo)

Raiting: T

Wordcount: 1839

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Angst with Happy Ending, Time Travel, Malec Fluff.

Author’s Note: I am still under the weather and have been for a bit. But I wanted to finish this Bingo Square before the event closed.

Summary:

Alec and Magnus travel to the past and make a big decision about their future.

Read on Ao3

Story:

The portal threw the couple out on an expensive-looking rug, causing them both to groan in discomfort.

"Where are we?" Alec questioned as he started to straighten himself out.

"Not really where darling," Magnus corrected him as he held his hand out to help his husband up. "More like when."

"When?"

Magnus looked around and confirmed that Ragnor's portal actually worked. "we are in the past, Alexander."

Alec just looked at his husband, confused. He didn't understand what Magnus was going on about. Finally, Alec took his husband's outstretched hand and replied, "Magnus did you hit your head hard on the landing?"

"No, but darling, we must get moving," Magnus stated as he started to pull Alec through the old house. "We can't stay more than an hour, or else we might be stuck."

Alec stumbled after his husband at the insistent tugging. Magnus had never led him wrong, so he trusted the other but still didn't stop the confusion growing within the Shadowhunter.

Alec watched as his husband's eyes darted around the room till a smirk played onto Magnus' lips.

"There you are!" Magnus declared in an excited tone. He moved forward, pulled on the bookshelf in front of them, and sent a pulse of his magic through the vault’s lock. He had to make sure that even if someone found his vault, they wouldn't be able to open it without his magic signature.

"Magnus?" Alec called out, even more confused than before. He looked around the room and saw old reports laying on a desk. Alec's breath caught when he noticed the dates on them. 1989.

"Just a sec, darling," Magnus called back as he shifted through the small vault. He was sure he put the vial in here. He was positive about it. Magnus pushed back some old photos till a small purple vial attempted to roll out and onto the floor. He quickly wrapped his magic around it and saved it from a shattering fall. "Got you.'

Magnus couldn't help the small thrill and anxiety that shot through his body as he looked at the flask. This small ingredient held the key to his happiness.

"We should get going, Alexander," Magnus stated as he turned back to face his husband, who was now reading through reports Magnus must've left out in the past. He could see the horror and strain on his archer's face. "Alexander?"

"In Idris, all these are locked away and censored," Alec managed out as he kept reading the orders the Clave had signed off on in the past. "Magnus, I had no idea…."

Magnus pushed the vial into his vest pocket and made his way to Alexander. He moved the files away from the Shadowhunter and cradled his husband's face gently. "My love, you aren't them. What they did in the past, you have worked relentlessly to reverse and amend. It is a part of our past, but it doesn't define us."

"They took so much from you all," Alec whispered as he leaned into Magnus' touch. "I'm sorry."

"Darling, what they did is not for you to apologize for," Magnus continued. "Now we can talk about more when we go back, but we really have to go, darling.”

“Cause Rangor and the portal?” Alec asked as he nodded.

“Yes, I’m not sure how long our dear little cabbage will be able to stabilize this magic,” Magnus replied, tugging on Alec’s hand towards the unstable-looking portal. He assumed the way back was the same way he got here. He just needed to think back to the present day for the portal to push them back into the loft. “Make sure you don’t let go, darling.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alec smiled and pulled Magnus closer. He didn’t exactly understand how he ended up here, but he knew those documents. He had so many questions, but they could all wait until they got home and far away from this time period.

“Always the charmer,” Magnus winked and closed his eyes, thinking of the potion he left on stasis in his apothecary, of Chairman probably looking around for him for lunch duty and of all of Alec’s gear and things around their home.

Alec watched his husband concentrate and, like always, swooned at the tiny creases around Magnus’ eyes as he focused harder. He cherished the small details of his husband. The Shadowhunter tightly wrapped his arms around his warlock and closed his eyes, putting his complete trust in him.

“Let’s go back home,” Magnus smiled as he pulled both of them through the portal. Magnus felt the volatile pull again as the magic ripped through time to push them back out to his present-day loft.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” Ragnor groaned, exhausted as he tried to bat away the small feline making circles around his feet. “Your beast seems to be hungry as well.”

Magnus patted himself down, checking everything was in order and the vial still secured in his vest pocket. He quickly turned around to see Alexander doing the same.

"We got the ingredient," Magnus confirmed as he snapped his fingers, summoning Chairman Meow's food dish filled for the small cat.

"I'm glad," Ragnor groaned as he fell onto Magnus' desk chair, exhausted. "I've already contacted Cat; she will be here to collect me shortly. But, be warned, she is furious."

"At you or me?" Magnus asked as he quickly started to pull out the rest of the ingredients Catarina had written down in the recipe.

"Both." Catarina's voice rang through as a portal appeared in the room. "I can't believe you both would be so reckless."

"Really? I thought this would be expected. I have different cure vials prepared at my home for whenever Magnus calls," Ragnor joked as he started to cough and groan. "Speaking of, do you have magic exhaust remedies on you?"

As Ragnor and Catarina kept going, Magnus gathered all the ingredients and started to measure them out.

"So it was for a potion?" Alec asked, walking around Magnus' workstation, careful not to get in the concentrated warlock's way.

"Not just any potion, darling," Magnus confirmed as he dumped the last of his Seelie tears into the pot before vanishing the jar with a mental note to contact Meliorn for more. "This is one of the most important potions I have made."

"For a client?"

"No, it is for you, my dear husband."

"For me?" Alec questioned as he kept watching Magnus add ingredients before letting the potion simmer.

Magnus walked forward and took Alec’s hands, and tugged him close. “Remember how we had talked about immortality in the past?”

“We agreed that if it came to it, I would get Raphael to turn me,” Alec nodded as he remembered the conversation that came after he had convinced Magnus to tell him what was bugging him. His husband had been reluctant at first to confide his newest fear with him. It had taken some coaxing till Magnus finally informed Alec that a life without him was not something he was looking forward to and often kept him up at night, especially on those that Alec was off on a mission.

“What if there was another way?” Magnus asked, bringing his hand up to caress his Shadowhunter’s cheek.

“Is there?” Alec asked while attempting to temper his excitement. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of changing to a liquid-only diet but would if it meant he would be with Magnus forever.

“We will see in a few minutes; the potion needs to set for ten minutes before it is safe for you to take it,” Magnus confirmed.

“Will I still be a Shadowhunter?” Alec asked as he looked between Magnus and the resting potion.

“As far as Catarina found, you will remain the same,” Magnus answered. “You will stop aging within a year of taking it, but there is a slight side effect of it.”

“What is it?”

“The potion was created by a Seelie so that they could keep their partner without binding them to the Seelie Realm,” Magnus explained. “In doing so, the partner, later on, developed some extra abilities. Abilities that are usually only Seelie. Random plants growing at will and the sort.”

“So I will be part Seelie and part Shadowhunter?” Alec questioned as he kept counting the seconds for the potion to set.

“Not enough Seelie to cause a ruckus but enough that I won’t have to worry about you around my greenhouse,” Magnus teased, trying to lighten the mood. “We can wait, you know. I could put the potion into stasis and look for more ways before we settle on this one.”

Alec looked between his husband and the potion. With the potion, he could maintain a close to normal Shadowhunter lifestyle. Sure, Alec might have to quit later on once people start figuring out he isn’t aging, but he could have a few more years protecting his Parabatai and sister. Alec wouldn’t have to put Jace through the pain of a broken Parabatai bond. The potion was a blessing compared to other methods they have explored.

“I want to do it,” Alec confirmed and kissed Magnus’ cheek. “This way, you can also still show me all the great food around the world like you enjoy doing.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you want to wait, Alexander,” Magnus conveyed, not wanting to push his husband into a choice. He didn’t want Alexander to come to regret it and their relationship to suffer for it. Magnus was aware he was already selfish by making his lover immortal but, he refused to let it cause a rift between them. If Alexander wanted to wait years before making the decision, then Magnus was ready to accept that.

“Magnus,” Alec called softly. “I don’t want to wait. I want to spend the rest of your forever together. I want to take the first step into our forever.”

Magnus leaned forward and sealed their lips together, relishing the stubble that brushed against him and the soft reply from Alec as he returned the kiss. “You will never cease to amaze me, my love.”

Magnus lifted the pot and poured it out to a small glass, observing the potion for discrepancies. Finally, he turned to Alec and handed him the violet drink. “It might taste a bit like metal, but that is normal.”

Alec smiled and looked at the half-filled cup. He thought that it would be filled with fanfare and dramatics when the moment came to be immortal. Alec believed that he would be nervous, and he still was but not the type of nervous he expected. He was nervous because he would be ensuring his fairy tale with Magnus would never have an end date after this drink. Instead, he would get a happily ever after. Forever after. With one more look at his husband and even the two still bickering warlocks in the background, Alec tossed the potion back like a shot of alcohol and swallowed it all.

#antisocialaf #shadowhunterbingo #shbingo #malec fanfiction #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane

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twilightsagasworld · 4 years

Text

Jasper Hale x (gen z) Reader One-shot

Requested by @writingwieny

“Up, down, left, left , up-” “What on earth are you doing (y/n)?” I stopped in my tracks. Edward stood in my doorway, a puzzled look on his face. I shrugged, pointing to the smartphone that was on a shelf, “I’m trying to work on this dance for TikTok, it’s really complicated and-” I stopped seeing that Edward was still confused, “TikTok?” he shoved his hands into his jean pockets, walking further into the room, I nodded, “Yeah! It’s this new app that allows creators to post short videos of whatever they want” Edward nods, “and the popular thing right now are dances, so-” he cut me off, “So you’re trying to get in on it, right?” I nod with a smile, Edward pursed his lips seemingly satisfied and excused himself, I stared after him, “Edweirdo” I grinned at my nickname for him before I closed my door and started my routine again.

Or I tried to.

Not a moment later the door burst open again and in walked Alice, Jasper, Renesmee and Bella. “Did Edward snitch?” I put my hands on my hips, one eyebrow arched, Alice clasped her hands together, a radiant smile on her face, she wiggled her eyebrows at me, “Duh, of course he did silly! Why else would we be here” Renesmee grinned beside Bella, and Jasper just came over and gave me a soft kiss on my cheek making me return it happily. Bella cleared her throat, eyes darting to my phone, “So, uhm...” “Do you guys want to join me?” I might as well put the offer on the table, Renesmee and Alice reacted simultaneously, “Yeah!”, I grinned, “Awesome, Bella?” Bella’s eyes went wide and she threw her hands up, “No thanks (y/n), dancing isn’t my thing”, Alice sighed, “Bella is good at a lot of things, but dancing is dangerous” Bella bit her lip, “Thanks Alice” , sarcasm was heavily noted. I shot a look at Jasper, asking if he was interested, Jasper kindly declined, “I’ll supervise”, I knew better than to force Jasper into something so I ruffled his hair, making him nip my arm lightly, I laughed, “Alright Jas, whatever you say”.

I held out my phone, “Let’s get started grandma’s”, I motioned for them to stand on either side of me, the phone was back against the shelf, and a video started to play, “Okay, we just have to follow the girl’’s moves, easy-peasy”, Alice and Renesmee nodded, Bella made herself comfortable next to Jasper on the couch in the corner as we began.

A lot of starting over happened and jokes were made. Renesmee kept forgetting to move her hips and Alice didn’t really mess up, but I couldn’t help but bust out laughing each time I saw Bella’s and Jasper’s faces, Bella was focused on the video while subtly trying to copy the moves and Jasper, well, Jasper just had a permanent smile etched onto his face, while his feet tapped to the rythm of the music softly. It was sweet in a way.

But, we finally perfected the dance, and I posted it to TikTok. Alice and Renesmee were talking about downloading the app too and I encouraged it enthusiastically. I gave a thumbs up,“You guys will totally pass the vibe check!”, I received confused looks from everyone in the room and I sighed exasperated, “You mean to tell me, you guys” I gestured with a hand to everyone, “Don’t know what a vibe check is?”, Bella let out a “Nope”, popping the ‘P’. I stared at them in disbelief, before snapping my fingers in a zig-zag motion, “Looks like I’m going to have to give you a gen-Z rundown”. I started listing popular phrases and words and explained what they meant. By the end of it everyone was well educated on the ‘Gen-z vocabulary’.

Renesmee and Alice thought it would be a great idea to gather the whole family in the living room to discuss what they had learned and Jasper and I followed behind, hand in hand down the stairs, taking our time, I leaned in towards Jasper and whispered softly that I kind of regretted telling them about everything and Jasper huffed out a quiet chuckle, “Too late now darlin’”, I groaned, “I suppose..Honestly, this is not a vibe”, we met the others in the living room and found a spot to sit, Emmett greeted Jasper with a fist pump as Alice and Renesmee started their speech. Carlisle and Esme nodded accordingly. I just rested my head on Jasper’s shoulder as he made small circles on my palm with his thumb. I planted a kiss to his shoulder which made him turn his head down to me with a toothy grin. I drowned out Alice and Renesmee’s voices and closed my gold coloured eyes. I made a mental note to plot against Edward for snitching on me. I peaked at him and caught his smirk, I glared at him, stupid shiny volvo owner, Edward glanced my way and I just stuck out my tongue.

Carlisle’s voice drew my attention, “So, (y/n), I have a question, if you don’t mind”, I shook my head, “Yes?”, Carlisle nodded, “Well, what does ‘gen-z’ mean? I haven’t heard it before”, I sat up slowly, still holding Jasper’s hand as I explained, “Well, gen-z is short for generation-z, so take me for example, I was born in 2000, making me a gen-z, and every 10 or so years there’s a category for people born in those years, like, if someone was born between 1989 and 1999 they’re called Millennial’s, understand?” I hope I explained it well enough, but Carlisle seemed to get it, “Very well then, I think the family will be using you as a dictionary for a while” there was a chorus of agreement, “I don’t mind, I’ll teach you all about the hottest trends and celebrities!” Emmett let out a loud “Whoop!” and rubbed his hands together, “Master (y/n) in da house!” I laughed at Emmett’s antics.

I just hoped I wasn’t going to regret anything too much. But knowing Emmett, I’ll probably regret it within the week. At least I had Jasper to keep me from ripping Emmett’s head off.

I was not wrong. Within a week Emmett had blurted out every Tiktok Quote imaginable. One such case was when I was at the kitchen counter editing a recent TikTok of mine. Emmett snuck up from behind me and very, very loudly yelled, “SLEEP LIKE NO ONE’S WATCHING!”, I almost crushed my phone. I glared at him, “Emmett, what the hell dude?!” I held a hand over my chest, “If I had a heartbeat I’d have had a heart attack you nunce” I punched his gut but it obviously did nothing. Emmett laughed. When I registered what he yelled I gave him a look, “And that doesn’t even make sense, what’d you use that TikTok quote for?”, Emmett shrugged, “Heck, I don’t know, but I saw it on a video Alice was watching” “Oh my- Emmett, you can’t just randomly blurt out Tiktok quotes, it has to have- Oh hey Rosalie” I waved as she walked into the kitchen, probably to come see where her husband was, “Hi, (y/n)” Emmett gave her a big kiss and when they broke away Rosalie smiled, but Emmett had to ruin the moment, “This was the moment where everyone knew that she was that bitch, and will always be that bitch”. Rosalie clearly didn’t understand so I jumped in, “He means to say that you’re the best and will always be the best, it’s a-” “TikTok thing, yeah I know, Renesmee and Alice keep watching those weird videos on their phones, I geuss my monkey man here joined them” she smirked up at Emmett, “You know me babe” I shook my head, they’re a strange couple, but it’s nice. Which got me thinking, “Hey, where’s Jasper? I haven’’t seen him since this morning” I missed my mate’s company, there isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t want him near me. I think Rosalie wanted to answer but Carlisle and Esme joined us, “Jasper is hunting with Edward, they decided to go a bit further into the mountains for mountain lions” I thanked Carlisle, “Fire” I replied, but the present Cullen’s gave me concerned looks, Carlisle and Esme glanced at each other, I cuaght on and groaned, “It means cool, okay, thanks, it’s a TikTok- oh whatever” I excused myself and went to wait on the balcony for Jasper, “I need my unproblematic man!”. Bella probably rolled her eyes when she heard that, it’s one of the things she’s good at, rolling them eyes.

When Jasper and Edward returned I immediately tackled Jasper to the forest floor, his arms held me close, “Hey you, yeah you, I love you” I said muffled into his chest, Jasper chuckled sweetly, “Darlin’ I’ll love you for a thousand years...Also, did you succeed in not ripping Emmett’s head off?” Jasper helped me up and wrapped an arm around my waist as we went back inside, I smile goofily up at him, like a child who was busy being praised, “Yup, it was hard, but I only punched him!” Jasper planted a kiss on my head and I knew he could feel all my love and affections.

“Yo, (y/n)! Don’t grow up, it’s a trap!”

Jasper looked down at me but I just shrugged, “Hey, that’s your brother”, Jasper cringed, “He’s adopted”

#jasper hale x reader #Jaspercullen #jasper hale #twilight x reader #twilight #twilight requests #oneshot #twilight fanfiction

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taylorswiftdiscographyrate · 3 years

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#70-61

70. Wonderland (7.441) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 3

This is the only song to not receive a regular placing on the 1989 tour setlist! AYHTDWS, This Love and YAIL both rotated on and off depending on the night, but according to setlist.fm those 3 all at least got a good number of performances, while poor Wonderland only got a whopping 4 times in the spotlight. Wonderland used to be a favourite of mine on 1989, but unfortunately for me I think it has aged a bit poorly.

Highlighted comments: @corneliaavenue: “can someone please tell me what you hear in this song?” @yourivysgrows: “This didn't deserve to be a bonus track”

69. False God (7.447) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 3.9

Haha, nice.

Highlighted comments: @corneliaavenue: “PUSSY IS GOD” @yourivysgrows: “This murdered me”

68. mad woman (7.459) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 4.5

The first time we heard the fuck word from Taylor! And what a great fuck word it was. mad woman is, in my opinion, by far the greatest song about sexism that Taylor has ever written. The simmering rage that lingers beneath the whole thing, the way she drags Scooter through the mud... *chefs kiss*

Highlighted comments: @yourivysgrows: “fuck you forever”

67. The Way I Loved You (7.488) Highest score was 9; Lowest score was 5.9

We need to start a support group for people who took way too long to realise this song was about two different guys. By people I mean me, but also please tell me I’m not the only one. I was so confused for so long with this song.

Highlighted comments: @corneliaavenue: “banger of a song but -2 for promoting toxic relationships :/”

66. Back to December (7.494) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 3

This is a great song, but honestly after hearing the mashup with Apologise and You’re Not Sorry from the Speak Now tour, I cannot listen to any other version. I also remember some weird story about how Taylor Lautner attended a Speak Now Tour date and was witnessed muttering “it’s too late” under his breath during the performance, which now that I’m repeating it sounds so obviously like fanfiction but 12 year old me bought into it back when Taylor Squared was THE ship.

Highlighted comments: @corneliaavenue: “rip tay²” @yourivysgrows: “Track 5 energy (a yes)”

65. Come Back... Be Here (7.519) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 3

Remember when we begged and begged and got Taylor to relearn the lyrics to this song so she could perform it on Rep Tour? Good times.

Highlighted comments: @yourivysgrows: “Due to my long distance relationship this one hit home” @everfolk: “God tier song” @liabilitys: “one of my fav songs but v underrated”

64. New Year’s Day (7.544) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 1

I think the perception of this song is harmed by how the sessioners hyped it up as “the new All Too Well”. Which I mean, is just wrong, but I can’t blame them - if I had heard “hold on to the memories they will hold onto you” in Taylor Swift’s house I would probably burst into tears every time I heard it afterwards too. In all seriousness, I think this is a great end to reputation, its calm and understatedness is perfect alongside the aggressive cacaphony that makes up most of the rest of the album.

Highlighted comments: @yourivysgrows: “The most beautiful closer” @corneliaavenue: “it is a little boring, but i like the lyrics”

63. Christmas Tree Farm (7.559) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 5.15

This is so fun and wholesome, it almost inspired me to make myself a Christmas playlist. I don’t even listen to 99% of Christmas music, so the playlist would pretty much just consist of this, All I Want For Christmas Is You and Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande.

Highlighted comments: @itspeterlosingwendy: “the only song I listen to at christmas” @treacherousdemo: “that intro is the best thing she's ever done.. i stand by this” @leadinmeon: “i don't even celebrate xmas. but this song is so cute”

62. Sad Beautiful Tragic (7.572) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 4.6

I used to be attacked for saying I didn’t like this song, to the point where I was bullied into liking it </3 Half joking, this song has actually grown on me a lot! But can we just admit it is a tad too slow and dare I say... verges on being boring?

Highlighted comments: @leadinmeon: “same as last kiss: lyrically iconic, musically boring to listen to” @liabilitys: “another fav”

61. Dancing with Our Hands Tied (7.581) Highest score was 10; Lowest score was 5

If the album version was the acoustic version, I would’ve given this a much higher score. But the production... after listening to 10 previous songs full of heavy synths and drops, I frankly just get tired of that by this point in the album, and DWOHT does that style a lot worse than the other songs, in my opinion. The acoustic version is very nice though.

Highlighted comments: @yourivysgrows: “I would die for this song I think”

#results

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365days365movies · 3 years

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January 3, 2021: Cliffhanger (1993)

Sylvester Stallone.

The Italian Stallion here is one of the most prominent action movie stars of the ‘80s and ‘90s, coming to prominence with Rocky in 1976. And before we even start this review, here’s the deal: I refuse to make fun of the man’s iconic voice. Yeah, I get it, we’ve all shouted “YOADRIAAAAAAH!” at some point, but his voice and face is due to a botched birth, which pinched a nerve and caused permanent facial paralysis. We all got something, and I’m not gonna target him for it. It’s been done enough.

I also can’t really comment on his acting ability. Why? Well...OK, some confession time. I’ve BARELY seen Stallone in a film. That’s going to be fixed this year, as I’ve added many of his films to the list for 2021. So, what have and haven’t I seen? Let’s start with haven’t, shall we?

I haven’t seen:

Rocky (1976): Sports November

Rocky II (1979): maybe Sports November

First Blood (1982): later this month

Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot (1992): Please. Please don’t make me.

Cliffhanger (1993): Give it a minute.

Demolition Man (1993): Science Fiction September

Judge Dredd (1995): maybe Science Fiction September

The Expendables (2010): later this month

I have seen:

Tango and Cash (1989): Dumbass buddy cop movie with Stallone and Russell; 2/5.

Antz (1998): Sub-par Dreamworks rip-off of an already kinda sub-par Pixar movie; 2/5

Spy Kids 3: Game Over (2003): Yeah...I saw this in theaters, on my birthday. I saw everything in red and green for, like, an hour afterwards. Worth it. 2/5.

Rocky Balboa (2006): Somehow, this is the only Rocky movie I’ve seen, Creed included. And from what I remember, it was fine. 3/5.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017): The ONE good Stallone movie I’ve seen, and it isn’t even a Stallone movie. 5/5.

So, yeah, I haven’t seen any good Stallone movies, sans the one. But now, some of you are probably asking another question: “Why Cliffhanger? You literally haven’t seen any major Stallone movie, so WHY CLIFFHANGER?”

First of all, I think everybody’s kinda slept on this movie. It was a big success back in the day, but people have basically forgotten it at this point. You’ll see in this review that there aren’t even many GIFs from the movie made, and it wasn’t easy to find enough clips to make my own, honestly. Does it deserve to get slept on? I mean, we’ll see, right?

Secondly, I just watched a Tom Cruise movie where he dangles off of a rope, and I liked that, so why not do that for the next one, I guess! And third...honestly, I saw this on the list, and it kinda just spoke to me. It called to me, like a boxer calling to his love. Hey, look, a reference to a movie I’ve never seen. We’ll get there. We’ll get there. Oh, and SPOILERS from here on out, by the way.

Recap

We start on a cliff. Surprise.

Michael Rooker (y’know, Yondu from Guardians of the Galaxy) is hanging out (HA!) with his girlfriend Sarah on a cliff called the Tower. Y’know, third date kinda stuff. First date is dinner, second date is dinner and a movie, and third date is free-climbing up a cliff to your near death. Well...near is a strong word…

ANYHOOOO, We meet Gabe, played by the big man himself, Sly Stallion, who’s a rescue ranger in the Rocky Mountains. So, Rocky, the Rockies Rescue Ranger is sent to save Yondu and Sarah. Unfortunately...someone forgot to check the equipment before the rescue mission…

Not gonna lie, this scene is actually heart-wrenchingly tense. And the ending...well, if you’ve seen Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls...you know what happens here. And it’s actually somewhat traumatic, for Gabe and for me. Seriously. It’s a roughie.

Cut to almost a year later, and Gabe is...NOT OK. He and his wife, Jessie (who is a pilot for the Rescue Rangers, and was there when Sarah fell), have been separate, and Gabe just can’t do it anymore. And I get it, honestly. That was a hard experience, losing someone and blaming yourself. And no, it wasn’t Gabe’s fault. But to add insult to injury, he has NO SUPPORT SYSTEM. His wife doesn’t seem to understand, his former best friend Yondu hates him (getting GotG Vol. 2 flashbacks), and he’s basically all alone. Geez. You guys are jerks.

Meanwhile, a plot is afoot! And hey, it’s Tripp from CSI: Miami, AKA Rex Linn! I always liked him, so it’s cool to see him in other roles. Turns out, though, that Tripp is working with a group of thugs to steal from the US Treasury. This villainous group of 8 thugs is led by John Lithgow, AKA Lord Farquaad from Shrek, who is channeling Hans Gruber from Die Hard, and trying super-hard on that British accent. Anyway, after a pretty great mid-flight action sequence, the group of thugs loses 3 suitcases of money, amounting to millions. In the process, they also lose Expendable Thugs #1 and #2. This will be a trend.

The thugs crash their plane into the mountain, killing Expendable Thug #3 in the process. They stage a rescue situation to get some expert mountain climbers to help them find the money. Jessie, after having just told her hubby to suck it up like a big boy (I don’t really like Jessie, by the way), begs him to help find these people. Reluctantly, he agrees, and has a tension filled reunion with his former best friend, who blames him (unfairly, in my opinion). That animosity disappears as soon as they find themselves held hostage by the thugs. And so, the money hunt begins!

First suitcase is on a cliffside, and Stallone goes to get it. Some shenanigans quickly ensure, and the thugs shoot at him. An avalanche occurs because these dumbasses have never seen a movie, and in the process, we lose a suitcase of money, Expendable Thug #4 goes the way of Sarah, and Gabe is presumed dead. Farquaad tells Yondu to tell his coworkers that everything is fine, and he’s gonna stay on the mountain to ride out the storm. Which is #5 in the list of “moments in this movie where I would 100% die” I grew up in a warm climate, this is not a comfortable hypothetical situation for me.

Anyway, our intrepid team of criminals takes Yondu to find the next suitcase, while Jessie and Gabe separately make their way to the cabin that Yondu was talking about. They catch each other up, and they can’t contact the main office because...Jessie’s radio died in the cold? You...you work amongst mountains as a rescue officer for stranded hikers. That’s the best excuse the writers came up with? Why the hell didn’t she bring a better radio? They HAD to have spares, right? RIGHT? Geez, no wonder you needed Gabe’s help.

The tracker, with its marvelously outdated computer graphics technology (IT’S A UNIX SYSTEM IKNOWTHIS), leads the thugs to the next package, but not before Gabe and Jesse get there! Gabe leaves a ransom note for the money, holding it hostage. This eventually leads to a nighttime chase in the snow, leading to Expendable Thug #5 going The Way of Sarah.

By the way, it’s also at this point that I notice that it is VERY bright...for being in the middle of the mountains at night. And I get it, you can’t exactly have your movie be shot in darkness, but...look at this.

Like...wow. That’s the fakest outdoor shot I’ve ever seen. I guess I’m glad it isn’t a day-for-night shot, but...yeah. Wow.

Jesse and Gabe find themselves in a cave full of the cutest goddamn bats I’ve ever seen. This is supposed to be a harrowing experience, but simply makes me jealous. They’re fruit bats, by the way, and they’re also WAY too high up, altitude-wise. At least, that’s what I assume. I’m a bird-guy, not a bat-guy. Eventually, they make it out of the cave after Stallone does some free-climbing...loudly. Loud enough for the super-violent, sociopathic, knife-and-gun-loving Expendable Thug #6 to hear them. And that’s when Gabe ICE-PICKS HIM IN THE LEG DAMN

Understandably pissed, and not as understandably still walking around without crying (#6 in that list of me-dying moments), the thug finds and beats the SHIT out of Gabe, handily. But then, he calls Jessie a bitch, and Gabe is, above all things a feminist. Which leads to him, and read this CLOSELY:

This leads to Stallone, bloodied and beaten, PICKING THE THUG UP OVER HIS HEAD, AND IMPALING HIM ONTO A STALACTITE. Not a stalagmite, a STALACTITE. HOLY SHIT!.

Well, Expendable Thug #6 is dead, there’s a bomb on the mountaintop, Jesse almost goes The Way of Sarah, and Frank (another guy who works with them, don’t know if I mentioned him) gets lured into a trap where he gets killed. An “Aww” moment from me; I liked Frank, he seemed like a really nice guy. This eventually leads to Farquaad and Tripp out-crazy-ing each other, and Farquaad winning by killing Expendable Thug #7, who does not go The Way of Sarah (blessed be her fall).

Gabe finds the remaining money, while Tripp, Yondu, and Expendable Thug #7 get there just after. Tripp leaves, and Yondu then delivers my favorite line of the movie:

Oh, sorry, no, it’s, “In a minute, I’ll be dead. You will always be an asshole.” Thug #7 beats the shit out of Yondu, I get flashbacks to GotG 2, and Thug #8 goes THE WAY OF SARAH, BLESSED BE HER FALL. Tripp finds the tracker without the money, and officially loses it, outing himself and Farquaad to the government officials who FINALLY get here.

Tripp finds Gabe, they make their way to a frozen mountain lake, and Gabe SHOOTS TRIPP FROM UNDERNEATH THE ICE. That shouldn’t have worked for many reasons, but that was cool, so fuck it. Now, it’s just Farquaad, BUT HE HAS JESSIE! OH NOOOOOOOooooooo.

This whole thing culminates in a tense, cool chase sequence between Gabe and Farquad in the helicopter. The helicopter crashes into the mountainside, and the two fight while on the helicopter, which is now hanging from the cliff.

Oh. Oh, I get it.

This inevitably leads to Farquaad and the helicopter going, of course, The Way of Sarah. Blessed Be Her Fall. #BBHF.

And that’s it. Our three heroes are, themselves, rescued by the government agents, and we pan away from the cliffside, as the credits roll. Boom. Cliffhanger.

Stay tuned for the epilogue, which contains the review!

13 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Under The Bed / Chapter Two, “Harry”

ABOUT: Josie Stephens was having a hard enough time at her mere age of five, having to start Kindergarten and move to a new house. Little did she know that it all would get a lot worse that first night when a monster popped out from under her bed, changing her life forever. Inspired by the 1989 movie, Little Monsters, one of my childhood favorites, I began this story in 2016 and recently fell back in love with it.

-> SERIES MASTERLIST

-> MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing

WORD COUNT: 5.3k words

TAGLIST: IDK HOW TO DO THESE, BUT IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED SO YOU KNOW WHEN A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED, JUST LET ME KNOW! :)

@berrynarrybanana

@wotamelonsugar

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

"I said, who are you?!"

THEN

It's not the easiest to remember, but when a monster just happens to pop out from under your bed one night, it's not something that you can forget.

The moving trucks were pulling away from the house. Finally. No longer was the front curb crowded by their orangeneness and height. At last, the few big guys walking in and out of the trucks holding all of our stuff were too. I didn't want to move, and I didn't like the new house. It smelled weird and the staircase was like a mountain that I had to climb every day with my short five year old legs. All of my toys were in boxes that were stacked in my room. Nothing but my new big girl bed, a lamp and Mr. Snuggles, the stuffed duck, took up my scary big room that was all mine. But, boy, were there boxes. There were ones labeled in Mom's scribble, 'Josie's clothes,' and ‘Josie's toys' and 'Josie's books.’ Blah blah blah.

All of this moving business seemed pretty stupid to me. I liked our old backyard better, and that we didn’t have a staircase I had to struggle to climb too many times a day. Lastly, I moved away from Betsy who lived across the street, and Mollie who lived on the corner. I had nobody to play House with or have tea parties with. I think that was the worst part of moving to this stinky, new house. I had to leave my old friends, which meant that I had no friends at all. Maybe Mr. Snuggles was the only one but he couldn't talk, and tea with only two people is boring. I had a new scary bed and bedroom. A new, big house to get used to. Painting the new, cracked sidewalk with chalk didn't sound like fun.

I had no friends, and I felt so alone.

Dad closes my door behind him and Mom, mumbling one last 'sweet dreams' and a kiss before the creaky door closes. The room is cloaked in darkness, making new sounds I don't like and that scare me. The Scooby Doo night light next to my bed is the only light there is, except for the faint streetlight out the left window. Otherwise, it's pitch black, so much so I can't even see my own hand in front of me, and that's when I know it's bad. Lying there under the new, cold, and scratchy sheets, I stare into the dark trying to fall asleep. Mr. Snuggles' fuzzy yellow head is tucked under my chin, and my pink blankey;s clutched to my chest. The sound of cars outside is a small hum through the window, and I can hear the muffled noise of my parents talking downstairs.

It feels like I've been lying here for hours, making me wonder why Mom said that 'I should be out like a light after how tiring today was’ when I just can't fall asleep. But, I don't know, because I didn’t do much else besides sitting on the rickety swing outside. I sat there with Mr. Snuggles watching Mom, Dad, and the moving men bring stuff into the house. Bug Juice after Bug Juice and a mini bag of Oreos was for lunch.

After a while, I hear the lights flick off and the bar of yellow light under my door turns to black, their work done for the night. My parents' voices get closer as their steps creak on the stairs and disappear down the hall, and then it's quiet. Too quiet. Shutting my eyes, I take a breath as I hold Mr. Snuggles closer and breathe in his familiar scent. But then there's a small click and when I open my eyes, the nightlight is out. Not soon after that, there's a scuffle and my bed lifts on the one side only to fall back down to the floor with a thud.

My heart is thumping in my chest fast and I'm sinking down into my Hello Kitty covers, pulling them over my head as my nervous breaths leave my mouth loudly. I suddenly hear somebody else breathing and the sound of footsteps. Quickly, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die and Mr. Snuggles is going to die with me. No, not Mr. Snuggles. A pair of hands rips the covers down off of my face, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut.

"Are ya serious, ya think bloody bed covers are gonna keep ya safe now?" a thick slow voice says, one that sounds . . weird. It sounds like a boy, an older one than me, and he says his words all weird. "C'mon now, open yer eyes already."

I shake my head, not knowing why I'm doing it but I do. Mom always says I'm stubborn and don't like to do what I'm asked of, whatever that word means. "Oh my god, just open yer eyes," they groan, and I don't know why, but I do. I hear a loud 'boo!' and a pair of hands shake my shoulders, making me scream but a hand comes over my mouth to stop it. A strong musty smell surrounds me. "Bloody hell, ya gotta pair of lungs on you! Keep it down, will ya? Don' wanna wake yer parents an' have 'em come in here. 'd lose me bloody job an' 'd only make yer life mo’ of a living hell if that happened, I swear t’ it," they mutter, voice high with alarm, and ending in a creepy laugh. His tongue makes a weird sound, but I can't see him. I can only hear him. For a second in the dark, I see two hovering green circles above me that don't go anywhere, and then tiny little blue dots appear out of nowhere.

Breathing hard and fast and trying to protect Mr. Snuggles, I open my mouth and bite down hard on what I think is his hand. It tastes gross, and it's cold. He mutters a loud 'ouch!' and then there's creaky steps, his musty smell going away, but only a litte. "I can' believe ya fuckin’ bit me, ya li'l brat!"

"Who are you?" I nearly shout, words feeling weird as my voice shakes.

"Be quiet, will ya? You'll wake yer parents- how many times do I gotta say it?!"

"T-tell me who you are, now!" I bite back, slowly sitting up and hearing sounds from across my dark room. "A-And what did you do with my nightlight?"

"Ya want it so bad, then here, have it," he says, something scuffing against the ground before suddenly it's back in the wall and it's all lit up. "Yer sumthin', arentcha? God, never knew why you goddamn kids liked some stupid dog that talked, anyways. I bloody hate nightlights, they don't really do anythin', do they?"

"I said, who are you?!"

"Calm down, ya big baby! I came from under yer bed an' I scared ya. Now, what does that big brain ol’ brain of yers tell ya I am?" he replies, and it takes a few seconds before the answer pops into my head. I hug Mr. Snuggles tighter to my body and breathe him in, my eyes growing hot and watery.

"Oh my bloody god, dontchu cry. No, no, no, dontchu fuckin’ cry on me," they say really fast, letting out a loud breath at the end. The tears fall down my cheeks long and hot, Mr. Snuggles taking the brunt of them as I hold onto him for dear life. "Please, I hate it when you lot cry, 's bloomin' annoyin’ an' it hurts me ears . . Yer not s’posed t’ do it ‘til afta I leave, ugh. Please stop yer cryin' already, Josie."

I sniffle and lift my head after a second, trying to find him in the dark, whoever he is. But, I still can't see a thing. I think he's across the room towards my closet, but I don't really know. "H-how do you know my name- who are you? Tell me already!"

"Okay, okay. Will ya ever shut that bloody mouth of yers? 'm uh, well 'm a monsta, if ya hadn't figured that out already. Yer a bright little five year old, figured you'd know that by now," they reply, and then there's footsteps. They're getting louder and, so I think, closer.

"How do you know all this stuff about me?"

"That's not even that much, ya brat. I know loads 'bout ya. Know yer birthday, even what time you were born down t' tha second. Know ya hate spiders and frogs, think they're gross 'cuz they're all slimy an' squishy. Know ya jus' moved from yer old house t' this one t’day, an' that ya think tha basement's reaaaaal scary. Also know that yer scared of unda ya bed, as ya should be, an' that tha biggest thing yer scared of 's tha dark," he replies, and even though I can't see it, I know that my jaw is hanging down. Who is this person- well, monster, and why does he know so much about me? How?

"How d-do you know all that, and why do you know it?"

"'s me job t' know that stuff 'bout you, Josie. I only get sum stuff, y’know, tha stuff that matters t' me an' I need t' know. Now, why would I need t' know what yer scared of if 'm a big scary monsta? I bet ya can answer me that one, Josie Posie," he says, and I gulp loudly. Thinking about it for a second, I peek a look over to my door, or in the direction I think it would be in.

"No, no, dontchu even think 'bout screamin' or yer really not gonn' like me, Josie," he warns as I sniffle. I can taste the strawberry chapstick on my lips as they open and I yell the two words.

"Mommy, Daddy!"

"Ugh, ya've really done it now, Jose. I thought ya'd learn yer lesson, but guess not. Thanks a fuckin' lot," the boy mutters quietly. There's a tickle on my ankle before a scuffle, and my bed rises and dips again.

The lights click on outside my room. I hear fast pitter--patter before my door flies open, and the light turns on. My mom comes in first in her pink bathrobe, pulling it around herself as she rushes over. Dad’s hot on her tail in a Packers shirt and checkered pajama bottoms.

"What is it, sweetie?" Mom hums as she stops in front of me, her face looking sad as her brown hair is all a mess.

"There was a monster in my room! He came from under my bed, and he was all mean and scary!"

They look at each other before pulling me in for a hug, playing with my hair and giving me kisses on the head.

"Honey, you probably just heard something. It's an old house and it makes noises sometimes, but it's nothing to worry about. You're just fine, there's no monsters under your bed because there's no such things as monsters," my dad says, sitting beside me and putting an arm around me.

Mom wipes my tears away and smoothes back my hair as they shush my worries and calm my mind before helping me back under the covers. There's about five 'no's when I ask if I can sleep with them, Dad looking more upset than Mom about it until they leave my bedroom with another 'goodnight' and a 'sweet dreams.’ The room is silent and still, except for the hovering Scooby Doo head lighting up the floor around it next to me. My eyes stay there as the warm blankets hug me. With Mr. Snuggles and blankey close, I shut my eyes and try to get some sleep, like Mom had said.

They fly open when I hear a sound, and I whimper when my bed moves again.

"Ya think yer a smart one, d’ya, Josie? Ya can’t get ridd’a me that fast, love," the boy murmurs, his footsteps creaking on the wooden floor. "They didn't believe ya, did they?"

A small 'no' comes from me as the blankets surround me in a warm cocoon, but I suddenly don't want to be lying here anymore. I want to sit up and see him, but that thought scares the bejeezus out of me the second I think about it.

"Didn' do a lotta good cryin' fer mummy an' daddy, now did it? Maybe ya should think 'bout that tha next time, an' see how good of an idea it seems."

"What do you want?!" I say, my lips bending into a frown as I pull myself up to face my closet, wishing I could see his face. But again, all that's there are the little blue random dots that seem to be in the shape of a rectangles or something, and the bright green dots.

"'m a monsta, love. Already told ya that, what d’ya think I want?"

"Are you really a monster?" I whine in question, feeling like there's a circus happening in my chest.

"Yeah, sure I am."

"You're not telling me a fib?"

"Nope, promise me black li'l monsta heart," they say, and I take a shaky breath as my heart thumps in my ears. Holding Mr. Snuggles as tight as I can, I swipe my tongue across my dry lips and stare into the darkness. The ceiling fan overheard whirs softly, the only sound in the room besides my loud breathing. "'m not tellin' ya a fib, Josie. Promise ya that. How d’ya think I came out from unda yer bed, anyways?"

"How am I supposed to believe you? I don't know you, and I can't even see what you look like when you're talking to me. Danget, I don't even know your name o-or if ya have one!"

"God, yer a feisty li'l one, arentcha, doll? Take a breath, would ya? I dunno, ya don' hafta believe me I s'pose, 's upta you on that one," he replies, and I only grow more confused, heaving a big breath. "Don' get so bent outta shape over it, 'm just yer monsta an' I scare ya. Yer not s'posed t' know me name, 's jus' how it 's, I reckon. Tha's all t' it, really. Now, if I did me job an' yer all scared outta yer socks an' everythin', 'll be off. Got other li'l tots I gott' scare besides yerself, y’know."

"But-," I chance, learning I was two seconds too late. There's a flick of something moving past the space the Scooby lights up, and my bed moves. e's gone. "No fair!" I shout, falling back onto my pillows with a plop. Tugginig my blankets back up, I mutter annoyances to Mr. Snuggles, picturing him replying and agreeing with me.

Then there's that sound again. Like a shoe against carpet, or something like that because Mom never lets me wear my shoes in the house, so I can't be sure. "Sweet dreams, Josie Posie! Oh, and sleep tight! I hope all the beddy bugs bite. 'll see ya later, ya li'l brat!" the squeaky scary voice says again before there's another scruff and I hear him leave, wherever in the world he came from.

Turning over with a whimper, I pull the covers over my head and shut my eyes, trying to think of happy things like sugar plums and fairies. I try to forget about what just happened, and the fact that I have a monster under my bed- my own scary monster.

The next day was unpack this and unpack that. Move this and move that. To make it plain and simple, it was boring, it was hot out, and I didn't want to ��fill up my new bedroom,’ like Mom and Dad kept saying to try and make it sound fun. But it wasn't. Because I couldn't stop thinking about the night before when that thing came out from under my bed. After awhile it just melted down into a bad dream or something I had imagined, because I'm a kid and that's what kids do, right? I must have dreamt it or made it up.

"It's looking nice so far, isn't it, Josie?" Mom says, looking around at my room staring to well, look like a bedroom. There's my dresser, and my little table for tea parties with my favorite stuffies sitting on the chairs. Clothes are beginning to get hung up in my closet, the bookcase against the wall just needs some books to make it look better and not so sad, and a nice pink rug sits by my door.

"Yeah, I guess," I say sadly, taking a seat on the purple beanbag in the corner, watching Mom turn towards the door when Dad comes in holding another box. He pushes his combed back blonde hair off of his sweaty forehead, wet patches showing under his armpits as he turns to walk away after setting down another box.

"Hmm, I wonder where we should put this," Mom says quietly to herself, holding an old shoebox of something or other. Taking a few steps, she crouches down to push aside my pink Hello Kitty comforter.

"No, don't!" I say, standing up fast and running over to her.

"Why noyt" she replies, looking at me quickly. I glance to the empty space under my bed, now that she's pushed the fabric to the side. When I see nothing but the dark wooden floor, I no longer worry, but now I'm confused. "You don't still think there's a monster under there, do you?"

"No, but maybe a really scary dust bunny," I joke and she smiles before pushing the stray box under there and standing back up to get working on things, because she'll never believe me, anyways. Dad and her didn't the first time, because who would believe me when I tell them there's a monster under my bed? I don't even know if it was real myself.

After a while, we take a break and all sit under the shade of the tall oak tree in the front yard. A pitcher of lemonade and hot dogs with potato chips is for lunch as we sit at our new picnic table. The hot June sun beats down on us as Mom and Dad quietly talk about where to put the couches and which would look better in different spots. I nibble on a crinkly yellow chip, looking around at the new neighborhood. And I wonder if I'll ever get past the cold fear settling in my stomach about this new house.

Mom kisses the top of my head, smoothing my hair back with her hand before disappearing into the hallway where Dad talks to somebody on the phone loudly. The door closes with a squeak and I turn over with a huff. I hold Mr. Snuggles and blankey as close as I can before closing my eyes, willing him to not come back. Please, please, please. Please don't come back, please don't come back. I fall asleep mumbling it under my breath, the Scooby light protecting me from the darkness, like Mom said. But I don't know how much I believe that anymore.

"Wake up!" a voice shouts, and I jolt awake to find somebody bouncing on my bed. "Bloody hell, get yer arse up already!" they say again, and as I rub my sleepy crusted eyes, I recognize the voice and how the words sound funny. It's the boy again, and he's back. It's the monster.

"I was sleeping."

"I can see that, but ya aren't anymo' so wake up. Did ya know ya snore? 's bloody annoyin', if ya ask me," he mutters, something hard like his leg not far away when I stretch my own out and touch him. They recoil from the cold sensation and I hug them back to my body.

Taking his words carefully, I reach over slowly to find the smooth metal chain and yank it hard to bathe the room in light. A scream leaves my lips when I lay my eyes on him, and as if things are moving in slow motion, I see his yellow tinged eyes with bright green circles roll into the back of his head. Next thing I know, he's practically lying on top of me with his cold gross hand over my mouth. My hurried words leave my mouth in muffled murmurs as his bad breath fans over me.

"Dontcha know how t' keep quiet, ya brat?" he spits, shaking his head of dirty brown curls, making them move and dislodging hair from around the two small yellow horns poking out of his head. One on each side, but that's just the first of it. "Scared ya, did I? Good tha's me job, ya li'l bugger. Now, if I take me hand off yer mouth are ya gonna promise not t' scream? Told ya last night what'll happen if ya do it again."

I nod my head slowly, taking in every part of him. His round head slowly nods too before he removes his hand from my mouth and sits back, letting me get up too. Crossing my legs, my eyes stay glued to him as he turns his head to I guess look around my room. "Looks like a bloody pink pixie threw up all over yer room, 's a bit much, innit?" he says, playing with his bottom lip as he scans my bedroom. A few boxes still sit there waiting to be unpacked, but for the most part my room is all made up. I swallow, and he looks over at me, his eyes going over me. "Ya forgot how t' speak or summat?"

"Y-You're really a monster . . I'm not just imagining it," I whisper, my words going all kinds of places.

"Sure am, Josie Posie. No point in really lyin' 'bout it, now 's there?" he says, breaking eye contact as he stands up. And I find out quickly that he's tall. Another twelfth thing I've learned about him in the last minute.

He waltzes over to the corner of my room where the tea table sits along with a shelf holding pull out baskets with different toys in each. His long pale fingers wrap around one of the handles and tugs on it, picking a red headed Barbie out and making a disgusted sound before stuffing it back in. "Yer such a girl, arentchu?" he complains, his blue tinted skin not bothering to push the basket back in before moving onto my bookshelf, picking up a light blue and purple book. "How ironic 's it that ya have this book, huh?" Turning to me and flashing the cover at me, I see that it's Monsters Inc. I want nothing more than to go back to sleep, I think.

"What does that word mean?" I say nervously, his movements slow and careful as he flips through the book and tosses it onto the floor carelessly, ending right side up on an open page. Looking back to me, his crazy brown eyebrows go up as he looks at me with his bright green eyes. I realize that's what I saw last night glowing in the dark, his neon eyes. "The word starting with an 'I'."

"'ironic'?" he asks, and I nod as he takes his time walking around inspecting my stuff, picking up Beary Jones and petting his soft brown fur. "It uh, I dunno how t' describe it, really. Means that sumthin's funny in a weird way, I guess."

"Whatever," I say, my head falling onto my pillow as I get back under the toasty warm covers.

"Ya can't go back t' bed yet."

"And how come?"

"Cuz, I haven't scared ya all good yet. I can't go yet 'til I have," he replies, running his hand over Beary Jones' ears before pulling at his red overalls. In a blink he rips his head off and white cotton is falling down onto the floor like snow.

"No, not Beary! Why'd you do that?"

"Would ya shutup already, ya nosy li'l brat? 's just a fake stuffed bear, get over it!" he snarls, flinging it onto the red table. Beary's head sits on the floor sadly, getting squished by his grimy black sneakers as he walks back over to me. I shrink into the covers as he approaches. "I scare ya all good yet, Josie Posie?"

I reply with a soft 'no' but as he gets closer I move back, reaching the other side of my bed until I'm almost falling over the edge. His pale face, a shade of light blue, gets closer and closer to mine. The little blue dots like freckles covering his ghostly skin look like little flattened balls of playdoh before they're gone, shouting a 'boo! My back hits the hard floor. A whimper leaves my lips and I hold my achy elbow as tears well in my eyes and my bottom lip quivers, turning away when he walks around the corner with a laugh.

"Go away!" I yell at him, my voice small and weak and the crying isn't helping.

"Yer such a li'l baby, ya know that?" he smiles, crouching down. A holey black t-shirt clings to his sides amongst his muscly arms covered with black pictures and words. Pants the same color and just as old and beat up are on his legs, but they're tighter.

"I said go away, I don't like you!" I repeat, smushing my face into the fuzzy white rug next to me. Hot tears spill from my eyes and wet my hot face. My heart thuds loudly as I sniffle with each sob, no matter how quiet I try to make them. He begins to say something I think, but I stop him, "No! You're mean and I never asked for a monster, I hate this new house and you're making it worse! I hate you I hate you, go away and never come back!"

"Josie," he says softly, whatever his stupid monster name is. "Hey, look at me."

"Why should I?"

"Cuz I said so, now look at me, you li'l shit," he says angrily, and I pull away my sweaty teary face to look up at his. It's blurry, but it's blue and weird and dirty. Reaching his hand out for a reason I don't know, I look between it and his face before opening my mouth and biting his finger.

"You li’l fucker, ow! Why d’ya keep doin' that, ugh?!" he swears. I get up from the floor and dash out of the room and down the hallway. "Yer really gonn' get it now, Josie! Thought you weren't gonna be too bad, but now, I dunno anymo'." I hear lastly as I turn left down the hallway, and I stop in front of Mommy and Daddy's door. I take one last peek down the hall to my bedroom where the light flows out into the dark hall, hiccups leaving my lips as thoughts bubble around inside of my head.

Wiping my tears away, I change my mind and when I step back into my room, I find his dark, dusty figure with his back to me, picking up something off my dresser. He must have heard me because he turns around and looks me in the eyes only for a second, and then his crazy green eyes fall to the Disney snowglobe in his hand. Little balls of snow fall down onto the castle from in the Magical Kingdom.

"Please don't break it, that's my favorite. I got it from Disney at Christmas time," I cry.

"Won't if ya promise not t' bloody bite me again," he shrugs, looking to me for an answer and when I nod he puts it back. He runs the tip of his finger over Tinker Bell's glittery wing, walking over to my bed and pushing the cover back off of the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"Told ya last night I got other kiddies t' scare, an' if 'm bein' honest, 'm quite sick of you fer tha day, so 'm off," he answers, sticking his long legs under my bed. When I take a step closer, I notice that they've disappeared and it's just the tops of his legs and the rest of him still there. But that doesn't make sense, so much of this doesn't. "Breathe, Josie, 's jus'- 'll be back tomorra, try not t' bite anybody else while 'm gone, sound good?"

"O-Okay," I say slowly, playing with the sleeve of my princess nightgown.

"God, you are such a girl, 's bloody terrifyin'," he says, shaking his head. I open my mouth to say something. "Whatd’ ya want now?"

"You never told m-me your name."

"Well tha's for me t' know an' fer you t' never find out, innit now, Josie Posie?" he smiles, winking one of his green eyes at me. I sigh and throw my hands up, feeling the soreness when my elbow moves and I wince, whining a 'that's not fair, you're never fair!'

"Tone it down, will you?! 's jus' a name, dunno why ya wanna know so bad!"

"Well, if you're gonna be scaring me every night, I want to know."

"My goodness, 'm in fer a load of trouble with you, aren't I?" he shakes his head, looking away and to under my bed where it's just brown wood and the beginning of dust bunnies. Rubbing his big, pointy nose, he lets out a loud breath and I see his wacky eyes once more. "Tha name's Harry. Now, I really best be off. Sweet dreams an' ya betta not hope tha bed bugs bite!"

There's nothing left but a whisper of his words and a whoosh after he slid under my bed, making me wonder ten new things that I don't know what to think of or what the answer could even be.

With a huff, I wander to the door and find the lightswitch. With a last look to the empty space under my bed, I flick the light off and dash to my bed quickly, even though I know there aren't any monsters under my bed to get me. Well, I can't say that anymore, I think, as I bring Mr. Snuggles back into my arms. And I don't know what to think of that really, and how it should make me feel.

But all I know is that I'm kind of looking forward to bedtime now, and getting to see my monster, Harry. He’s kind of . . what’s the word?

Cute.

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alovevigilante · 3 years

Text

Me: Ok. I’ve made an executive decision on behalf of all of us...

Me also: are you an executive?

Me: yes.

Me also: at what company?

Me: ours. Yours and mine.

Me 3: and mine too!

Me: yes, at threes company, ok? Will you just listen to me? (The other me’s sit, silent) thank you. Now, we have all come to terms with the fact that we’re 46 and still not sure where the hell we fit in in society, let alone a career to help aid it, right?

Other me’s: yes, Agreed, (hub hub etc...)

Me: ok, good. Well, not good, but yes, we all concur. Now, we, collectively, are a fucking mess, so I propose this: we start from scratch. At zero point, ok? Ok! Great!

Me also: um, question?

Me: yes?

Me also: I don’t mean to be a contrarian or anything, but we’ve been here on earth now for 46 years, and we’ve experienced a butt ton. So, how do you just scrap it all, and have that be something that’s widely accepted by society as a whole?

Me 3: yeah! Cause I saw this one “I love Lucy” where she couldn’t even audition for a tv show without having some experience.

Me: yeah, but we’re completely walking away from the entertainment industry...

Me also: yeah, but what are we going to do? Walk into a different profession, let’s say, being an astrophysicist, and they say, “hey lady, where are your degrees and your on the job training, & oh, I see here on your non resume that you have never even taken a physics class. Were you in a coma for 50 years or something?” And then we’ll look like an asshole.

Me: good point. So, since we can’t start at a zero point, how do we make life ok from where we’re at if we’re feeling lost and confused about what to do next?

Me 3: I dunno.

Me also: well, maybe we can mediate.

Me: eh. You feel like that?

Me 3: not particularly. Me also?

Me also: I was hoping one of you would do it for me...

Me: no.

Me 3: no.

Me also: fine. Any other ideas?

Me: well... how about thinking about shit.

Me also: that’s what got us in this mess to begin with!

George Carlin: hello ladies! May I be of some assistance here?

Me 3: why not? We’re plum out of ideas...

George: ok, well, let’s simplify a bit, Kari, singular, let’s chat.

Kari: hey George.

George: love the pic you choose to rep me.

Kari: yeah. You’re being a lil Italian when you talk with the garlic clove shaped hand you got going there. 🤌 🧄 🇮🇹

George: Yeah. I’m diggin it. But you know, in your mind, I’m one of the reasons you’re here in this ass place.

Kari: you are? how do you figure?

George: people don’t like the fact that you write on behalf of the deceased.

Kari: well, Tim burton did it in beetle juice and a lot of folks love him..

George: ok Kari, can I be Frank... Sinatra-like with you?

Kari: I dunno, can you?

George: yeah. Just pretend I’m sporting a fedora, a cigarette in one hand, and throwing my jacket back over my shoulder with the other looking at you coyly.

Kari: ok... if you want to... but is the cigarette in his pocket? Cause if it’s lit, that shits gonna hurt his Netherlands eventually....

George: (like Sinatra) no. Now listen up, baby, it’s not normal to write on behalf of a dead person that was not a character, and that whom was once alive. People get touchy about it. We have friends still alive that knew us and probably don’t dig it.

Kari: I see.

George: so it seems like we’re at a crossroads here. What do you want to do about it?

Kari: do about what?

George: your writing! It’s freakin everyone out! Kari, look, you know how normal Hollywood is, ok? They are all normal, non creative, in the box gladly thinker kinda people...

Kari: they are?

George: yes!!! Come on, keillor, get with the program! You are too far fetched for these folks! They want normalcy, and sameness, and only all the shit that’s ever been shat!

Kari: George, are we talking about Hollywood California, here? Or Hollywood podunk nah? Because Hollywood California is where all the creatives go to create!

George: right! And guess what, Kari Keillor! You are not welcomed in Hollywood, California! They have a sign up with your picture on it at the airport that says, “beware! No to this woman! Too much with the weirdness! She writes dead people!”

Kari: I write live people too... hey, do I have a cowboy hat and a mustache on for my mugshot on that sign?

George: nice one Cookie Monster! Well, Keillor why not?! You may as well, because this story has as much validity as any other story you make up and make worse in your head cause you’re sensitive about of your writing...

Kari: you’re the one that said all that shit! You planted it in my head!!!

George: so I did, but remember, I’m a facet of you. So, decide. Is there any validity to what I/you said?

Kari: how the hell should I know?! I haven’t been in lax recently...

George: right! So you never know until you try talking to some people.

Kari: I’ll call the airport... Listen, George, I’ll be perfectly Frank Sinatra with you now, ok.?

Don rickles: no mere woman can be like ole blue eyes...

Kari: Shut your misogynistic, ass-kissing pie hole, Pickles.

Pickles rickles: oh fuck... she does it to me every time...

Frank Sinatra:, you tell him, baby!

Kari: I’m 46. (Back to George Carlin) Anyway, look George, I have had a few successful people from my entertainment past either shun or block me for no apparent reason, so I’m pretty sure that I’m not well received again, for whatever reason... probably because I wrote the truth about a second city class I took when I was 16, about the current state of snl which I am completely unfamiliar with because I do not watch it, and the way comedy has changed or not over the last many years. Come to think of it, maybe it was because I love frank oz, and frank was mad cause I wrote that belushi John was teasing him and calling him an asshole, another ironic statement because clearly frank oz, NOT an asshole, was many of the muppets for years, and Frank is one of my idols! (Not a true central religious figure to me, but someone I admire a lot...)

Frank Sinatra: who loves ya, baby??

Kari: (to Frank) kojak. (Back to herself) Or it could be because i called bill murray, the beloved patron saint of comedy, an asshole like me, yes, I said like ME, out of jest and irony, because yes, he cared about the kid in meatballs making friends, ok?! That’s probably it. & yes, i was kinda stoned when I wrote it, and also yes, I still can’t figure out why the movie was ducking named “meatballs”, cause there wasn’t an Italian to be seen in it! Ok?! And come to think of it bill as Peter venkman in ghostbusters 2, written in part, by him I think but let’s just say yes cause it supports my point, called all of New York City and it’s tri state area, all 3 million people, miserable assholes, and they took a head count, & they still (probably mostly) all love him! & that shit was good (I love that movie so much) and it was made in 1989, and that was a long ass time ago, ok? And some of those people, have procreated since then, and again, they all love bill Murray and now those “miserable asshole’s” kids, ALSO love Bill now! Double the miserable assholes! Why?! Because he’s funny, and much like me when I’m being tongue and cheek, he didn’t mean for people to take the shit he says seriously! See for yourself! https://youtu.be/t1gkRAWvxOs (1:15 on)

youtube

So yes!!! I just think people are not into that kind of talk from me and me alone, even though it wasn’t coming from a mean or spiteful place. It was coming from a place of love for my craft, and of both frank oz, and bill Murray. The rest, as I say once again... I dunno....

George: Kari, frank just told you he loves you, and you blatantly ignored him...

Kari: no, he asked who loved me. He didn’t say he loved me.

George: Keillor, stop being so mean to the dead crooners, ok?

Kari: pickles isn’t a crooner! He’s a ye olde well paid curmudgeon who made fun of everyone like a jerk fach.

George: um, Kari...

Kari: no, ok? No! The difference between me and pickles, besides everything under the sun other than the fact we’re both human, is the fact that I am pointing out the obvious hypocrisy of the way we are set up as society, and wanting to heal it within myself to make it a more palatable world for me and my family and friends and acquaintances to live in. And pickles thought making fun of people was ok. What royal lineage did pickles come from that he’s able to rip on everyone the way he did? And even if he was of a royal bloodline so fucking what?! And dude got paid to be mean! And normal people made him rich and famous! And how did that become prevalent, let alone celebrated in this world?! Roast em! Yes! Hilarious.

Dean Martin: oh noooo... hey, listen pally...

Kari: dean, don’t get me started, ok? Cause I like you, I really do, but you know how I feel about that shit... Listen, Dean, you left a legacy here that was mostly great, but in my opinion needs a lil tweaking. Instead of “roasts” which people do to this day, and I can’t see how it can make the honoree feel anything other than like major ass, we should have “toasts” (copyright Kari keillor 3/19/21 actually before this date but I never published publicly...)

Pickles rickles: toasts?!? What is THAT supposed to mean?!

Kari: it means, my curious lil ornery pickles, that instead of roasting someone and being a mean rotter egg to them, you can “toast” them. Cheers to you, honoree, we salute you, in a hilarious way, by being honest about you but not vicious, viper like, and cruel. It’s where everyone laughs together cause it’s not a character assassination, instead of ripping on someone. It’s being funny, and yes, in a KIND and uplifting way. Where you actually celebrate the person being honored. Now, will that take a lil more brain power then the go-to usual jerk fach? Yes. But, it’s a challenge I hope everyone will accept for the good of all of us. Cause I guarantee that no one walks out of a roast feeling great. And if they do, cause they thought they killed or whatever, they probably did. And not in a good way. And that, again, is ass. No one wins. It’s a short lived feeling, the feeling of “one upping” a person. It never makes you feel better about you in the long run.

Dean: I see. I think I’ll go work on my volare now...

Kari: see?!? Now THAT I like! It’s not at anyone’s expense!

George: oh shit.... kari.... Why do you give a fuck about all this?

Kari: you know why George? Cause this has become our accepted collective energy! The haves and the have nots! Take away your money and what have you got?! Who are you, without the people who have made you who you are?! People, make other people in the 3D reality we live in. So take away everyone’s cash money, homes, clothes, and all the cars, and all the shit, and what do ya got? A bunch of naked humans starring at our different body bits, ok?! We’re All the f’n same. So think about it. What are we each individually contributing energetically to the whole of us? What message are we sending the next generations In our every day lives? I’ll tell you what message. Whatever we feel about ourselves individually both good and bad. THAT’S what energy we all give, and receive from one another. That’s what we’re teaching the kids. They model themselves after how we feel, and how we choose to think, and how we decide to act toward others. So let’s all collectively recognize that, and how we treat other human beings and wake up first inside ourselves then beyond ourselves so we can all make the whole, better.

I am not an asshole or a human joke or any other kind of joke. I’m not going to cry over the fact that I’m not accepted by people who’s energies don’t match mine. And by the by, no one is a joke, no matter who they are, or what their socioeconomic standing is. So I don’t wear an ascot and a smoking jacket, and a neck full of gold chains and chest hair, holding a whiskey on the rocks with an umbrella in it saying “see that?! be somebody!” ok?! I’m not Steve Martin in the jerk, ok? https://youtu.be/tBfXTyzaUfQ

youtube

I’m not even close to Hollywood! I live in the Midwest! I’m Kariwood, ok? And I’m not even kari wood, I’m no woods, ok? cause I’m pretty much never in the woods or the outdoors for that matter, so much so that I just purchased a sweatshirt that says, “indoorsy” on it, ok? True story! So yeah. Cause one time I was in Wisconsin in the woods, and I was thinking, “look at me! I’m in the woods! Weird, no?!” (Cause never in the woods, but I thought, I’ll give it a shot! What’s the worst that can happen?) And guess what? Despite my shower the night before, I felt something on the base of my skull the next morning, and I picked out a really nasty, creepy and scary tick. And it was alive, and disgusting, and wiggly. And I started screaming. And I am still freaked out to this day about it. And that happened at least 17 years ago. And I didn’t like it. So that’s how “non woods-y” I am... I’m not even a fan of woodsy the owl, ok?

So I don’t know how I feel about all that. All this to say that I am definitely not Hollywood, but yes, I am included, as a “somebody”. I may not be an award winning, keillor, but I am still somebody, and I may not be rich and famous, but yes, I am somebody, and I may have been on one trajectory and now I do t know what the heck I am now, ok? It’s true, and yes, I’ve posted this before and I’ll keep posting it until everyone in me gets on board with it, yes! I am still somebody because yes, dear me, we are all this: somebody! : https://youtu.be/tu0lNcrZjG8

youtube

George: hard to argue with that.

Kari: eh. You know what I am, George?

George: yes, Kari. I know what you are. But do you?

Kari: well, I feel, like I’m one of those kids on Sesame Street sometimes, looking up at and intently listening to Jesse Jackson, wondering how to get from small to big, and from where I am, to the success that he reps, you know? The importance of being admired by many. Having a big platform to play on. A huge soapbox to stand on, you know?

George: yes. I get it, Kari, I really do. And we’ve all been there. But everyone’s story about themselves, is different. How we all got to where we are, was our own personal trajectory that we designed with our beliefs. And our thoughts. There’s no set pattern or manual to follow. The only energy you must follow, is your passion and your joy, aka the love. That’s it. So, if you want to be, and decide to be, you ARE Hollywood,. Because Hollywood isn’t a specific person or group of people, it’s a place, and an energy. Hollywood is what you make it to be with how you view it. You don’t have to “be” Hollywood to be in Hollywood...

Kari: you said I wasn’t allowed in Hollywood..

George: you may not be. All I’m saying, is that you are whatever you decide you are. The end.

Kari: well, am I or not? Cause I don’t want to go and be turned away. Besides, I love visiting olvera st.

George: Its a fine street, it is. Great margaritas... listen Kari, you cannot achieve anything in this life that you don’t truly believe is in the realm of your possibility. So yes! You can be, and pretty much are are Hollywood keillor, even if it’s in the Midwest in your own home.. You are creative, and love the arts, and are nutsy, and ballsy, and you may hold the title as being the first person to ever separate the two, and bring them back together in a scote sack, ok? So keep writing, and be yourself.

Kari: I dunno. But what I do know is this: I did it again...

George: did what?

Kari: reactivated all the shit memories and feelings from the past that I’ve felt about my career, allowing myself to relive all those fun feels of inadequacy and upset alllll over again.

George: aww, it’s happened to the best of us. Listen Kari, you are, in my humble not so humble opinion, since I’m still you, a loving person. So you reflect that way; with humor, and yes, absurdist, surreal comedy.

Kari: well, I’ll try.

George: You already do. Your credentials are superfluous. Your love and support of you no matter what you do moving forward is what you’ll feel when you choose to, and it’s available anytime you want to feel it. And when you feel that, it really doesn’t matter what you do.

Kari: ok, well, thanks George. It’s nice to know I have you around.

George: Kari, you were once told that you are golden, no?

Kari: well, I was told that I’ll be golden at some point moving forward doing whatever it is I choose to do.

George: right. So, when are you going to decide to experience that?

Kari: hopefully soon.

George: Kari, why do you chop to talk to and write about us “passed over folk”?

Kari: I dunno. I guess it’s cause I love and miss you guys in theory, even though I didn’t know you personally. And I like to re-experience your energy, as I appreciated and admired it. It helps me feel better.

George: you’re now golden.

Scene.

Appendices: if you choose to perform this scene, good luck. I’d like you to do it all in one breath, if you are a more advanced, and professional actor. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣💕💕💕💕

#choose love #love matters #love manifestation #self reflection #self love #self care #self esteem #selfworth #self development #self improvement #self definition #self image #love yourself #george carlin #a love vigilante

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jpat82 · 5 years

Text

Sanity

So my sister @devilbat request 21, 26, and 28 form the prompts. I decided to make this part of My Uncle Tony series.

21.) And so, I start another day being kidnapped.

26.)all that blood looks good on you, brings out yours eyes.

28.) why is there a raccoon in the kitchen? And why is it wearing an apron?

You blew a strand of hair from your forehead as you looked around the small room. The walls a slate grey, a cement floor, an annoyingly bright uncovered over head light bulb that wasn't doing anything to help the throbbing in your head. A singular metal door that had multiple dents. The ropes that wrapped around your upper torso holding you tight to the chair was an ever present reminder that you knowing the Asgardian brothers would no doubt lead you to moments like this. Adding to the fact that your uncle was not only a very prominent man but an Avenger as well, that probably didn't help. But on the bright side at least you had had your back surgery.

"And so," You sighed heavily with aggravation. "I start another day being kidnapped."

It had been months, almost a year since your last kidnapping. You had went out to replace the stuff Thor had took while Loki was the distraction from last night. It was the return trip, broad daylight, well some what overcast but still very much during the day. Carrying two bags back toward your upscale apartment, at first you thought you had felt a bee sting you. And naturally you brought your hand up to your neck, only to the brush dart out instead.

And that lead you to this moment, well actually only a couple moment before this one right here. The blinding headache, the steady small pain throbbing in your neck, and the demeanor of a disgruntled penguin. You wanted to slap whoever thought this was a great idea, this never went the way they planned. However that never stopped them.

The door creak and all you did in response was raise your eyebrow. A very well dressed man with a neatly groom goatee walked in, his heels clicked against the cement floor. He held his hands behind his back, and you weren't sure if he was the big boss man or just a really well dressed henchman.

"Asgardains or Stark?" You demanded.

"Come again, little girl?" He asked with a thick accented voice.

"Or Romanoff?" You tilted your head slight, narrowing your eyes. "Russian?"

"What would give you that idea? And why would you think Romanoff?” He questioned, stopping just before you. Maybe if you had the ability to stretch your legs the tips of your toes would touch his black Italian leather shoes.

"Well, your accent. I know a lot of people, been around a lot of different accents. Comes with the territory. So what do you want with Natasha?”

“It’s not Romanov that we want.” He stated, his lip curling in a sinister sneer. “We want our asset back.”

“Your asset?” You question feeling your brows bunch together.

“Yes, and you, little girl are going to get him for me.”

“Me?” You rolled your eyes taking a deep breath. “I don’t have your asset and this, this right here kidnapping me and holding me hostage is only going to end badly for you.”

“Nobody knows where you are, trust me, we are safe here.” The guy smirked, cocking his head to the side. You laughed in response looking straight at him.

“You really think you’re safe here? You seriously think so? Do you know how many times I’ve been kidnapped?” You asked him, taking a deep breath. “Look buddy, attempting to go through me to get your asset is like going through Comcast to get ahold of Disney, it just doesn’t work that way.”

“One of two things are going to happen.” You stated flatly before continuing. “You either get Thor and Loki, cause they are very protective me, especially the raven haired God of Mischief. He’ll likely rip you to pieces while Thor fries your ass. Or you get my uncle, and he is not someone you want to be on the bad side of. Cause either route you go, it’s going to be severely painful.”

“I’m hoping it’s your uncle. We are heavily fortified, and he will need his entire team to get you out. And when he does that he will bring me my asset.”

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You stated just as a red light in the hall turned on and began flash before the power flickered. “Guessing that was the back up generator being kicked on?”

The man looked over his shoulder before pressing on the ear piece that was hidden in his ear. He shouted something in Russian briskly. He turned his gaze back to you, you shifted, straightening yourself a bit more.

“Guessing the perimeter was breeched?” You smiled.

It didn’t take long before you heard gunfire and the man in front of you sprang into action. He spun on his heel, pulling a gun from his hip. He never got a shot off before you watched his body jerk and blood spray out behind him onto you. You reeled back slightly in the chair caught off guard, normally things like this didn’t happen yet here you were covered in someone else’s blood. You blinked hard a couple time before it dawned on you a flash of green and gold had entered the room.

“My pet,” Loki cooed as he knelt down in front of you, a dagger materializing in your hands. He cut you free as you slowly looked up and met his eyes. “All that blood looks good on you, brings out your eyes.”

“Loki?” You said softly before the room went black.

—————-

You woke with a start, your soft blanket surrounding you and Loki’s side of the bed empty. If it weren’t for the fact you could still feel where the ropes had rubbed against your arms making them raw you would of just thought it was a dream. The window outside was dark and you weren’t sure if it night or early morning.

Slowly pulling yourself from the confines of your warm soft bed, the second thing you notice was you were in your pajamas. So whatever had happened after being doused in the guys blood Loki had at least had the decency to change you into something clean. Hushed voices came from your open doorway making you wonder what the hell was going on.

Slipping out into the hall you excepted to hear Tony sternly talking to the brothers, yet the voices you heard beside the idiots were ones you didn’t recognize. You walked out into the landing looking down into the living room where a woman who was green was standing. Not wearing but her skin was green and you felt a wave of confusion. She was talking to another woman with overly large eyes and antennas sticking out of her head.

Whatever they hit you with must of had some psychedelics into as a tiny tree looking man was kicking a huge guy that was silver and red at the base of your stairs. The tree thing repeatedly say ‘I am Groot.’ in a very angry tone. Almost everyone stopping talking as you hit the bottom of the stairs, except the tree. You started walking toward the kitchen where you could hear Thor and Loki talking to someone else when a man in a red leather jacket stepped out of the dining room, his out fit almost reminding you of Micheal Jackson era clothing.

“Well, hello gorgeous.” He smirked, his blue eyes traveling over you.

“Wow, nice one Thriller, the 80’s called and want their wardrobe back.” You stated walking past him as you rolled your eyes.

Stepping into the kitchen reveled even more confusion.

“Why is there a raccoon in my kitchen? And why is it wearing an apron?” You asked looking from Thor to Loki.

“Who you calling a raccoon? Is she calling me a raccoon?” It spoke, you blinked even harder looking slowly up from it back to the brothers.

“Lady y/n, this is Rabbit.” Thor stated proudly, smiling.

“Thor, that’s not a rabbit.” You replied looking at Loki.

“Darling, I know this might all seem confusing, but these people are who helped us get you out of Hydras base. This is Rocket, the only sane one of the group.” Loki explained.

“If you think he’s sane then obviously it’s someone else in this group. I think I’m going to see if my therapist has any openings. You boys have fun and don’t use my good knives.” You replied, slowly turning and taking a deep breath. “And also to ask my uncle if I’m going to need a bigger apartment.”

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl

@octobermermaid @ajosieface @instantnoodlese @crystlblu @coffeebooksandfandom @thisismysecrethappyplace @the-wayward-robot @lokilvrr @shynara51 @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl l @loislp @savedbyimagination @bubblycypres87 @ifyousayyouloveme @courtmr @blue-cat-1989 @saharzek @lokiodinsoninwriting @silverhart93 @rynabarnesrogers

Some Loki tags.

@theoneanna @jewels2876 @devilbat @sarahivi

If I missed you just let me know or if wanted to be added as a tag

#loki #loki of asgard #loki fic #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson

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lofitowns · 5 years

Text

a miracle and a tragedy - e. kaspbrak

❝ HE HAD THOSE KIND EYES THAT SAID ‘EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY’ ❞

in which you love him and he loves you. but that can’t save him. (fem! reader)

fandom ; it (2017) / (2019)

word count ; 4411 (it’s a long one boys)

warnings ; cussing + character death :(

(y/n) - your name :: (y/n/n) - your nickname

i haven’t written in forever! so here’s a little come back. if you see any mistakes, please tell me! i didn’t really reread this after i wrote it lol

you love him, you do.

You were 15 years old when you realized you were in love.

1991

You were sitting on your bed, paper and pens and pencils spread all over. You were seriously stressed out. Your freshman year was coming to a close and finals were starting next week and you had no idea what you were doing.

It was a Saturday, you should be hanging out with the losers but your dad had told you if you didn’t get good grades on these finals, you wouldn’t be able to hang out with them at all over the summer.

You checked your bedroom clock, it was only 2pm. Your dad wanted you to study until at least 4pm. This was exhausting.

There was a sudden tapping on your window making you turn your attention to that. There was Eddie Kaspbrak. Thank god your room was on the first floor. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to get up if it was on the second.

You raised an eyebrow at him as he waved through the window. You laughed at his big grin as you made your way over to open it.

“Hey! Can I come in?” He asked, looking up at you.

“Eds, you know my dad wants me to study.”

“Yeah, well, I can be your study buddy! We have some of the same classes, I can help.”

You debated it for a few seconds before finally taking the screen off and letting him in.

He climbed inside, almost falling to the floor, but you caught him.

“You’ve gotta be quiet though, my parents are just down the hall.”

You studied in mostly silence for a while, every so often you would look up to ask him a question and he would already be looking at you. This made you blush.

“God, Eddie. I’m so stressed out about this. What if I fail all of them and then I can’t see you guys over the summer?”

“Okay, first off, you’re literally the smartest person in our friend group. You’re definitely going to pass. Secondly, even if you do fail, I’m going to come visit you every single day. And I’ll bring all your favorite stuff and movies and I’ll hide when your parents come to check on you. How about that?”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the boy spoke. You felt like you might cry. No one had ever said anything like that to you before.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

That’s when you knew you were in too deep with this boy.

and here’s the miracle: he loves you too.

He was 13 years old when he realized he was in love.

1989

“I can’t go home like this guys. My mom will kill me.” The small boy, Eddie Kaspbrak, said with a face covered in grime.

“Dude, you’ve been gone for 24 straight hours. Your face is definitely on a milk carton by now,” Richie joked making Eddie’s face fall in terror, “Also, that puke smells worse than your mom’s slippers.”

“Oh, shut up, Richie,” You interjected, Eddie noticed you were gripping the handlebars of your bike to the point your knuckles were white.

“Okay, first of all, my mom’s slippers smell like potpourri, asshole,” Eddie retorted as everyone started to wheel their bikes down the main street of Derry.

You all started joking, just like normal. Like you hadn’t just crawled out of the sewer after fighting a child-eating clown.

Everyone started going their separate ways, going to their respective houses, until Eddie was left alone with you. Your house was just around the corner from his so it wasn’t unusual for you to walk home together. But, Eddie felt different this time. He wanted to make sure you got home safe and you were okay.

Your words interrupted his thoughts, “Do you want to come to my house? To clean up so your mom doesn’t freak out even more,” You offered, keeping your eyes on the bike wheel you were guiding next to you.

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally answered, “Yeah, sure.”

When you arrived at your house, you checked to see if your parent’s car was in the garage before dropping your bikes in the front lawn. Eddie watched you move the small cat statue on the first step of your house to grab your spare key. You unlocked the door and led him up to your bathroom, grabbing a towel from the hall closet on your way.

Eddie sat on the seat of the toilet, following you across the room with his eyes as you turned on the tab, trying to get the temperature right, before wetting the towel and putting soap on it.

You made your way back over to him, kneeling down. When you started scrubbing his face, his breath hitched in his throat. He kept his eyes on you as you continued your work, focused. You also reached up and tried to get some of the puke out of his hair.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can do anything about the smell. Or your clothes. You’ll have to go home for that,” You told him, turning around to get some of the grime off the towel. You also grabbed a few bandaids and another washcloth with soap and water to clean his smaller cuts. Good thing he didn’t have any major wounds, not like Stanley.

Eddie’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Not because of an asthma attack, not because he had just fought a killer clown, because the girl he liked was sitting so close to him. If he just leaned in...

The brunette boy cleared his throat, averting his eyes away from you.

When you announced you were done, Eddie quickly asked if you wanted him to help clean yourself up. He wanted to stay here with you longer. He knew his mother wouldn’t let him out of the house until school started, even if he just said he was at Bill’s and fell into a puddle or something.

“It’s fine, Eds. Go make sure your mom knows you’re alive so she doesn’t actually put your face on a milk carton,” You joked, sending him a weak smile.

Eddie let out a small chuckle, his eyes trained on you. You let out a small awkward laugh, reaching up to rub the side of your neck. He saw you open your mouth to say something, but he just moved forward and took you in his arms.

“Hey, you’ll get dirty again,” You pointed out playfully, but none the less, hugged him back.

Eddie could have stayed there forever. He didn’t even care that you both smelled like sewer or that his mom was probably freaking out. He didn’t know what he would do if something had happened to you.

He slowly pulled away, looking at your face. You were looking at him too.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” You asked, smiling softly at him.

“Yeah, of course.”

Eddie walked past you, walking back out your front door. Once it was closed, he let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. God, he was in love with you.

you are allowed to have him.

1992

It was Christmas break. There were still three days until Christmas but Bev was leaving to see family in Portland tomorrow and you all wanted to give each other presents.

You were squished between Richie and Eddie on the plush couch in your living room, watching A Christmas Story. Ben, Bev, and Bill sat on the floor in front of you, if you looked close enough, you could see her pinkie finger resting on Ben’s hand. Stanley was sitting on the chair next to the lit fireplace but was still curled up under a blanket. Mike sat in the chair on the other side of the couch, resting his head on his hand.

You shivered, causing Eddie to switch his attention to you.

“Are you cold?” He whispered as to not disturb the others.

You nodded and in response. He turned around and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. He leaned over and spread it over the two of you. You sent him a grateful smile, your heart starting to flutter as he hesitantly laid his hand on yours under the blanket.

You had had a crush on the boy since you started middle school. He had always been there for you, especially after everything had happened with Pennywise. His laugh was like music to your ears and you always wanted to keep a smile on his face.

Your eyes kept switching from the TV screen back to Eddie, from the TV to Eddie. Your eyes finally decided to stay on the boy next to you. You felt like you hadn’t taken a good look at him in a while. His hair had started to curl more and it lightened a bit. He had grown too, you remember being at least four inches taller than him, but all of a sudden he shot up. He had stopped carrying around that dorky fanny pack when you started high school.

He turned his eyes to you, meeting your gaze. He moved ever so slightly to be closer to you, fulling wrapping his fingers around your hand.

The movie ended soon after and it was time for gifts. All of you moved to sit on the floor in a circle. You had done Secret Santa this year so you all didn’t have to buy seven different presents.

“Okay, I’ll start. I got Bill,” You announced, leaning over to him to hand him a rectangular parcel. He took it and quickly ripped the wrapping paper off. Inside was a blank sketchbook and a packet of colored pencils.

“T-Thanks, (y/n),” He sent you a warm smile, “I had M-Mike.”

Mike had Ben, Ben had Stan, Stan had Bev, Bev had Richie, and Richie had Eddie.

“And that means, Eddie had (y/n)!” Richie teased, nudging Eddie in the side with his elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna give it to her later,” Eddie retorted, a flush coming to his cheeks.

A shit-eating grin grew on Richie’s face, “Oh I bet you are Eds.”

Eddie groaned, putting his face in his hands while the rest of the losers club laughed at him.

“Beep beep, Richie. And I told you not to call me that.”

“But (y/n) can call you that? Suspicious.”

It took a few more hours for the losers to start to leave. Richie tried to stay until Eddie gave you your present, but Bev made him leave, already knowing what you were getting. Eddie had asked her what he should get you since the two of you were so close.

“Alright, what’s this thing you couldn’t give me in front of the losers?” You asked, pulling him down to sit on the couch facing each other.

Eddie chewed his lip nervously, holding the wrapped rectangle in his hands.

“Okay, please don’t laugh.”

“Of course I’m not going to laugh, Eds.”

He took a deep breath, pushing it across the couch cushion to you. You took it in your hands, taking the wrapping off of it.

It was a small brown book.

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up at him. Eddie made a gesture to open it, so you did. It took your breath away.

Inside were pages filled with pictures, notes, movie tickets from different times in your life with the losers. You let out a breathy laugh, smiling brightly as you flipped through it.

“Oh my god, Eddie. This... This is beautiful,” You told him, setting the book aside and reaching over to take him in your arms. He wrapped his arms around you in return, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” His words were muffled by your shirt, “You... You didn’t look at the last page though.”

You pulled away, reaching over to open the book again. You flipped all the way to the back, seeing a picture of Eddie and yourself that was obviously taken by one of the other losers. You were sitting together on someone's couch, your head was on his shoulder and he had his eyes trained on you, a genuine smile on his face.

Your eyes moved to a small patch of writing under the picture.

Do you like me back?

yes no

You let out a small giggle, reaching to the table next to the couch to grab a pen. You circled yes, closed the book, and pushed it back over to him.

The tips of Eddie’s ears turned red as he opened to the back of the book. A smile pulled at his lips, passing it back to you.

“Okay, well... Would you want to... Like, be my girlfriend?”

You let out another giggle, leaning over to him and pressing a short kiss to his cheek.

“Of course, Eds.”

Two and a half years later, you were all packed up for college and leaving in the morning. You had spent the whole night before with your friends, knowing it was going to be the last time you saw them for a while.

You walked back into your room from washing your face, looking around your near-empty room. You jumped at a sudden knock on your window.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned around. A laugh fell from your lips, rushing over to the window to open it. Eddie’s grinning face there to greet you.

“For old times sake, right?”

Eddie climbed through the window and followed you to your bed. You both laid on top of the blankets, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just wanting to cherish each other’s presence for the last time.

“I’m gonna miss you,” You spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I’m going to miss you so much more,” He answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “And after we graduate college, we’ll go away somewhere. New York, California, I’d go anywhere with you.”

You giggled, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips, “I’d like that.”

You stayed like that until the sun started to rise.

“Shit,” The boy whispered, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, “I really need to get home.”

You nodded, getting up with him, “Eddie,” You called softly as he walked to the window.

He turned around as you walked towards him and planted your lips onto his.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, his right hand going to your hip and his left going to your cheek as well. The kiss didn’t last long enough for your liking when he pulled away.

“I love you,” He whispered.

“I love you.”

As he crawled out the window, you didn’t realize it would be the last time you saw him for 22 years.

and here’s the tragedy: it’s not enough.

2016

The lights of Jade of the Orient shined down on you as you worked up the courage to walk in.

It still baffled you how you could forget your whole childhood. Where you came from, your friends, your experiences. Eddie.

When you did push the door open, a young lady greeted you and brought you to a room towards the back. When walked in, there were already two men standing there.

“(y/n)?” One of them asked, stepping towards you. Bill.

“I’m so glad you made it,” The other greeted, taking you into his arms. Mike.

You let out a laugh, hugging him back. “Yeah, of course I came.” You broke away from him and pulled Bill into a hug as well.

Mike opened his mouth to speak when you all heard a voice behind you. You all turned around.

“I am allergic to soy, anything that has egg in it, uh gluten, and if I eat a cashew I could realistically die,” The man told the waitress, making his way into the room.

He paused when he saw the three of you.

“Holy shit.”

“Good to see you too, Eds,” You greeted, quickly walking to him and taking him in your arms. He immediately pulled you closer. It felt warm and safe and like home.

“(y/n/n)?” He whispered in your hair.

You pulled away from him, giving him a warm smile.

Bill and Mike moved towards the two of you to give Eddie a hug as well. You made small talk while you waited for the others.

When they did get there, everything felt right. Richie hit the gong and announced the beginning of the meeting of the Losers Club.

“Look at these guys!” Eddie exclaimed, pointing at Beverly, Ben, and Richie.

Then you got drunk.

“So, wait, Eddie, you got married?” Richie asked, his shot glass falling out of his mouth. You were sitting in between him and Eddie

“Yeah, why’s that so fucking funny, dickwad?”

“What, to like a woman?”

“Fuck you, bro.”

“Fuck you!”

You let out a laugh, nudging Richie in the side with your elbow.

“And what about you, Trashmouth, you married?” Bill asked, leaning forwards.

“There’s no way Richie’s married!” You joked, holding your glass up to your lips.

“No, I got married,” He answered, looking serious.

“Richie, I don’t believe it,” Beverly retorted, eating a piece of chicken.

“When?” Eddie exclaimed, eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t hear about this?”

“No.”

“You didn’t know I got married? Yeah, no, me and your mom are very, very happy.”

Everyone around the table lost it, Bill choking on his drink and Beverly letting out a loud laugh and covering her mouth. You threw your head back in laughter, glancing over at Eddie who’s eyebrows were furrowed.

“Fuck you,” He pointed at Richie, taking a sip from the small bowl he was holding.

Richie wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leaned into your ear, starting to do a Jabba the Hutt impression.

You laughed and pushed him off, “Oh, leave him alone, Richie.”

While everyone was joking and laughing, Eddie turned to you.

“So, did you ever get married?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink.

You shook your head, “No, I just... Never met the right person, I guess,” You shrugged your shoulders.

Eddie nodded slowly, “Right. What do you do?”

“I actually work as a psychologist. I like being able to help people.”

“You were always the best listener,” He told you, making you giggle.

“So, you two are still in love,” Richie cut in, looking at the two of you.

Both of your faces flushed before you spoke, “Beep beep Richie.”

That night, you sat on your bed, blankly staring at the TV screen, it wasn’t even on. You kept seeing flashes of your younger self in your mind. A lot of them with a younger version of Eddie.

You jumped at the sudden knock on your door. Your eyes turned to the clock on the nightstand, 11:53pm.

You hesitantly walked over to it, cracking it open. There stood Eddie, looking at the floor. You opened the door fully.

He looked up at you, opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

“You wanna come in?”

He simply nodded, following you inside and closing the door behind him.

You both sat on the end of the bed where you had been moments before.

“Do you... Do you remember?” He finally broke the silence.

You nodded, getting the hint at what he was saying, and he set a hand on top of yours.

“I still love you. I know I didn’t even remember you until a couple days ago but I don’t want to go anywhere without you again,” Eddie confessed, turning to face you fully.

“Eds, you’re married.”

“Fuck her. I don’t love her, not like I love you. She’s basically my mother and I would leave her in a heartbeat for you.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “ Okay.”

Eddie grinned, moving his hands to cup your cheeks, pulling you into another kiss.

you are allowed to count the constellations in his eyes as they blink out,

The house on Neibolt looked the same as you walked inside. The sewers felt the same too.

You emerged from a cave after escaping your fear. You were shaken but you knew your work was not done.

“Hey, fuckface!” You heard Richie yell from across the room. Pennywise dropped Mike who he was holding and turned to your trash mouth friend.

“Wanna play truth or dare? Here’s a truth, you’re a sloppy bitch! Yeah, that’s right! Let’s dance, yippee ki-yay mother-” He was cut off when Pennywise opened his mouth, showing him the deadlights.

A sound of distress fell from your lips as you saw one of your best friends rising into the air. You scrambled to get down from where you were standing when you saw Eddie run out of the cave behind Richie.

“Beep beep, mother fucker!” He yelled, throwing the spike he had been given at the clown.

It went straight in his mouth. You couldn’t look away as Pennywise stumbled back, landing on another spike that went through his back. You let out a shaky breath, turning your gaze back to Richie and Eddie.

“Holy shit! Rich!” Eddie exclaimed, turning back to the man on the floor. “Hey, Richie! Listen, I think I got him, man! I think I killed it! I did! I think I killed-” He was cut off. A scream passed your lips and everything felt like it was going in slow motion.

Pennywise stabbed Eddie through his back with one of his claws. He pulled him off of Richie and dangled him in the air, making taunting noises. A sob left your lips as tears started to fill your eyes.

With blurry vision, you watched the clown throw him into a cave and you had never run faster anywhere in your life. You slid down into the cave, your hands shaking as you helped Mike and Ben flip him onto his back.

Blood was pooling from his mouth and there was a gaping hole through his chest. You knelt in front of him, Richie shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You pressed it against his wound.

Pennywise clawed at the entrance, shouting at the seven of you.

“We have to get him out of here,” You pleaded, brushing some of his hair from his face.

“How are we supposed to do that, (y/n)?” Beverly asked, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“I almost killed it,” Eddie said weakly, “The leper. My hands were at its throat. And I... Could feel him choking. I made him small. He seemed so weak.”

Mike and Beverly started making a plan when Ben came back and told you all there was a tunnel. The next minutes were a blur as you helped carry Eddie to a sheltered area while the other losers went to distract Pennywise.

“Oh my god, Eds,” You whispered, pulling the jacket back to look at his wound.

“It’s alright, I guess you’ll just have to clean me up again,” He spoke, referencing the time you did when you were younger and when Henry Bowers stabbed him in the face earlier that day.

You let out a watery laugh, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You gotta stay with me, we’re gonna get you out of here, okay? And we’ll go away like we said we would. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Eddie tried to smile, his lips completely covered in blood.

“I’d... I’d like that...” His voice trailed off and you let out a loud sob.

No, no no no no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. You had just gotten him back and he was going to be gone again.

“Eddie?” Your voice broke. He stilled but you could still hear shallow breaths. You needed to help your friends.

Your pain mixed with your anger as you looked over to where the losers had cornered Pennywise. You shot up, running over to them and ripping off the spiked arm the clown was trying to use to stab your friends.

The six of you circled around the monster that had tormented you, calling him a clown. Making him small.

Pennywise’s breaths were labored but he still brought out one more jump scare as Mike got closer to him. Your friend reached into the clown’s chest, pulling out his heart as he screamed.

Beverly grabbed onto the heart first and the rest of you followed.

“Look at you, you’re all grown up.”

You all squeezed, watching him shrivel up and everything started floating up.

It was finally dead.

You let out a breath as Beverly leaned onto your shoulder.

“Eddie,” You broke the silence, turning around and returning to his body.

The rest of the losers followed you as you knelt in front of him, taking his face in your hand.

“Eddie, hey Eds. We got it,” You whispered and when he didn’t respond, your heart shattered.

You heard Beverly let out a sob behind you, “(y/n)...”

“He’s gone,” Bill spoke.

“He’s alright, he’s just hurt. We gotta get him out of here,” You argued, turning to look at your crying friends.

“(y/n), honey... He’s dead.”

You turned to look at Bev, you knew. Of course, you knew. You didn’t want it to be true.

“We have to go, come on.”

You took the man you loved in your arms while Bill and Richie tried to get you to stand up. You cradled his head in your hands, crying in protest as they started to drag you away from his body.

The six of you rushed out of the sewers, out of Neibolt house, as it was collapsing around you. You almost tripped from rushing down the stairs, Richie’s hand still on your arm to keep you going.

As you watched the house crumble, you pulled against him, making Ben grab your other arm.

“He wouldn’t want to die in there,” You sobbed, finally collapsing from exhaustion into Richie’s arms. The man kept you standing, holding you and rubbing his hand over your hair as you cried.

You were 40 years old when you realized you had lost your love.

but you are not allowed to save him.

thank you for reading :) have a good day!

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trulymadlysydney · 5 years

Text

Somewhere In Time: Four

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”

― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

Previous Chapters HERE

tw: Death, Loss of Parent

***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***

12:02pm, October 5th, 1989

“Uhh, earth to Roni.”

A shrill voice followed by a few obnoxiously bubbly giggles brings fifteen year old Roni out of her own mind, and she looks up with a hot face. She uses a finger to push her thick-rimmed glasses up her nose, but she knows the voice before she even sees who it belongs to.

Lainey Prescott, one grade above Roni and just about the bane Roni’s existence.

She stands no taller than Roni, her two best friends Olivia and Janet standing on either side of her like her little minions. With their matching pink fingernails and Pom Pom hair accessories, they look like little clones. Roni has to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

This happens nearly every day during free period. They come up to bother her, get their little digs in wherever they can, and then continue walking their laps around the track because they’re “working on their figures.” Roni has tried everything to put an end to it, even going so far as to sit in the dirt under the bleachers, but they’ve always ended up finding her. So now Roni sits out in the open, expecting it almost every day and thanking her lucky stars when it doesn’t happen.

“Hi, Lainey,” she mutters.

“Hey, super cute high-waters today, Ron!” Olivia and Janet snicker behind Lainey, who looks incredibly pleased with herself. “Whatcha reading?”

Roni sticks her finger between the pages of her book to mark her place and averts her gaze, ears growing hot. “Nothing.”

Olivia speaks up. “I bet it’s another one of those sci-fi books. We all know she gets off on weird shit like that.”

Olivia’s words feel like a blow to the chest, but Roni keeps her composure and swallows around a lump in her throat. Lainey doesn’t seem to notice when she nudges Roni’s sneaker with her sandal. “No seriously, what is it? Looks cool.”

Roni looks up sheepishly. “Do you really care?”

“Totally, babe.”

Roni lets out a sigh, somehow taking the bait. “It’s called Timescape,” she explains. “It’s set in two different time periods: the sixties, and the nineties.”

“Wow,” Lainey says, “The future. So cool.”

Roni licks her lips in hesitation before continuing. “Anyway so, everything in the nineties goes wrong, and this scientist guy is trying to contact the past so that he can prevent whats happening and essentially stop it in its tracks.”

Roni hears Janet mutter an “oh my GOD, so like time traveling? ” to a ridiculously giggly Olivia, but Lainey doesn’t acknowledge them. She instead raises her eyebrows. “Wow, tell me more, Ron.”

Now Roni knows for a fact that the girls are making fun of her, and she’s about to say something when Lainey adds, “I mean, it must be super interesting. You’ve been sitting over here reading out loud to yourself. Did you know you did that?” She laughs over her shoulder with the other girls before continuing. “It’s adorbs. I’m sure any guy would find that super cute.”

“Lainey—“

Lainey cuts Roni off, as if this thought has just occurred to her. “Hey, speaking of, you don’t have a boyfriend yet, right?”

Roni sighs. “I don’t.”

You know I don’t, asshole.

Lainey giggles. “Awww, it’s okay, I figured as much. But listen, my parents are out of town this weekend and I’m throwing a party. It’s gonna be a boy-girl party, and you’re invited. I’m sure we could find you a guy there.”

“Yeah,” Janet adds, “and it’s BYOB. Bring your own Book.” Her stupid joke coaxes a cackle our of Olivia, and Roni rolls her eyes.

It wasn’t even that clever.

“Yeah, you can show us all your super cool time traveling tricks.” Olivia snickers. “Or at least spew out more time traveling facts. That’ll be a hit.”

Lainey smirks. “Totally. You should come.”

What Roni wants to do is tell them to fuck off. She wants to tackle them to the ground, rip the pom poms out of their hair and shove them down their throats until they’re all blue in the face. But she can’t do that, because there’s more of them than there is of her, and frankly they scare her.

So she clears her throat. “Guys, I don’t think—“

“Oh come on,” Janet groans. “What, do you have to ask your mommy for permission?”

Roni’s heart stops the moment the words leave her mouth, and even Lainey and Olivia shoot Janet an incredulous look, as if even they can’t believe she’s just said that.

Janet looks back at them, completely oblivious. “What?! You know she probably does.”

“Janet,” Olivia says quietly, “you know her mom died.”

Roni doesn’t know why people do that; say “died” around her like it’s a filthy word. She’s noticed that everyone does it, including her own grandmother, and it makes her feel sick to her stomach every time.

Janet’s mouth forms a wide O shape as the realization dawns on her. “Oooooohhhh. Shit. My bad. But she doesn’t care.” She turns back to Roni. “You don’t care, right? Like, you know we’re just joking around.”

Roni feels her eyes welling with tears and she wills them to stop, please stop— at least until the girls walk away.

“Please leave me alone,” is all she manages to say.

Lainey’s perfect smile returns to her face, only far more nervous than before, and Roni can tell she’s trying to do damage control. “So anyway.” She glares at Janet before smiling sweetly. “The offer still stands. You better be there, girl.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Roni mumbles at the ground, vision now completely blurred with tears.

“Sweet! Catch ya on the flip side.” Lainey waves her perfectly manicured fingers in Roni’s direction before she and her minions turn on their heels— each executing a perfect hair flip as they proceed on their way.

When she’s sure they’re out of ear shot, Roni lets out a quiet sob, reaching up to rub at her runny nose with the back of her sleeve. How girls can be so cruel, she’ll never know. But these three in particular have tormented her since elementary school, and it’s exhausting.

She doesn’t know why they do it. Why they can’t just leave her alone. She’d never spoken a word to any of them before it began, always minded her own business, and still they were relentless. Even after her mother passed, they kept it going. In fact, it almost seemed to get worse.

But Roni is not about to let them see her cry. Not today. So she stands, flings her backpack over her shoulder, and walks off.

She doesn’t have a destination in mind, all she knows is that she needs to get far enough away from them as possible— even if that means hiding out in the girl’s bathroom until the end of free period (Which she’s also tried doing before. It didn’t work. They always found her).

She makes her way back into the building, heading straight for her locker. The halls are surprisingly quiet, which doesn’t surprise Roni. It’s a gorgeous day out. That was the whole reason she was even outside in the first place. But then Lainey and her friends had to go ruin it, and now Roni isn’t even sure what else to do except grab some things from her locker and wander aimlessly for the next thirty minutes.

Roni rounds the corner and nearly bumps into someone exiting the boy’s bathroom. She’s about to say something snarky when she realizes who it is.

Staring back at her with an apologetic smile lighting up his entire face, is Oliver Ward.

Oliver is one of her friends, she guesses. A grade older than her, he’s not exactly considered popular but he has more friends in general than Roni does. She doesn’t talk to him as much as she should, despite the fact that he’s always treated her with more kindness than most people at this school. He softens once he recognizes the person he’d nearly taken out.

“Roni! Hey!”

Roni reaches up to wipe at her nose and half-heartedly reciprocates his smile. “Hey.” It comes out rather unenthusiastically, and she diverts her gaze from his. She doesn’t mean to come across as so pathetic, and she definitely doesn’t want him to know that anything is wrong. But the way his face falls when he hears her response lets her know that he is most definitely on to her.

“Have you been crying?” His question is right to the point, and it makes Roni want to start crying all over again.

“No,” she lies.

“You have,” he says, his voice softening. “What happened?”

Roni knows there’s no use lying to him, so she shrugs. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Oliver scowls. He knows what that means. “Did Lainey do something shitty again?”

Finally, Roni looks up and gives Oliver a weak nod. “I don’t know why she won’t just leave me alone,” she admits. “I leave her alone.”

“Oh, Ron,” Oliver coos. “Fuck her. Why don’t you tell someone?”

Roni shrugs again. “That would do more bad than good, Ollie, you know that.”

Oliver tries his hardest not to smile at the nickname she’s given him. Nobody’s called him Ollie since the first grade, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s always hated it. Because for some reason, when she says it, he doesn’t hate it at all.

“I dunno,” Oliver says. “It might finally put an end to her shit.” He nods his head towards her. “Where were you headed?”

Roni sniffs pathetically. “Anywhere. Just trying to kill time I guess.”

Oliver smiles. “You can come with me! I was just gonna finish up some homework in the library, so I don’t know how interesting it’s gonna be. But at least you’ll have some company!”

Roni eyes Oliver, weighing her options. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to tag along; be his little sidekick while he finishes up his work. The last thing she wants is for him to feel the need to entertain her. But on the other hand, she figures it’s better than moping around without any direction feeling sorry for herself. And besides, the way Oliver grins at her so full of hope and light, makes it hard to resist.

So Roni giggles and nods. “Okay.”

“Cool.” Oliver beams, nodding over his shoulder to signal Roni to follow him. As they begin walking, he launches right into casual conversation. “So, what’cha reading?”

Oliver is the kind of person who can hold a conversation with just about anyone and make it feel completely natural. Roni hasn’t talked to him too many times, but each time she does, she thanks her lucky stars that he’s so good at keeping conversation going because otherwise she knows they would be screwed.

However, her ego is still a bit bruised from Lainey’s words, and she’s not too keen on sharing any more information about this book with anyone else. “It’s nothing.”

“What? It looks really cool. What’s it called?”

Roni can feel her cheeks growing hot, and she refuses to look at Oliver when she answers him. “Timescape.”

“Ooooh! That sounds cool. Is it about time?” Not a hint of sarcasm is attached to his words, and although Roni can’t see his face she knows he’s genuinely interested. The thought lifts her spirits just the tiniest bit.

“Kinda,” Roni says. “It’s like, time travel stuff. Someone in the future is trying to go back and warn people in the past about like, these catastrophic events happening in the world. It’s actually really cool.”

Oliver whistles. “No kidding! That sounds rad.” They round the corner and open the large doors into the school library. Oliver lowers his voice as they make their way to a small round table with empty seats. “Think I could borrow it when you’re done?”

Roni nearly stops walking. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!” Oliver smiles at her, slinging his backpack off of his shoulders and onto the table. “Hell yeah. I’d love to read it.”

Roni realizes she’s been smiling because her cheeks ache, and she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth to hide it. She clears her throat. “I mean yeah, if you want to.”

“Sweet!” Oliver starts unloading the contents of his backpack before pausing and looking back at Roni. “I mean like, no rush or anything. Finish it on your own terms. Don’t like, freak out trying to get it to me.” Roni notices the slight red tint to the tips of Oliver’s ears, and for some reason it’s beyond endearing. She giggles, taking her seat beside Oliver.

“Don’t worry, I’m a fast reader anyway.”

Oliver smiles, seemingly relieved. “Well that’s good.”

There’s a silence that doesn’t necessarily feel awkward, but it’s charged, and now it’s Olilver’s turn to clear his throat. He turns his attention to the textbook in front of him, opening it up and flipping through to find a specific page. He effectively changes the subject, but it feels more like a bookmark has been placed on the tension that Roni just experienced. She doesn’t necessarily hate it, she’s just never felt it before. Not with Oliver Ward.

“So anyway,” he says, “Are you any good at chemistry? I’ve been stuck on this one problem for ages.”

-----

8:19am, January 2nd, 1925

Roni wakes earlier today, refreshed and optimistic after spending a good bit of the previous night dancing and laughing with Harry. She feels much more at peace and surprisingly less disappointed to wake up in 1925 than she was yesterday. In fact, she’s optimistic at the prospect of what today might hold, and she’s feeling thankful that she’s here with Harry instead of with any other guy. She does however, feel a pang of guilt at the fact that she’s made Harry spend yet another night on his couch. She decides she’s going to work something out with him; maybe they switch off the bed every other night she’s here-- for however long that may be.

With a long stretch that cracks her entire body, she rolls out of bed-- careful not to move too quickly since she’s already seeing stars. She adjusts Harry’s boxers around her waist, combing her hand through her hair and preparing herself to find Harry cooking breakfast again. Maybe she can even help him. She smiles to herself at the thought.

Roni tries not to think about last night. How good it felt being so close to Harry, and how wonderful he had smelled. She refuses to acknowledge the tension that had singed the air, the way he’d watched her and clung to her every move, and the way he’d laughed not at her, but with her. The night had been Roni’s first taste of normalcy in the past few days, and she’s beyond grateful to Harry for making that a possibility-- tension or not.

The closer to the door she gets, however, she notices she doesn’t smell or hear anything. In fact, it sounds almost completely silent in the other room. Harry hadn’t mentioned having to work today.

That’s odd.

She pushes the door open as quietly as possible , deciding that Harry must still be asleep. She doesn’t want to bother him and she figures she can sneak a shower in before he wakes up— effectively minimizing any awkward encounters that involve her in a towel.

And then she sees it.

Roni stops dead in her tracks at the sight before her. There’s Harry, splayed out and sitting so ungracefully-- legs spread wide and toes curling into the carpet beneath the pooling fabric of his trousers, and a hand wrapped tightly around his cock.

His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as his hand pumps up and down, slower towards the bottom of his shaft and more rapid jerks of his wrist the higher up he gets. When Roni hears him muttering a curse word under his breath, her blood runs cold.

She can’t help herself. It feels like a train wreck or some other disaster that she can’t help but watch. He’s so much longer than she would have guessed. Not that she’d given it any thought in the past few days, because truth be told she really hadn’t. If she’d had to guess, she probably would’ve at least been a bit generous with her assumptions, sure, but never this generous. He’s so well endowed she can’t tell if she wants to drool over it or just shake his hand and congratulate him.

The whole vision is just so… beautiful in an odd way, and Roni’s mouth waters when she spares a thought for what he must taste like.

Get it together, Roni. Fuck.

She turns to head back into the bedroom to leave him to it, but her ears perk when she hears him mutter another curse word and a few other filthy things that he would probably say if he were fucking up into someone.

No fucking way.

She’s not doing this right now. There’s no way she’s going to indulge in any of this, and she knows she really needs to close the door and get back in bed. Never mind the fact that she’d had the same idea as Harry last night once she’d gotten in bed, and had to physically stop herself from doing anything to ease the dull ache and wetness between her legs. She’d settled on squeezing her thighs together every now and then to see if that would relieve any pressure (it didn’t) and had simply gone to bed telling herself she was absolutely batshit crazy.

She wasn’t going to get herself off in this boy’s bed, and she certainly wasn’t going to entertain any crazy fever dream fantasies about him either.

But now here he is, doing the exact same thing that she’d been so tempted to do, whimpering out what sounds like maybe the filthiest dirty talk she’s ever heard, and she feels like she’s going to pass out.

Harry’s head falls back against the couch, and his eyes flutter closed as an almost inaudible sigh passes his wet lips. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbles. “Soaked for me, aren’t you?”

Does this happen often? Who is he thinking of? Who, in his mind, is fucking him so good that he’s practically crying alone on his couch? Roni feels a brief pang of jealousy followed by guilt and a mental slap to the face to remind herself to get it the fuck together.

Roni allows herself a few more moments to watch him tease himself, watching his swollen cock drip with his pre-cum, and she can’t help but to lick her lips when she sees the way his lips curl around his teeth. With eyebrows furrowed, Harry slaps a hand across his mouth to mute his pitiful whimpers. He’s close, and Roni decides that now is as good a time as any to go back into the bedroom and grant him his privacy.

Silently closing the door behind her, Roni lets out all of her air in one long exhale and stares at the wall opposite her. Try as she might (or might not), she can’t get the image out of her brain. How is she supposed to face him later? Is this even something she should bring up? How would she even start that conversation? And what kind of response would that warrant from him? Surely he’d think she was snooping, and probably be mad at her for invading his privacy.

Roni presses the heels of her palms to her eyes, willing the image of him getting himself off to completely exit her brain. She takes a few minutes to breathe, pacing around the room to get this strangely nervous energy out of her system, before sitting down on the bed with another long sigh. She knows she’s got no choice but to wait it out now, and for some reason it makes her anxiety a million times worse than it was before.

It’s a few minutes later when Roni hears the bathroom door close, and finally she feels brave enough to make her way back into the living room of the apartment. She moves slowly, still, as if afraid to make too much noise, and bites at her lip as she makes her way into the quiet room.

No one would ever guess that the events of a few minutes ago had even occurred. The couch looks completely untouched, the little blanket Harry’s been using at night folded up and slung neaty across the arm. The air does feel unmistakably hotter in here (or maybe that’s just Roni), but otherwise everything is perfectly still and normal.

She makes her way unsurely into the kitchen. Should she make herself at home and start cooking? It would be a nice gesture on her part, and a somewhat wordless apology for the slight invasion of privacy. Even if she wasn’t outright apologizing, it would definitely clear her conscience.

Roni reaches up to open one of the cabinets to see if there’s anything available to make for breakfast. It blows her mind that Harry doesn’t have a simple pantry in his apartment, although she’s not even sure a pantry would fit given the size of the place.

She frowns when she’s met with stacks of plates behind the cabinet door. Where the hell does Harry keep his food anyway?

The refrigerator in the corner of the kitchen is no bigger than a box, and when she opens it she’s met with even less food than she’d been expecting. Does Harry even eat?

“Oh! Morning!”

Roni turns with a start when she hears Harry’s pleasant greeting, his tone now a stark contrast to the desperate whimper it was just minutes ago. Roni’s entire body shivers at the memory.

“Hey!” she greets as normally as possible. “Morning.”

Harry walks over to pour himself a glass of water. “Sleep alright?”

“M-hm!” Does he know that she knows?

“That’s good.” Harry smiles, completely innocent. “You’re up earlier this morning. Did I wake you?”

“What?” It takes Roni a moment to realize he’s not referring to that, and she laughs nervously. “Oh, no, you’re good. Just like, my natural clock I guess.”

“You’re getting more used to being here.” Harry grins. “Wonderful.”

Roni smiles at him a tick too long, and she turns her attention to the cupboards. “Anyway,” she says, “Can I help with breakfast?”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“I want to!”

“You’re a guest.”

Roni shrugs. “Not really. Not anymore. I told you I’ve gotta earn my keep around here.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head at her. “Alright.” He blows his messy morning hair off of his face and glances around the kitchen, pondering what to even suggest. “Well, I haven’t got much.”

“Eggs are fine again!” Roni suggests, before a thought pops into her mind. “Actually, got anything to make pancakes?”

Harry beams. “I think I do.”

“Perfect! Pancakes are my specialty.”

Roni and Harry set to work then, falling comfortably into step side by side as they weave their way around the kitchen. They launch immediately into conversation as they work, and it all feels so disgustingly domestic and comfortable that Roni almost forgets there’s anything abnormal about her situation. (She also temporarily forgets what she just saw on the couch minutes ago, although every time she catches a glimpse of his hand she is so painfully reminded.) They discuss buying Roni new clothes, since she is going to be here for the foreseeable future, and Roni asks several questions about what to expect when entering the roaring 20s. Harry answers her, “lots of lions” and when she doesn’t understand right away, he giggles through his explanation of, “‘Roaring.’ Get it? Sorry.”

It’s when they’re sitting at the table side by side, shoveling pancakes into their mouths, that Roni shifts topics.

“Your eye looks better!”

Harry chuckles. “It does, doesn’t it? Just got a look at it in the mirror. The swelling has gone down significantly.”

“Thank goodness,” Roni nods. “We have to be looking our best tonight, after all. We’re still on for dancing?”

Harry smiles around his glass of milk as he sips, and there’s a brief moment where he forgets to wipe his milk mustache off in which Roni completely melts. “‘Course we are,” he says with a nod.

“What kinds of places are we going? Like are we just gonna go bar hopping? Or like… what’s the plan? What should I prepare for? Should I wear comfy shoes?”

Harry makes a face, not answering her right away. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He takes another sip of milk, and now Roni is wondering if she’s said something wrong, because his entire demeanor shifts. “What? Is that not how it works here?”

Harry won’t even look at her, but the smile on his face hardly falters-- if anything it just looks a bit more regretful. “No,” he says. “It’s not that.”

Roni frowns. “Well, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to! We can just--”

“It isn’t that either.” Harry finally looks at Roni with embarrassment. He hesitates to speak, until she presses him with a look. He sighs. “Veronica, I have to tell you something.”

Roni hates those words. Any time someone has said something to her along those lines, it is almost always followed by bad news. She leans closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t have enough money… to take you to several places. I can only afford one, and it’s only because I know the guy who owns it.”

Roni still doesn’t understand, so she shakes her head and places her hand on Harry’s arm reassuringly. “Harry, that’s not a big deal, I don’t mind if--”

“No, listen. Please. I have to tell you this because it’s gone on for too long, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to hide it from you.”

Roni swallows, preparing herself for the worst. Harry’s got a wife and child living somewhere else that he has to support, and they don’t know about this apartment. Harry is sick and dying and only has enough money to pay his medical bills for the next couple of months until he shrivels away. Harry has--

“I don’t have a job.”

Oh.

Roni blinks back at him, trying to find the proper words to go about responding to him. She isn’t mad by any means, but he’s looking at her like she should be. His cheeks burn red, and his skin under Roni’s hand feels hot to the touch. He licks his lips, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her, and she realizes she’s just been sitting here with her mouth open. She shakes her head, and speaks with as much gentleness as she can conjure up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t think I anticipated you being here as long as you are-- which, I’m so happy that you are, by the way-- so I didn’t think it would come up. And now I want to take you out and buy you clothes, and I still very much intend to do that, because I do have money left over for that. But I just can’t do it to the extent that I would like to. And it’s awful, because I really would love to show you around, take you to several dance places, etcetera etcetera, but…. I can’t.”

The amount of sadness in Harry’s eyes makes Roni’s heart feel heavy, and she gives his arm a squeeze. “Harry,” she sighs.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Of course I’m not disappointed. If anything, I’m disappointed in myself. I’ve been so selfish this entire time--”

“Don’t do that.”

“--But if I’d known, I could’ve helped!”

Harry chuckles, and it’s the first time in a few minutes that he seems like himself again. “How on earth could you have helped?”

“I don’t know,” Roni shrugs, “but we would’ve found a way. You’re doing so much to help me, I can’t just sit here and let that happen without returning the favor!”

“There’s no favor to return,” Harry says with a smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

Roni sits back in her chair, already brainstorming and completely ignoring his words. “Lets see,” she says, drumming her fingers along the table top. “I don’t need clothes--”

“Yes you do.” Harry snorts. “You’re practically swimming in mine.”

“Yeah but--”

Harry holds up his hand to stop her. “I’ve got that part covered, Veronica. I promise you.”

Roni rolls her eyes. “Fine. One outfit--”

“Two.” Harry cuts her off again, his cheeky smile fully returning to his face. “At the very least. You need one for tonight and another for anything else.”

“But--”

“I’ve already got it all sorted. You’re not going to persuade me otherwise.”

“So you’re just gonna blow the last of your money… on me?”

“Not the last of it!” Harry shrugs, then laughs when Roni scoffs. “Love, I didn’t tell you this to worry you. I’ll find another job sooner or later. I just told you so that you wouldn’t be let down when I turn out to be a rather disappointing date.”

“You’re not disappointing.” Roni frowns. “We’re gonna get you a job, alright?”

“I believe you!” Harry says, popping another piece of pancake into his mouth.

“Starting today.”

“Today?!” Harry speaks through a mouthful and swallows a bit harder than he’d intended. “No, love, today is about finding you clothes--”

“And finding you a job.” Roni grins brilliantly at him. “We’re doing both at the same time.” When Harry narrows his eyes at her, she only giggles and echoes his own words back at him. “You’re not going to persuade me otherwise.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but his dimpled smile has returned full force. He shakes his head and takes another bite. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Roni pops the ‘p’ at the end of the world before taking a sip of her milk. “So hurry up and finish breakfast. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

----

It’s three hours later when Roni and Harry find themselves downtown, after an hour of cleaning up their messes in the kitchen and Harry awkwardly explaining to Roni how the shower worked. They’d wasted no time in buying Roni the appropriate outfits, and she’d changed in the restroom at a high end cafe. (The looks she’d received were actually quite hysterical-- dressed in Harry’s clothes and entering the women’s restroom only to emerge wearing a brown dress, stockings, and brand new shoes.)

Roni’s first time stepping out of Harry’s apartment and into the daylight had been surreal. She’d felt dizzy several times, especially when comparing the shops and restaurants along the streets now to the ones of her own time. It wasn’t that she didn’t know her way around; she knew this city like the back of her hand. But seeing everything-- and everyone-- so different is a feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her life.

But now here she is, dressed the part and feeling a hundred times more confident and present than before. She and Harry had visited numerous businesses for him to apply to, and each one had given them roughly the same answer. Promises to call seemed to only crush Harry’s spirit, which Roni understood. But she’d remained as positive and enthusiastic about the entire process as she could, and now here she is-- encouraging him to just pop into one more store with her.

“What if they’re the ones that are gonna offer you a job, you know?”

“Or they’ll just promise to call me,” Harry says with a shrug. “You know how those things work. They promise to call and they never do.”

Roni is about to launch into an entire spiel about how Harry is only going to attract what he puts out there and he shouldn’t be going into this with a negative attitude, when something catches her eye.

“Oh my god.”

She stops dead in her tracks, and it takes Harry a moment to notice she isn’t behind him. He turns to see Roni staring in disbelief at one of the little shops along the strip. He follows her gaze to understand what she’s so struck by, but it only confuses him more. “What, the tobacco place?”

“No, the book store.” Roni feels like crying and she doesn’t even know why. It’s not a particularly emotional moment by any means, but it’s strange and surreal and the only thing her body can think to do with all of the unusual feelings she’s feeling is to expel them through tears.

She doesn’t end up crying, not really, but she does have to blink the mist out of her eyes to make sure she isn’t seeing anything.

The sign above the book shop is the same one she’d gotten so used to seeing nearly every day of her life in the 90s, but now it’s got a fresh coat of paint and it’s bright and shiny rather than weathered with time. It reads, loud and proud in white paint: The Little Read Book, and Roni laughs in disbelief.

If Roni remembers correctly, the shop was opened in 1920-- which technically is five years ago-- by Eileen’s grandmother, and Roni realizes that that means Eileen isn’t born yet, and won’t be for another ten years.

“Harry,” Roni says quietly to a patient Harry who’s been waiting for her to say something, “I work there.”

“What?” Harry scoffs, glancing from the shop to Roni’s awe-stricken face. “What on earth do you-- oh.” It finally dawns on Harry, only now he isn’t sure at all what the proper way to respond to this situation would be. He clears his throat. “You don’t say? Well, that’s interesting.”

Without thinking, Roni grabs Harry’s hand and yanks him with her as she makes her way to the shop. “We have to go in,” she says, completely unaware of the way Harry is blushing at her small hand in his.

A familiar bell rings the moment Roni opens the door, and out of habit she wants to call out a greeting to Eileen. The shop smells exactly the same, and it’s organized almost identically to the way it looks in the 90s. The difference is on the walls- there are significantly less photographs covering them, and the ones that are tacked to the green wallpaper are fresh and not yellowed with age.

A few customers walk among the shelves, talking quietly to themselves, and faint jazz music plays from the radio behind the front desk. The radio is still there in Roni’s time, but it has long since stopped working, and seeing it in all its glory is something so surreal that Roni gets dizzy all over again.

“May I help you?”

Roni turns her attention to a girl much younger than her rounding the corner carrying an armful of books. Roni’s knee-jerk reaction is to go help the girl but she refrains-- reminding herself that she does not, in fact, work here at the moment.

The girl plops the pile onto the desk and Roni gets a glimpse of her nametag. It reads “Daisy” in a plain blue font, and Roni wracks her brain trying to remember if she’s ever heard this name before and if this person holds any significance in Eileen’s life.

It’s Harry who speaks first. “Hi, I was wondering if you had any available positions open?”

The question takes both Daisy and Roni by surprise, and Roni can’t stop her jaw from falling practically on the floor. Of course it makes sense for him to work here, and she wishes she’d come up with the idea herself. She’d been so shocked to see this place in the context it’s in now, that she’d forgotten all about the task at hand. A pang of guilt strikes her belly for a brief moment.

Daisy blinks back surprise, a pleasant smile growing on her face. “Really?”

“Yes ma’am.” Harry beams, “I’m looking to start as soon as possible.”

Daisy eyes Harry for a moment, stopping briefly on his still faint-purple eye, before leaning against the counter and grinning. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he replies, holding out his hand. “Styles.”

Daisy shakes his hand with a smile before turning expectantly to Roni, and now Roni suddenly feels put on the spot.

“Uh,” she stammers, reaching to shake Daisy’s hand. “I’m Roni.”

Daisy makes a face, cocking her head to one side. “As in Ronald?”

Harry snorts, and Roni sighs. “No, Veronica. Sorry, I should’ve been more clear.”

“No!” Daisy says, “It’s just a unique name. I’ve never heard anything like that before. I like it. Are you interested in a position as well?” Her bright beautiful smile returns back to her face, and it’s the first time that Roni’s really looked closely. She can clearly see the almost chilling resemblance to Eileen now, and it makes her feel woozy.

It takes everything in Roni not to explain the situation, but how would she even start?

Actually, I do work here, but not right now-- seventy-four years into the future, and I can give you my official employee reference for you to hire Harry!

Roni sees Harry smirking at her as if he’s thinking the same thing she is, and she giggles nervously. “No. Thank you though.”

“Alright, but if you change your mind, I’m always hiring!” Daisy makes her way behind the counter to organize the books as she speaks. “My name is Daisy Hartford. I actually recently took over the business with my husband Lawrence. My mother opened the shop five years ago, but she gave the business to us when we got married last summer.”

Roni tunes Daisy out as she comes to the realization that Daisy is Eileen’s mother. It feels so strange to see this young girl, likely no older than nineteen, running a business that Roni knows by heart, and speaking of her mother and her husband so candidly. She doesn’t know that she’s going to have four children, and that one of them is going to be Eileen. She doesn’t know that Eileen is going to take over the shop one day. Hell, she probably doesn’t even know that the shop is going to make it another seventy-four plus years. She doesn’t know any of this-- but Roni does.

Daisy continues rambling, bringing Roni out of her thoughts. “I love it, but I could use all the help I can get. Especially once we start having little ones running around, do you know what I mean? I’m sure the two of you understand.”

Harry’s smirk only deepens while Roni feels her face is on fire. Her voice is so quiet that even she has a hard time hearing herself. “Oh, we’re not--”

“Well” Daisy unintentionally cuts Roni off, smiling sweetly. “I’m sure I don’t need to bore you with my story.” She turns to Harry with a pointed look. “Mr. Styles. Have you any experience working with books?”

Roni can almost hear the panic bells going off in Harry’s head, but his exterior remains cool and collected. “I do not,” he says, “But I am a fast learner.”

“Excellent.” Daisy flips nonchalantly through a book before setting it aside. “And your current employer is whom?”

Harry swallows, his ego clearly slightly bruised. He fidgets with his fingers when he talks, drawing Roni’s attention to the fact that even she’s fidgeting with her ring out of pure nervousness. “I don’t have one, ma’am. But my previous employer was Milton and Sons. I made shoes.”

“Oh, how funny! I’ve got a pair of Miltons on right now!” Daisy kicks out her leg a bit to show off her shoes, and it makes both Roni and Harry giggle.

“Those are quite nice,” Harry says. “I’ll bet I made them.”

“I’ll bet you did!” Daisy beams, before realizing that this is still a job interview-- albeit a very lax one. She clears her throat and settles herself down. “Alright, alright. Next question. Why The Little Read Book?”

It’s another one of those moments where Roni wants to jump in, and Harry can see her internal struggle. “Well,” he says slowly, “A dear friend of mine recommended this place.”

“Did he? What’s his name?”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Ronald.”

Roni nearly chokes, but Harry remains completely serious as Daisy thinks long and hard. “Ronald…. Mr. Whitley? He comes in here quite often.”

“Maybe,” Harry says with a shrug. “I’ve never caught his last name before. But in any case, Ronald has been coming here for years now. He speaks very highly of this place. Says it feels like home to him. And I can see why. You’ve got a remarkable business here, Mrs. Hartford.”

Daisy beams. “Thank you! That’s lovely to hear.”

After a few more questions that almost all lead into a conversation of some sort, Roni, Daisy, and Harry feel like three chums just hanging out and having a chat. Which was something Eileen had constantly told Roni about Daisy.

“My mother could befriend a rock if you gave her enough time,” Eileen would say. “She would hold conversation with just about anyone. Everybody loved her, and with good reason.”

Now that she’s meeting her, Roni would have to agree.

“Well, Mr. Styles,” Daisy says through a sigh. “I suppose I’ve just got one question left for you, and it’s the most important one.”

Harry nods. “Shoot.”

“When can you start?”

Roni can tell that Harry wants to leap up in the air and celebrate. She knows how much this means to him and, frankly, she’s feeling the exact same way. She beams at Harry, expectantly awaiting his answer. While he remains as calm as possible, there is no denying the dimple on his cheek showing just how happy he is.

“Tomorrow?” Harry raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“We’re closed tomorrow.” Roni and Daisy say this at the same time, and when Daisy shoots Roni a look of confusion, Roni fumbles over an explanation. Truth be told, it was merely force of habit. But that isn’t something she has time to explain to Daisy, so she shrugs.

“Sorry, I’ve just-- tried to come in here a few times on Saturdays and Sundays and always realized you were closed. Made that mistake too many times. Ha. Sorry.”

This is a tradition no longer kept in 1999, but Roni remembers the days when both Saturdays and Sundays were off days. In 1998 Eileen had decided to open up Saturdays for business, keeping Sundays blocked off because “I’m a God-fearing woman, Veronica.” But still, it is Roni’s knee-jerk reaction to respond the way that she just has, and she’s thankful that Daisy bought her explanation.

“Right,” Daisy giggles. “Well, in any case, Mr. Styles, are you free to start Monday around eleven?”

Harry nods. “Monday around eleven sounds great.”

“Wonderful! I can’t wait to work with you.” She turns to Roni. “And I’m sure I’ll be seeing much more of you in here, Mrs. Styles.”

Roni opens her mouth to say something but is cut off immediately by Harry taking her hand and tugging her towards the door. “Right, lovely to meet you, Mrs. Hartford. I’ll see you Monday at eleven, and not a minute later!”

The door closes behind them and they’re back outside, squinting at one another in the sunlight. Harry’s smiling like an excited little boy, and after a moment of watching him, Roni presses him with a nudge. “Well?”

“Veronica,” Harry says softly, “We fucking did it.”

It’s the first time Roni’s heard Harry (knowingly) curse in front of her, and it makes her giggle at his unfiltered excitement. She takes both of Harry’s hands in hers and squeezes, beaming up at him before just giving in and wrapping her arms around his torso. She gives him a tight squeeze and leans affectionately into him.

“Hell yeah,” she says, “We fucking did.”

----

“Harryyy,” Roni whines from the bathroom.

“Yes, love?”

Roni sighs loudly, and the noise makes Harry chuckle to himself from his spot on the couch. “You can’t laugh, okay?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because.” Roni opens the door a crack, barely peeking her head out to look at Harry. “I need help.”

It’s a few hours later and Harry and Roni have found themselves back at Harry’s place to freshen up for the evening. Roni had insisted she’d be fine changing in another public restroom, but Harry had refused-- saying that he needed to get changed into something “spiffier.”

The outfit Harry had bought for Roni seemed nice enough, but now that she’s actually trying to do up the buttons in the back while keeping the sash tied correctly, she’s realizing just how complicated the entire outfit is. It doesn’t help that the only bra she has is the one she’d been wearing the night she arrived, which is very modern in comparison to the rest of the dress. Try as she might, there is no way she could manage getting the buttons all done up herself. So she’d swallowed her pride, and now here she is-- pitifully asking Harry for help.

Harry looks lovely, of course, and it’s the nicest Roni has seen him dress the entire time she’s been here. He’s in a gray suit buttoned up the front, and a nice pair of leather shoes that, admittedly could use a bit of a shine but are altogether so handsome and so Harry. He completes the entire ensemble with a little gray cap on his head-- because of course he does-- and Roni suddenly feels self conscious when he looks at her.

He smiles knowingly, rising to his feet and heading towards the bathroom door. “Too advanced for you then?”

Roni pouts, stepping out of the bathroom in the half buttoned, half tied mess of a dress. “I just can’t get the buttons done,” she huffs. “And the belt won’t stay tied!”

Harry snorts, picking up the ribbon that droops around Roni’s waist. “It doesn’t go there.”

Roni rolls her eyes. “Well that would’ve been nice to know ten minutes ago.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry says through another laugh. “Turn around.”

Roni complies without thinking, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat the moment she does.

It’s the first time he’s seen a woman’s bare back in, god, he doesn’t even know how long. She’s gotten the buttons done up herself all the way to the spot just before her back dips into her bottom, and Harry subconsciously licks his lips at the involuntary thought of what lies beneath the southernmost button. The lace of her brassiere clings delicately to her back, and although Harry has seen a decent amount of brassieres in his lifetime, he’s never quite seen one this intricate. He would give anything to unlatch it and place his lips to the spot on her skin where it rested, but he knows he can’t. He knows he’s got a job to do here, and she’s waiting.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s been staring for so long until Roni speaks. “What, did I mess it up?”

“Yes” Harry says, praying that Roni doesn’t notice the audible crack in his voice. “But it’s okay. Nothing I can’t fix.”

With shaky hands Harry works to fasten the buttons up her back. Roni sighs, seemingly unaware of the way Harry trembles behind her. For some reason the fact that this is completely normal to Roni, in a time where it’s scandalous for any unwed woman to present herself to a man this way, is making this all the more sexy to him. He licks his lips, focusing on getting this done as quickly as possible so as not to make it weird, while also savoring the moment as much as he can.

He can feel the heat from her skin, and he can smell his shampoo in her hair, and he closes his eyes to allow the scent to fill his nose. Should he say something? Is he being weird by not saying anything? Can she feel how absolutely tense he is as he tries to focus on not touching her for too long? He’s completely short-circuited, and he gulps trying to come up with something to talk about.

When Harry’s finger accidentally grazes a spot on Roni’s back, she jolts, starling Harry.

“Sorry, sorry!” Harry blurts. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it’s just-- your hands are cold.”

“Oh.” Idiot. “Sorry.”

“No,” Roni says again. “It felt… good.”

“Oh.”

Can he say anything other than oh?

Harry watches as goosebumps prickle Roni’s skin, and he moves slower now, taking special care to brush his fingers against her back occasionally. If she said it felt good, it’s all he can do to keep her feeling that way. She swallows and audibly exhales, and the goosebumps never fade or shrink.

Harry doesn’t know why it happens this way with her. Everything is always so friendly and normal, and then the most casual and mundane thing sets him off. He knows she feels it too, because even over her shoulder he can see her eyes nervously darting around with every controlled breath she takes. She, too, looks like she wants to say something and can’t find the words, but Harry doesn’t mind. The higher he gets with her buttons, the slower he goes.

With a shaky hand, Harry reaches up to gather Roni’s hair in his hand and gently brushes it over her shoulder and out of his way. She shivers when he does this, and it makes him smile to himself. If ever he should be lucky enough to be this close to Roni again, he needs to remember that she likes to have her hair played with.

When he finally reaches the top button, he takes his time fastening it. He doesn’t realize that he and Roni are both holding their breaths until both of them let it out in a sigh. He closes his eyes briefly, willing time to stop just for moment so that he can savor this longer, but he has no time to linger on the thought before Roni is spinning around to face him.

“Does it look okay? Like seriously, do I like… fit with the times?”

She looks genuinely worried, and her eyes scan his for any sign of humor in his response.

How can Harry tell her that she looks like a dream? She looks like everything he’s ever wanted and so, so much more. Of course he’d gone a tad over his planned budget in buying her this outfit, but seeing her here, wearing it and looking like that makes it all worth it. Were dresses like this supposed to fit this way? He’s never seen a dress look so good on anybody before, and he doesn’t know how on earth to tell her that without frightening her off.

So he keeps his composure as much as he can, smiling mischievously down at her. “Not yet.”

He reaches for the tie that Roni had mislabeled a belt and, feeling bolder now, unties it from around her hips. She squirms a bit in his grasp but she isn’t smiling, not yet, and Harry realizes that fitting in is something incredibly important to her.

“Right, hold still.” Harry loops the tie around the back of Roni’s neck, brushing her hair up over it and smiling when he notices the goosebumps on her skin once again. He watches her face closely as he ties the tie in a loose knot in the middle of her chest. She won’t look at him anymore, but there’s a hint of a smile gracing her pretty lips, so he knows he’s got her where he wants her. He secures the knot and takes the two loose ends of the tie in his hands, yanking her gently closer to him.

Roni stumbles and gasps softy, before glaring up at him. “Hey, careful! I could’ve--”

She trails off when she sees the way he’s smiling at her, and she softens immediately. Her eyes hold an almost indiscernible worry, and if Harry had blinked he would’ve missed the way they darted down to his lips for just a split second.

Harry smirks. “Now you look perfect.”

Roni giggles nervously, a red tint glowing from her cheeks as she averts her gaze. She seems to come back to her senses slowly, and Harry is pleased with the effect he has on her.

“Thanks,” she says softly, stepping back and out of the circle of his arms, “For… helping me. I don’t mean to be so helpless it’s just…. You know.”

Harry nods. “I do know,” he says with a reassuring smile.” He places a hand on his belly. “I also know that my stomach has been growling for the last hour, and I’m itching to show you off on that dance floor.” He offers her his arm, grinning smugly down at her. “So. Shall we?”

---

The New York air is much colder now, and Roni leans closer to Harry for warmth as they walk. She’s significantly less afraid now that she looks the part, even going so far as to give passersby a few polite head nods and a quick “good evening!”

Harry grins down at her, squeezing her arm with his own. “You’re a proper lady now, aren’t you?”

Roni takes on her best posh accent, making Harry snort when she talks. “Well I look the part, darling, but now I’ve got to act it, haven’t I?”

Through residual giggles, Harry shakes his head. “You had me up until the accent.”

“What a shame,” Roni says, making her accent even thicker and giggling to herself. “I’ll have to work on that.”

A clocktower in the distance chimes six o’clock as Harry and Roni finally approach their destination. It’s busier than Roni had anticipated, but then again it is Friday night. This seems like the place to be, and if this is the only place Harry can take her tonight, he definitely picked a good one.

Harry talks briefly with the host at the front desk, who he’d mentioned to Roni that he was friends with, but Roni doesn’t even pay attention to anything being said. She instead takes this time to really study the place. Several round tables surround the large dance floor. If Roni remembers correctly, this building is a roller rink in her time, and it’s so strange to see it as something so drastically different now.

It’s also strange to see how many people are smoking indoors here, and Roni coughs when a woman walks by and wafts cigarette smoke into her face.

They’re seated shortly at a smaller table in the corner, and when the host returns back to his post, Harry beams at Roni. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s cute!” Roni says. “It’s weird because I’ve been here but you know, like… in the 90s.”

“Yeah? Is it pretty much the same?”

“Not at all,” Roni laughs. “I mean the big dance area kind of looks the same I guess. But it’s a huge roller rink.”

“A what?” Harry scrunches up his face, but doesn’t even give Roni a chance to answer him. “Oh, like for roller skates?”

“Yeah!”

Harry looks out at the dance floor thoughtfully. “Gee. So that area is just filled with people roller skating, huh? That’s odd to think about.”

The waiter approaches, quickly shifting both Harry and Roni’s attention. He informs them that his name is Stanley, goes over a few of the food specials for the evening, and then asks them what they’d like to drink. Harry orders a lemonade, and then both he and Stanley turn to Roni expectantly.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll take a rum and coke, please.”

If a record-scratch silence was such a thing in these times, it would have happened at that exact moment. Stanley, the people at the next table over, and even Harry all stare at her as if her order is the most scandalous thing they’ve ever heard. Roni stares back blankly, trying to gather what on earth the problem could be, before finally looking to Harry for help.

Harry catches on quickly, laughing dryly and leaning across the table to place a hand on Roni’s. “She’s joking, of course,” he says. “She’ll just have a coca-cola. Please. Thank you so much.”

Stanley lingers a moment, as if processing what just happened, before turning slowly on his heels and making his way to the kitchen.

When Harry is sure the waiter is out of earshot, he leans across the table with a serious look. “Don’t do that,” he hisses quietly.

“Do what?!” Roni asks incredulously. “Order a drink? What, are women not allowed to drink here?”

Harry chuckles. “Actually no one is.”

“What the fuck?” Roni says, biting her tongue the moment it escapes her lips because she knows she shouldn’t be cursing like that in public. Not here at least. She glances around to make sure no one heard her, then lowers her voice. “Why not?”

Harry grins smugly. “You mean to tell me the prohibition isn’t something significant in the future? Like it just… ends?”

Roni rolls her eyes. “Oh god,” she says. “The prohibition. Forgot about that.”

“Ah.” Harry nods. “So you’ve heard of it.”

Roni pouts. “Yeah, and it sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry says through a laugh.

“I guess just a coke is fine though,” Roni admits. “Probably don’t need anything making me more disoriented me more than I already am.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Roni sighs, glancing around the restaurant again in another attempt to take it all in. When she catches the eye of an older lady a few tables over, she notices the woman is frowning at her, and she shifts in her seat. “Are people staring? They’re definitely staring. Did you button me up wrong?”

“I didn’t,” Harry says. “Maybe they’re staring because of how beautiful you look.”

Roni’s cheeks grow hot and she rolls her eyes, but she can’t suppress the smile on her face. “Harry--”

“I’m serious!” he says. “That dress is divine. I must say, whoever picked it for you has excellent taste.”

“Hey, I picked it out, too.” Roni sticks her tongue out at Harry.

“Maybe so,” Harry says with a shrug, “But of the two of us, I’m the one with the fashion sense here.”

Roni opens her mouth to protest, but Harry only rises to his feet and holds his hand out for her. “Anyway,” he says, “care to dance?”

At first Roni feels awkward on the crowded dance floor. Everyone around her seems so experienced, and there she is stumbling around like she’s never even heard music before in her life. She accidentally bumps into several people, and Harry always calmly apologizes for her before jumping right into the impromptu dance lesson he’s giving her. Of course she feels bad, but he’s so encouraging (and went through all the trouble to get them here), so she puts on a brave face and soldiers through it.

By about four songs in, however, Roni’s insecurities wash further and further away with every smile or word of praise Harry gives her, and suddenly it feels like they’re the only two in the entire building.

The familiar opening chords of The Charleston begin booming from the orchestra, and Harry and Roni immediately exchange open-mouthed grins. “You know this one!” Harry yells over the music, already beginning to tap his feet.

“No I don’t!” Roni giggles, already being swept off her feet by Harry.

Once again they’re laughing like children, stumbling over one another while Harry shouts incoherent commands at her.

“Remember? Left, kick, left--- Veronica, focus!”

“I can’t! Not with everyone around!”

Roni finally allows her giggles to get the best of her, letting go of Harry and hunching over to clutch her belly. Harry watches her, an endeared smile on his lips, before reaching to take her hand again. “Veronica--”

“Wait!” Roni stands up straight. “Wait, it’s my turn. Let me show you how it’s done. Ever heard of this one?”

She starts half-jumping, half- running in place and Harry lets out a loud cackle. “What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s called the running man!” Roni calls back. “All the rage where I come from!”

Harry’s face grows redder by the second from laughing so hard, and he lets out a hacking cough. “Oh my god, you look ridiculous!”

“Yeah? Like that one? How about this one?” Roni places her hands on either side of her face, framing her head and moving her hands from her cheeks to her chin and top of her head. . “This one is called Vogue-ing.”

Harry wipes at his eyes, clutching his stomach. “Veronica,” he says through a wet laugh, “Please, no more.”

“And here’s a classic!” Roni goes completely stiff, bending her arms at the elbows and moving robotically. “They call this one the robot!”

“God,” Harry shakes his head, face now beet read from laughing. “You’re so bloody weird.”

“You aren’t gonna try it with me?” Roni asks. “I try your weird dances with you!”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he knows she’s got a point. “It’s not the same.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Roni calls back. “C’mon, just try the robot one time.”

Harry glances nervously around before deciding to just completely throw caution to the wind and join her. He goes stiff as well, mimicking her movements in the most forced and uncomfortable looking way.

Now it’s her turn to laugh, and she lets out the most adorable cackle Harry thinks he’s ever heard. “Ha! You’ve got it!”

“Do I look absolutely mental?” Harry asks through a grin.

“Absolutely, babe,” Roni says with a nod.

“Good!” Harry starts moving faster, knowing damn well he isn’t doing this dance correctly at all, until Roni can’t even dance anymore. She’s nearly on the ground with how hard she’s laughing, and both she and Harry completely ignore the dirty looks from everyone around them who’s actually taking their dancing seriously.

Harry is completely out of breath by the end of the song, and he genuinely feels he’s going to be sore tomorrow.

But if it meant seeing Roni this happy and full of laughter, he’d take her out dancing every single night.

---

“So what was it like?”

Roni turns to Harry. “What?”

Roni and Harry are walking home side by side, and Roni is carrying her shoes-- even though Harry had informed her several times how filthy the ground was. When they’d finally decided to stop dancing and sit down for dinner, they’d launched immediately into conversation, covering just about any topic under the sun. Harry marvels at how easy it is to talk to Roni, and he reckons he could sit and listen to her talk about absolutely nothing for days on end.

“The moment you traveled back. I know you said it was a lucid dream of sorts, but what was it really like? Was it like you were flying?”

“No, not really,” Roni says, and she takes a moment to think of how to explain this to him. “It was just like walking. But I couldn’t walk fast enough. I wasn’t being threatened or anything. I just knew I had somewhere to go and I didn’t think I’d get there in time.”

“Where were you trying to go? You’d mentioned something about the 1980s… is that correct? Something about your mum?”

Roni smiles sadly at him. “You remember me saying that?”

“‘Course I do.” Harry notices the sadness of Roni’s features, and he lowers his voice. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Roni says wistfully. “I wanted to go to 1985. That was the year I lost my mom. In a car accident.”

“Oh, Veronica,” Harry coos. “I’m so sorry.”

“Cars were… well, are a lot different where I come from. People drive like assholes. Pardon the language.” Harry smirks to himself. Since when does Roni feel the need to apologize for her language? He doesn’t have time to tease her, however, and he figures now is not the time. So he lets her continue.

“So mom was driving to work one morning. And this guy fell asleep at the wheel. A trucker. He’d been driving all night.” Roni seems lost in her own thoughts, and Harry hangs on her every word. “And it sucks because… it was just like any other day, you know? We just said a normal goodbye. She was planning on ordering pizza that night when she got home. I asked her to take me to the pool, and she couldn’t. She was working overtime so that she could pay for this stupid class trip for me.” Roni shakes her head bitterly, and Harry wants to say something, but he decides to let her sort through her own thoughts.

“I just thought that… maybe if I could go back to that day I could stop her, do you know what I mean? I thought I could maybe warn her not to leave. She would’ve listened to me.” Roni chuckles softly to herself. “I was always good at persuading her.”

They round the corner, beginning their ascent up the steps to Harry’s apartment. He finally speaks as he fumbles with his keys. “You know you can’t give up, right? You’ve proven that time travel is real, now it’s just a matter of perfecting the specifics.”

Roni shrugs as Harry pushes his creaky front door open for her to walk through. “I suppose,” she says, “I just don’t know if I want to risk going to another unfamiliar time period. I’m not sure anyone else would be as kind as you.”

Her words tug at Harry’s heart strings as he locks the door behind him. “Can I say something?”

Roni kicks off her shoes. “Of course.”

“I’m really glad you showed up here.” When Roni shoots Harry a look that says “don’t be cheesy,” he giggles. “I mean it! You’re somebody that I feel very, very lucky to have met. You’re an incredible person.”

“Oh stop it.” Roni and Harry make their way through the living room, while Harry begins unbuttoning his jacket and Roni fumbles to untie the neck-tie that has been itching her skin all night.

“I’m serious,” Harry says. “You’re intelligent. And witty.”

Roni smirks at him. “Alright fine, keep going.”

“And funny,” Harry adds with a pointed look. “Gosh, Veronica, no one makes me laugh as hard as you do, you know that?”

“The feeling is mutual, dude.” Roni frowns down at the knot that she still hasn’t been able to get untied, and Harry keeps talking.

“You keep me on my toes, but in the best way.” Harry wiggles out of his jacket, placing it neatly over the back of a chair. “I never know what to expect from you.”

“Good,” Roni says, distracted and still scowling at the stubborn knot. “I want to keep it that way.”

“You’re unlike any woman-- no, any person in general, I have ever met in my life. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know. You’re someone special. I feel like you were meant to come into my life, even if you came from the future. And--” Harry trails off when he notices her struggling. “Do you need help with that?”

Roni frowns up at him, finally giving up. “How tight did you tie this thing?!”

Harry laughs, making his way over to her. “Alright, c’mere. Let me see.”

It feels good to be this close to Roni again, and although they’d spent the last roughly three and a half hours dancing closely, this feels so much better. Harry feels the same nervous energy he’d felt while tying this thing, but somehow he’s more confident about it now, and he doesn’t shy away from standing so close to her.

“You can keep going on about how great I am if you want,” Roni teases.

“Oh can I?” Harry asks. “Thank you for your blessing, madam.”

“Anytime!”

Harry smiles, working at the knot gently and really searching to find the right words in his mind. “Suppose everything I’ve been saying is rather sappy, innit?”

“I don’t mind.”

Harry’s heart pounds at her words, although he isn’t exactly nervous. “Well, may I say something else sappy?”

“We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

“Fair.” Harry smiles. Admittedly, he’s got the knot figured out and could easily side the tie off with no problem. But he likes having something for his fingers to fidget with, and he definitely likes having his fingers so near her body. “On top of everything else I’ve said, you are… undoubtedly… the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

Roni’s mouth falls open so subtly that Harry would have missed it if it wasn’t for the almost inaudible gasp that accompanied the movement. He doesn’t look at her eyes, he instead focuses on the knot-- which he is now halfway done with.

“Harry.”

“Pardon me if I’m being too forward, Veronica. I just think it’s high time that I let you know that. You deserve to be told that every day.”

Harry shakes the knot a bit, effectively loosening it so that it practically slides off. But he doesn’t let go of the fabric, holding it loosely on either side of her neck. He swallows and she lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting frantically along his face as if she can’t decide on a place for them to land. The mood in the room has shifted entirely just from his one confession, because they both know that his words hold so much more depth to them. He isn’t just complimenting her to fill the silence. He means it, and he means so much more by it.

“Can I say something as well?” Roni says quietly, and Harry only nods. “You’re… the most wonderful person I’ve ever known, Harry. And I wish… I wish I’d met you sooner.”

“I consider myself incredibly lucky to have met you,” Harry says. “And I... I don’t know how long you’re going to be here with me for. But I already wish I had longer with you. And I wish you were mine.”

Roni licks her lips as their eyes finally meet. They both wear looks of confusion, a bit of fear, and so much yearning that it would make Roni sick on any other day. But now she’s here, and she’s feeling something she’s honestly never felt in her life. She smiles, reaching up slowly to cup his cheek and run her thumb over the spot where his dimple lives.

“I wish that, too,” she says breathlessly.

Finally. Finally it’s the moment they’ve both been waiting for for so long. Harry tugs lightly on the tie, pulling Roni in so close that their faces are practically touching. It would be so easy for them to just do it, just tilt their heads the slightest bit and kiss already. Roni feels jittery and shaky, and Harry reaches up to take the wrist of the hand that cups his face.

They’re so close that Roni can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she swallows down all of the words that she’s dying to say. She licks her lips, only briefly giving in to the “what if’s” swimming around in her brain, and she removes her eyes from his swollen pink lips. She scans the dip of his cupid’s bow, the little mole on the corner of his chin, the point of his nose, and finally his green eyes that match the intensity on his face. Memories of the image she’d woken up to this morning float back into her mind,-- images of him, naked and swollen and whining-- and this time she lets them linger for a moment. Enjoying the way the sight had made her feel. Enjoying the way that that same hand feels now against her wrist.

“Harry,” Roni whispers.

Harry bumps his nose to hers, lips so close that she can practically taste them. “Yes, love?”

Roni wants to stop herself from saying what she’s about to say. More than anything she wants to give in to this boy who’s standing so close to her, she wants to fasten their lips together and taste him. She wants to kiss his neck, and she wants him to kiss hers. She wants to touch him, lick him, bury him inside of her until they pass out from exhaustion. And she wants to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again.

But instead, she says something she almost instantly regrets.

“I can’t.”

212 notes · View notes