style writing

Dear Writers:

Please, please do not import foreign words that describe mundane things your language does have its own words for.

So, you’re writing a cute story about, say, an American couple travelling through Provence. It’s all slightly exotic, and very characteristic, and you want to describe that. You want to convey the spirit of the thing. I get that.

But if you’re going to write how “they entered a lovely little épicerie where elderly patrons ate their customary fromage and saucissons hanged from the ceiling”, then you are not including any interesting local colour. 

You are trying very hard to exoticise very mundane things because you failed to observe any actual local colour. You are yelling “they were in France, btw!” and going “have I mentioned this was in France?” and generally being silly and pretentious.

There are totally valid cases of foreign words introduced into prose. These are usually words that the main language does not have in its repertoire. So while it makes sense to say that they had apéritif, it does not make sense at all to say they had a “repas” when the word “meal” is perfectly available.

Thank you.

UPDATED MASTERLIST!!

here is the most up-to-date version :) happy reading!!! xxh

Blurbs (*** = Smut/NSFW)

On Point

Sunrise Surprise 

Pink Suit ***

Purple Pants ***

Here Now

Cake Batter ***

Series

GonePart One Part Two

Asks

Safe and Warm

His

*** REQUESTS ARE OPEN ***

Good girls don’t (sneak peek)

There are a lot of things good girls don’t. They don’t laugh too loud, they don’t dress too short, they don’t swear and they don’t put themselves out there. They wait, and they do it while sitting properly in their pristine white dresses, with their hands crossed over their laps and their back sitting up straight.

There’s a lot of things good girls don’t and getting their panties wet every time they see a guy is definitely one of them.

You rubbed your thighs together as your fingers pressed tightly to the table you were sitting in, trying to hold on to a reality that was slipping away as you looked at him. You imagined the taste of his skin, and how it must have felt against yours when he was lying on top of you, and you thought about the fire of his kiss, and how it probably tasted like peppermint and just a tiny hint of sin. You thought about heaven and having him lie next to you at night.

The fire that had settled in your lower tummy was going to consume you all at any moment, and you shifted in your seat, trying to release some of the pressure that had built between your legs. You were definitely wet.

But as much as you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, imagining yourself on your knees while your eyes obediently locked in with his. You imagined your lips wrapping around the two fingers he was offering to you, and the light bob you would do to take them all the way in, while your tongue pressed to them to suck them lightly, looking at him as his eyes, usually green and sweet, turned dark, the burning lust covering them as he gazed down at you. You even imagined the light gag of your throat as he pushed his fingers all the way in, and the moan that bubbled up from your very core when he slid them out, the strings of spit that fell down making you blush as you looked down.

“Look at me, yeah?” He would say, with his voice a little raspier than usual as he kneeled in front of you. “C’mon, kitten, look at me.” He would repeat his command slowly, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips as your eyes fluttered open to obey him. “Look at me while I fuck ya with my fingers, yeah? Use all that spit you left. Were you imagining my cock?” He would ask, his smirk growing bigger as you nodded, still unable to speak your own words, as your heart was knotting on your throat and beating rapidly at the sight of him. “You’re such a fucking good girl.”

“Hello! Are you there?” You heard someone say right next to you, the sound of your voice taking you by surprise and causing you to jump on your seat as a gasp left your lips. You had to thank your lucky stars the light in the room was pretty crappy, as you were fairly certain that you must’ve looked like a tomato at the moment, red up to your hair and firing up as you tried to sit still and crossed your legs.

“Jesus, Gems, I should put a bell on you.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, much like you had done with your legs, an armor of protection against the world, just in case someone could read your thoughts and know…

“Sorry, just needed to know if you were still with us.” She smiled, the same childish smile you had seen so many times on her brother before. The very same one that made your knees buckle down every time it was directed at you. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, just a bit hot.” You smiled, looking at her as she took a seat right next to you, and looked to the stage where her brother was playing the guitar softly.

“He’s killing it, isn’t he?” She grinned, unable to hide her pride. “Makes you wanna kiss the idiot.”

“It does.”

It was impossible not to look at him. Harry owned the stage like he was meant to do just that for the rest of his life like he was born to be a star. Even with his disheveled hair, and the pink pants that you hated, he looked like a star, the brightest one up in the sky, and you couldn’t help but let your heart soar in your chest for him.  

I hope you can see, the shape I’ve been in

While he’s touching your skin

This thing upon me, howls like a beast

You flower, you feast

The set finished, although you weren’t sure how long it had lasted or how many songs he had sung. You just knew he looked glorious through every minute of it, and that the most sinful thoughts had reigned over your body during every second of it. He was hot, clammy hands and beads of sweat running down his spine as he made his way to you, and you let your eyes run down his neck, thinking about how it must feel like to kiss it, right where his pulse point was, and taste the saltiness of his skin after a concert.

“You sure you’re ok?” Gemma asked you once again, scrunching up her perfectly done eyebrows as she threw a worried look at you.

“Yeah, Daniel just hasn’t answered my texts all day.” You shrugged your shoulders, looking at her with a soothing smile as she pursed her lips a little bit, the frown on her forehead deepening as she took a big breath, one of those that warned you were about to hear a piece of her mind.

“Good, Daniel’s a bloody wanker, who doesn’t even want to call you his girlfriend. Tell him to sod off, you deserve better.” She said like she had just told an order you were supposed to follow suit. It didn’t matter, anyway. You hadn’t texted Daniel all day, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to. Still, he was a nice excuse, a great diversion from your real thoughts.

“I know.” You nodded.

“Do you girls know” Harry said, as he plopped right between the two of you, and his arms went around each of your shoulders, his lips curling into a huge grin as he looked at you, the sudden urge to kiss him bubbling in your tummy. “this is a party? Why the sad faces?”  

“We just had to listen to you sing.” You smiled, wriggling your eyebrows as his smile disappeared for a second.

“It was quite a travesty,” Gemma added, and by now, the frown on his face was almost ridiculous, as he squinted up his eyes to his sister.

“We’re still recovering.” You said. Harry stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest while he tried to hide the pout that was threatening to come out if he didn’t hear reassuring words in the next couple of seconds.

“You were fantastic.” You caved in, smiling softly as a grin curled up on his lips. For a second there, you could’ve sworn his eyes had flicked to your lips, following the movement of your own as you spoke, but it was too quick, probably just a fickle of your imagination that was still heated up from all the dirty thoughts that had been circling in your mind.

“Thank you, love.” He whispered softly before turning to his sister. “And you’re not invited to anything anymore.”

“She started it!” She complained, rolling her eyes as he jumped from his seat to talk to the crew. He shook every hand, and kissed a lot of cheeks, saying polite things to everyone as he made his way through the room.

“Let’s go and look for him or we’re not getting outta here ever.” She said, smiling widely as she jumped from the table and looked at you, beckoning to follow her. Her expression turned serious, solemn almost, and her hand went to her tummy and she stood up straight. “And then, we’ll party.”

“Oh, I should probably go and look for Daniel.” You said, stammering a little when your eyes fell on your lap, not wanting to look at Harry anymore than you had to. You were afraid that if you did, he would know all the things you would let him do to you.

“Oh, no!” Gemma said, widening her eyes as she took your hand in hers to pull you off of your seat. “I told you, Daniel’s a bloody wanker. We’re going to party and he can go fuck himself.”

There was not much room for discussion, cause her hand was firmly wrapped around yours and as she started to walk to the exit, she dragged you behind, making you run a little so you could keep up with her. Harry shrugged, following behind the two of you to quickly disappear into of a black car that was waiting outside for you.

You sat next to Harry, which probably wasn’t the best idea, cause you could feel the warmth his body irradiated right next to you, threatening to spark the fire that had already settled down. Your fingers trembled, itching to grab his hand in yours, or maybe to trace down his thigh, squeezing the meaty parts between them as you leaned to give him a kiss.

The ride was torturously slow, every bit of it filled with Harry’s scent, cologne mixed with the sweat of his skin, and with the thoughts of him pressing you down to the mattress, arms pinned to the bed while his lips sucked on your skin. You could barely keep up with the lazy conversation, dizzy from all the images that kept rushing in your head.

“Babe?” You heard Harry say, but that wasn’t what caught your attention at all. It was the sparks, literal electric energy, that escaped out of your skin when he touched you, skimming his fingers lightly on your arm to call for you. A gush of air left your lips, and your eyes slowly met with his. They were green, bright and sweet even in the dim light of the car, and they looked at you with such intensity you had to wonder if the world had disappeared around you. “We’re here.” But it hadn’t. You looked out of the window now that the car had stopped, and for the first time, you noticed you were in front of Harry’s brand new home.

“I thought we were going to party.” You said in confusion, taking his hand to let him help you out of the car. This time it was more of a firework, a subtle, intimate firework that sparkled and shined just for the two of you. You looked at your joined hands, wondering if you were going crazy, or if he could feel it, the silent pleading of your own body to be his.

“I’m not in the mood for people.” He shrugged. “We can party here. Do you have anywhere else to be?”

“No.”

“Good, I want you here with me.” He smiled.

****

The idea of a party often involves alcohol, loud music, and annoying people. This one had all of the above, the bubbles of alcohol buzzing in your head as you laid down. The grass was wet and it was probably a bad idea to lie on it while wearing a dress, but Harry was next to you and you were gazing at the few stars that popped up in London’s sky, so nothing really mattered.

The back of his fingers brushed against yours and you turned around to look at him. There was a boyish smile on his face, showing off his dimples as he laid on his side. His bottom lip got trapped between his teeth, and once more the intensity of his gaze was enough to leave you breathless.

“You deserve better, y’know that, right?” He said in a low voice, his minty breath fanning over your skin as you tilted your head to one side.

“Not everyone can be Harry Styles.” You shrugged, a smile curling up the corner of your lips when you peered up to be. “He’s not half as bad as Gemma makes him out to be, Harry. And it’s not that serious, anyway. I don’t wanna marry him, I just…”

“He’s a nice shag?” He smirked.

“He’s decent, and I’m not discussing my sex life with you. I’m not that drunk.”

“He cannot be a good shag.” Harry chuckled in disbelief, turning to lie on his back. The little hairs on your neck rose, looking at him as the light laughter rumbled in his belly. “First, I’ve seen his cock…”

“Harry!”

“It’s not that impressive.”

“What were you doing looking at his…” You stopped yourself, grunting a bit as you turned around to lie on your back as well. Your arms crossed over your chest and you frowned as you looked at the stars up above you.

“His what?”

“Harry…”

“Oh, c’mon, say it!”

“Harry!”

“That word has to look so fucking pretty coming out of your lips. C’mon, say it.”

“You’re an idiot, Jesus.” You laughed, but still, a weird pride settled in your tummy at his words. Pretty, something looked pretty when you said it.

“Just say it!”

“His cock, Harry, his cock!”

No rain, No flowers (Part 2)

You had such an exhausted day at work that the thought that you had completely forgotten Harry’s birthday didn’t even occur to you. So when you hear loud music blasting through the house when you parked your car in the driveway, confusion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Your eyes widened when you entered and saw maybe fifty people inside your house drinking and dancing.

Keep reading

Morning

I’m quite bad with part twos’ so here’s part one.


When Harry’s eyes fluttered open the next morning,he noticed that his best friend wasn’t there like he thought she’d be.(He also noticed that he hadn’t that good of a sleep in ages).

Her side of the bed was abandoned and if it wasn’t for the pulled back duvet cover,he’d have thought he was hallucinating last night.But the covers proved that he wasn’t. Sitting up, Harry rubbed his eyes wondering where she had gone because he sure as hell as remembered her staying the night..He remembered several things from last night. 

He remembered how she abandoned the door handle and made her way back to him shyly muttering that she didn’t have ‘any clothes’.He remembered how he directed her towards his closet and waited in bed as she changed in the ensuite bathroom so he could have a cuddle.  Peering at the duvet covers as he made his way out of the bed, his eyes lingered on the spot that they cuddled in.He remembered how her head laid gently on his chest as her body was entertwined with his.He remembered how her body felt against his lanky frame and how he’d envelope her in his arms as they fell asleep. 

-

Harry walked towards his closet,searching for his comfiest sweatpants before reminding himself that he’d given them to her the night before.

He brushed his fingers through his scruffy bed-ridden hair as he made his way to the bathroom.Arriving at the sink,he splashed water over his face to drown his thoughts.

Where had she gone?

He knew he was being dramatic but he couldn’t help to feel that way.He wouldn’t have felt that way if any of his other friends had done the same (not that he invited his friends to sleep in his bed with him) but the thing is, he loved her.He loved her more than a best friend loves another – he loved her like she was the girl he was going to marry.

-

Making his way downstairs,Harry hoarsely called out, Love!” hoping that she was in the lower part of the house, before entering the kitchen in which he saw her.

Her;his best friend that had stayed the night in his bed and in the morning she was supposedly gone.

“Hey,” She paused, smiling at the 23 year old man in front of her who had yet to wake up properly, as she turned around to face him.Though Harry had splattered water over his face, he still seemed tired.

“I’m just making a couple of toasts for you.Wasn’t sure if you wanted anything else,” she continued waringly,before leaving her back towards him.

“Yeah, I -Christ!” Harry exclaimed as he looked at her once she turned back.She was still wearing the clothes he lent her and damn, she looked cuter than ever.His shirt flew past her thighs as the sweapants she wore were loosely fitted.He loved the way she looked in his clothes.

“What was that H?” She questioned,not quite hearing what he said.

“ I – Er yeah.Two toasts are fine.”

Harry moved closer to her until he was right behind her.Making sure she had no cutlery or dishes, he placed his hands on her shoulders so he could move her from the counter.She faced him with a pure look of confusion as she uttered out, “What’s wrong?”

Harry bit his tongue nervously,all the confidence he had a mere few minutes ago disappeared.

What was he supposed to say?He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth of how he spend nights wishing she was there beside him,of how much love he had for her.But he did…Well sort of.

“Can I kiss you?”

anonymous asked:

paris with harry... GO

um, is everyone out to kill me tonight? because the only asks i get is harry and travelling JUST TO KILL ME

but noooo Paris with Harry would be a dream. you know when he looks like a prince? that’s how I picture him. in a flowy white shirt, somehow looking casual as ever, and maybe the hat he’s been wearing lately. and his hair? it would be looking like it did on carpool karaoke. soft enough that it would almost be irresistible to not run your fingers through it, so much so it’s annoying.

he would be in the best mood. being on holiday with you? just you? it’s enough to put him in a mood where he thinks he could light every street light with his happiness. but being in Paris, he’s filled with a little extra love and a little extra compassion for you. he wouldn’t know what it is about the city. the busyness that’s always going on, yet somehow it always seems so calm. how, even surrounded by people from all places (the tourists with their cameras and smiles all around, or the locals who seem so in their place you should be taking photos every moment) he feels as though it is only the two of you.

he’d be looking at you constantly. while you’re walking up the eiffel tower (deciding to take the stairs because “come on, love, we don’t get to do this everyday. got t’ appreciate it in all it’s glory”). when you’d look back at him, a little puffed and slightly red faced from all the stairs, all he’d see is the blush in your cheeks that he thinks he could compare to roses, and the look of awe he thinks fills your eyes - like you’re looking at the entire world in front of you.

or maybe, when you get back to your hotel room, he’d be struck by just how beautiful you look. when you’ve got no makeup on, fresh and bare faced. you’d be standing in door way to the balcony, windows open while the sun begins to set in front of you. he wouldn’t be sure if it was the array of colours that dusted over the city, or the way the sun seemed the melt your skin golden in front of his eyes. how you hair would sit on your skin so delicately that he could compare it to the dew that sits on flowers in the dawn of the morning.

he’d find you irresistible. as you would him, of course. it’s something about Paris, right? something about Paris that makes him stand behind you and brush the hair off the side of your face. his fingertips would be soft, tickling your skin in the most beautiful way. and he’d be warm. warm when he wrapped one arm around your waist to turn you around, and warm when the other hand would rest on your jaw to move your lips to his. you’d been like this a million times before but, the hitch in your breath wouldn’t go unnoticed. with the barely there touch of his lips that burnt each spot they touched, and the heat that sunk into your skin from his tattoo-drawn hands, you truly felt ‘butterflies in your stomach’.

he had decided he would blame in on Paris, the cheesy words that fell from his lips.

“you know” he had whispered on your lips. “i think tha’ we should get married here. when it happens”

he had smiled, before he put his lips on yours. it was the kind of kiss where the world fell away beside you. it was slow and gentle and one of his favourites. you had your small hand against his chest and his finger tips squeezed a bit at the skin of your waist. he decided he would blame it on pairs but, he could stay like that forever.

Niall Horan - “Love Song” Imagine


Just a short little blurb for ya! 

So as soon as I saw Niall’s Billboard photos inspiration struck and I got into full on Niall girl talk with @eversincecheshire and texted her this long ass idea based off of this picture so, me being me, decided to write it. People have been asking for Niall so.. here ya go. Enjoy!

It was Niall’s day off. No meetings, no time in the studio booked, and so the two of you decided it was the day the two of you would get your long list of to-do’s done. You were going to deep clean the house, the two of you were finally going to finish decorating your office and you were finally going to get rid of the layer of dust that had formed on shelves and tables.

Of course though, once it got down to actually having to do it all, you simply didn’t want to. Niall was off doing laundry, and you were tidying up the living room. You had lugged out the vacuum and were going to make the rug nice and clean but as you organized the books and random items you came across a notebook you had once seen Niall scribbling in often.

You decided, after flipping it open and reading over some lyrics, to delve a little deeper into it so you plopped yourself down on the floor, your back leaned against the couch and began to pour over the notebook. You took in the scribbled over words, the little phrases of music doodled next to certain strings of lyrics. It was all fascinating to you as Niall very rarely let you see his music until it was almost or completely finished but it was so fascinating to think about holding it all, his ideas, his notes, his inspiration, right there in your hands.

“What ya doin’, love?” You look up as Niall walks into the room, having come to investigate not having heard the vacuum when you had told him that was your next task. “Is that me notebook?” He questions, seeing the item in your hand. You grin and nod. “Must’ve left it on the shelf.” He grins as well, knowing how much you loved his music. Taking note of which song you’d had it open to, he decided he would let you hear it. It was one he had finished writing a few days ago, actually. It had changed a bit from this first scribbled down idea but the gist of it was the same.

“You gonna play it for me?” You question as you see him reaching for one of the guitars he had in the corner. Niall honestly had a guitar in every single room, apart from the bathroom. He even had one in the kitchen because who knows when inspiration would strike, he had to have one in arms reach at all times. You didn’t mind, you loved moments of him playing random bits of a new song, or covering a song you both loved. It filled the silence and often led to the two of you dancing together in the middle of whatever room you were in.

“I jus’ might.” He grins at you as he comes over, sitting himself down on the ground beside you, leaning close to you to look at the notebook still open in your hands. He takes it in, making sure he was thinking of the right song before he grinned at you. “It’s changed a bit, bu’ still the same, really.” His fingers then begin to move over the strings, the notes floating effortlessly from his touch. He gives you one more smile before he begins to sing. You bite at your lip as you take in the words he is singing.

You hadn’t heard this song before, maybe a little bit of the music playing from his office as he worked out the kinks or occasionally while getting ready for the day or in the shower he would hum out tunes but it was hard to differentiate between his own songs and just random songs he heard recently and had stuck in his head when all he did was sing the melody or a couple notes here and there.

This song though, it was soft, the music flowed effortlessly, and as you took in the words of love and adoration for that someone special, you knew it was about you. He sang of being in love, finding that one person he was always going to be with, enjoying the fact that he got to wake up beside her everyday. In short, the song was very clearly, and without a doubt, about you. You can’t keep the grin from your face as you lean over and bury your face in his shoulder as you close the notebook and toss it onto the coffee table in front of you.

As the song comes to an end, his playing and voice growing quieter, you bury your nose in his t-shirt, taking in that comforting and oh so familiar scent that was purely and simply Niall. Once he finished the song, he sets the guitar down, his arms wrapping easily around you. His lips press into your hair as he pulls you a bit more into him.

“You like it?” He questions then.

“It was the best song I’ve ever heard.” You tell him honestly, lifting your head up to look at him. You see his blue eyes shining with love, that same sense of adoration he just sang about radiating from his entire being and you knew you returned it. There was no one like Niall, and no one else you would ever be with. Niall was your forever, and clearly after that song, you knew he thought the same.

“Glad you like it then.” He grins at you before his lips are on yours. The kiss was gentle, his lips soft and loving against yours but as you turn a bit, your fingers tangling in his brown hair, pulling you a bit closer the feel of the kiss changes, as does the air around you.

He pulls you up and into his lap as his lips move against yours. His large guitarist hands press into your back after they slide up and under your t-shirt, pressing your chest against his. Your arms tangle around his neck and you have to keep the sigh that so desperately wanted to fall from your lips at bay as his tongue greets yours. His fingers dig into your skin, both of your breathing starting to grow faster as the kiss intensifies and you knew that any and all thoughts of cleaning and running errands as planned was out the window.

Just something to think about:

You’d gotten home from work, said hello to Harry, and padded off to your room. The sticky summer air was making your clothes cling to your body, and a shower sounded like heaven in that moment. You took your time, using your favorite shampoo and even doing a face mask after. You were already feeling tired, and decided to lay down for a bit, still adorned in just a towel.

Harry would come into your bedroom, surprised (and happy) to find you lounging in bed. Your hair was still wet and you didn’t even have to ask Harry to play with it, braiding it and unbraiding it, brushing through it with his fingers (tugging softly on it every once in a while to hear you giggle “stop it, Haz!”) and massaging your scalp as he went.

You stayed in your towel for quite a while after this, content, breeze blowing in softly through your open window and the evening sun beginning to set outside.

Harry moved to your shoulders next, kneading them with strong hands, trying to get the knots out. You’d wince at the pain on occasion, but sigh in relief when he finally got your muscles to relax. You were laying face down, arms crossed under your chin and were almost asleep. He moved down your back, tracing the lines of your shoulder blades and pressing into your muscles as he went.

When you were nearly asleep, he laid down next to you and pulled you in close to his side, holding onto your arm. Your hair smelled of flowers and your skin was soft – he couldn’t get enough of you. The two of you laid like this for who knows how long, enjoying each other’s presence and felt time stop for a bit.

“Love you, pet,” he mumbled from behind you, squeezing your wrist, “could stay like this forever,”

You hummed in response, sleep taking over your brain. It was moments like this that made you fall in love all over again.

Music Series: Tell Me How by Paramore

How appropriate that the next request in my inbox fit perfectly into a sequel for the last imagine I posted!

You can read part one, HERE

This is “Tell Me How” by Paramore. You can find the song on my Spotify playlist called Gloomy Poops, HERE. Thank you, Anon!

xo

Shelli

**********************

I can’t call you a stranger

But I can’t call you

I know you think that I erased you

You may hate me, but I can’t hate you

And I won’t replace you

Harry was devastated.

He may have been drunk, but he remembered every word that was said. Every emotion that was felt. And the look on your face the entire time.

He knew he hurt you when he left you, and he hated himself for it. He knew he deserved everything you said to him.

Harry hadn’t thought it out when his “image” needed to be protected and redirected, as the powers-that-be insisted he go along with the “new girlfriend” scheme to deflect a growing situation involving Harry. Although initially looking like a cheating boyfriend, they knew they would easily be able to clean it up later with the “truth”. They insisted it best to keep you in the dark at first, that you would understand why he couldn’t tell you right away, so that your reactions if seen in public would be genuine and honest…believable.

You hated him, and it was all his fault.

Tell me how to feel about you now

Oh, let me know

Do I suffocate or let go?

Harry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how to repair what he did to you, or even if he could.

He didn’t know how to feel anything for you, but love.

But he knew where he had to start.

“What do you mean, you’re not gonna do it?” the man said as Harry spoke with his team who had put the entire rouse together. “You’ve already done it! It’s already out there, H.”

“I know,” Harry said boldly. “And I should never have agreed to it. I want out of it.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” he asks.

“S’what you get paid for, isn’t it? Figure it out. I’m done.”

Harry must have been a fool for agreeing to such a thing. But he knew that these things always magically worked out when the time called for it. He was just calling time on it early.

I think I’m tired of getting over it, just starting something new again

I’m getting sick of the beginnings and always coming to your defenses

I guess it’s good to get it off my chest. I guess I can’t believe I haven’t yet

You know I got my own convictions, and they’re stronger than any addiction

And no one’s winning

Harry felt like he was becoming a stalker. He tried many times to talk to you, but you refused to answer his calls, didn’t reply to his texts, and you blocked him on all of your social media.

His closest friends tried to tell him, maybe he just needed to accept it and give up on being with you again. He made a bad choice by agreeing to the plot, and this was the repercussion of his actions. But Harry didn’t want to get over you. He didn’t want a relationship with anyone other than you. He wanted you.

A few times, trying to make him feel better about himself, friends would tell Harry you were being impossible and should at least give him a chance to work it out, and if not, he was better off without you. But Harry always defended you, making sure nobody thought you were at fault for any of it. He was tired of defending you, not for any other reason but that he hated for people to think badly of you for something he did.

“Have you tried talking to her again?” his sister asked him.

“I have!” Harry insists. “I’ve tried so many times, but she refuses to have anything to do with me.”

“Can’t say that I blame her, brother,” she says, shaking her head.

“I don’t blame her,” he admits. “But how can I come clean to her about everything, try to explain why it happened, when she won’t even let me talk to her? I feel horrible about this, and the more time that passes without her knowing the truth, the more I worry it will only be worse when she finds out.”

“Definitely nobody wins in this situation,” she says, laying her hand on his arm. “You hurt her, and you hurt yourself in the process. I wish I could help, brother, but I think you have to work this out.”

You keep me up with your silence, take me down with your quiet

Of all the weapons you fight with your silence is the most violent

Tell me how to feel about you now

Harry watched from his car as he saw you leave your apartment building and walk in the direction of your work. Your silence toward him was killing him. Maybe he deserved it…he knew he did. But he was determined to talk to you, even if it pissed you off. You were going to listen. Then if you still hated him, he would deal with that next. But he wasn’t going to do nothing at all.

As he watched you walk down the sidewalk, Harry put the car in drive and pulled up in front of you as you were about to cross into the street, making you abruptly halt your steps and catch your breath. You look at the car in shock, then see who is driving it and begin to walk around it.

“Please, love, wait!” Harry yells, jumping out of his car and running to catch up with you, leaving his car in the street. “Please, I just want to talk to you!”

He steps in front of you and doesn’t let you pass.

“Please, sweetheart,” he says sweetly. “I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you for it. I was stupid, and I led you to believe something that wasn’t true, and I want to explain it.”

You look around at the passing people who are staring, and hear the horns honking around Harry’s abandoned car a short distance from you in the traffic.

“Please, just…” Harry starts. “Let me take you to work, and let me explain everything to you. Then if you still hate me and want nothing to do with me…well, I’ll try to…accept it, and move on.”

You hear the horns blaring at Harry to move his car, and see someone across the road holding their phone up in front of them, most assuredly filming the entire scene. You look at Harry’s pleading eyes, then turn and walk toward his car, with him following quickly behind you. He opens the passenger door, closing it behind you, then quickly pulling the car away from the small traffic jam he caused.

You don’t have to tell me if you ever think of me

I know you see me dancing wildly in the fog of your memory

You don’t have to tell me

I can still believe

“Thank you for letting me try to explain,” he says to you, seeing you staring out the window of the car. You say nothing as he continues. “I know you hate me for what happened, love. I’m so sorry I hurt you. But…I didn’t cheat on you.”

You look down at your hands, then back out the front glass, still not speaking.

“There was a…a situation…that happened,” he tried to explain. “I know I don’t need to explain all the details. We’ve been together long enough for you to know about these situations and how they are dealt with, right?”

Harry looks at you as you swallow, closing your eyes for a moment, then looking out the glass again with your jaw set.

“I was stupid to agree to it,” he tells you. “And I was stupid to not tell you about it. Stupid for listening to them. I was…”

“Stupid,” you interrupt without looking at him.

“Yeah,” he says with a slight grin, happy you talked to him, even if you were calling him stupid. “I know I can’t apologize enough for all of this, love. But I needed you to know, that I did not cheat on you. I never have. I have always loved you, and I’m sorry I hurt you and went along with all of it.”

You take a deep breath, still not looking at him.

“Okay,” you simply say.

Harry parks in front of your office building and is relieved you don’t immediately jump out and run.

“Sweetheart,” he says, with all the love he has. “Is there any way at all that we can work this out?” He looks at you as you sit in silence. “I think about you all the time. Please don’t ask me to just forget about you and move on.”

“Like you did?” you ask, looking directly at him.

“I did, didn’t I?” he says, ashamed and lowering his head. “I was horrible to you, and I hate myself for it. And the silence you’ve been giving me…not answering my calls or texts, and blocking me online, not talking to me…that’s been harder than when you yelled at me.”

You look back out the front glass of the car, still with a sad look on your face and unsure of how you feel, even knowing the truth of what happened. As relieved as you were that Harry never cheated on you, he allowed you to be hurt. He hurt you. And you weren’t sure you were ready to just forgive and forget.

“Please say there’s a chance for us, baby,” he says, sniffing back a tear, causing your throat to tighten and chin to tremble as you try to hold back your own emotions. “Don’t you ever think about me? About us? Hoping we can get past this and mend it and just…be together again? If you don’t want this anymore, then…tell me how to feel about you. I don’t know how to feel anything for you, other than in love. And I never want to feel any differently. I’ll always love you and want you.”

You feel yourself close to breaking and quickly open the door of the car and stand, beginning to walk away. Harry jumps out of the car and stands, looking at you in panic.

“Sweetheart…” he yells toward you, as you hear the shaking of his voice.

You slow and stop and turn around, looking at him, seeing the desperate look on his face. You take a deep breath.

“I still think about you, too,” you say, nodding and seeing a tear drop from his eyes as he grins slightly. “How could I not?”

to those who kicked me in this post  ( @forovnix and @saltier-than-thou ): i grant you some words you kicked me into writing

also @dystopiansushi bc i love her

from a fic i haven’t really talked about but hinted at a few times shhh

im hope u like and it isnt trash

(also i tried posting this once before and i think tumblr ate it????? sorry if u had to see this twice idk what’s happening w/ this hellsite)

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Dean barely notices when Sam runs into the house to investigate the nephilim situation. His eyes dart this way and that, taking in the tattered, broken wingspan spread out before him.

All of the times that he lost Cas, he never saw his wings. Not once. And it feels so…final.

Dean’s lips tremble as he casts his gaze upwards towards where he knows heaven is watching. He wonders if the angels care. He wonders if God cares.

He knows Chuck probably isn’t even in heaven, and maybe he has his ears turned off while he’s having the family meeting to end all family meetings with Amara, but he tries anyway. He wants to beg, bargain, and scream, but he’s not sure he can speak. He sends up a plea, his lips mouthing silent prayers.

The air is still. Too still. Deathly still.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and slumps down to the ground. He bows his head down, but he can’t yet bear to look. Not yet. Not again.

He breathes, and it feels like a monumental effort. He is hyper aware of being alive, of his lungs filling with oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide, and suddenly he thinks he might understand why yoga helps to clear the mind. Maybe he’ll take it up. He could do with a nice, clear mind after…after…

He opens his eyes. Cas is there, but he isn’t.

Dean swallows against the burning lump in his throat as he reaches a hand out. Hand touches hand. One is cold.

Dean stares at the eyes and wills them to open as he curls his fingers around the still, cold hand. And finally, after much effort, he finds that he can speak.

“Please,” Dean pleads, his voice smaller than he thinks it has ever been. “Please. Cas. I need you.”

No. That’s not right. That’s not enough.

“I love you.”

Too late. He says it, finally, after all of these years, and it falls on deaf ears. Ears that will never hear those words.

Dean’s eyes sting. “Come back. Like you always do.” His voice cracks. “I love you. I love you. I love you. Please come back.”

The world is still. Too still.

He’s not coming back this time.

Dean folds himself over Cas’s body and finally allows himself to break.

Through Their Eyes - One Shot

Happy Valentine’s Day to my lovely readers with a Happy Birthday one shot to him that is almost exactly two weeks late! Inspiration and time are funny that way – always against you, you know? ;) Enjoy, loves. xx

Anybody would have to be blind not to see it, and his mother thinks he is and you are, too.

 Her beautiful boy has always been a bit oblivious. He’s incredibly smart, she’s proud to say, and very astute, but sometimes – only sometimes – he can’t see past the end of his own nose.

 He’s in love with you. She’s suspected it for awhile, but tonight it’s painfully plain to see. Her son, her youngest, her baby, loves you.

It’s more than a passing fancy, because he would have stopped lighting up in the same way when you walked into any room if it was as simple as that. And it’s more than the love that comes with strong friendship, because if it stopped there he wouldn’t look at you the way those thousands of adoring fans look at him – like he just wants one chance, just the one, to show you how good he’d be for you and to you.

 None of his friends see it – they’re all too far gone into the alcohol and guffawing as they have go after go at him in the name of good fun, and he just laughs along with them with crinkle-eyed, dimply humor.

 You don’t see it either. You don’t see it when he looks up at you with adoration that shines, unbridled, thanks to the liquor in his veins.

 You don’t even see it when he leans his head against the gentle curve of your hip while you stand next to him, one eye drooping just a little more than the other as he listens to whatever story is being told before giving in and letting them fall shut as you rake your fingers through his thick curls and massage his scalp. He does love a good pet, but he doesn’t reward all the people who comply by turning his head inwards and giving a little kiss to the hip that’s been his pillow.

And her boy – her birthday boy – he doesn’t see it at all.

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Both of You

No pun intended but I really feel like I gave birth to this one, lol. Anyhow, this is a bit different than what I usually do. I think best friend Harry is very underrated. Enjoy, and I’d love if you would let me know what you thought. I worked super hard on this one! x

Originally posted by pinkharold


You pad your way across the wood floors of your home, shuffling into the kitchen and towards the far right of the room. After a long, long day of meetings at work you’re more than happy to finally be home. You had hoped that a long, hot shower would be the cure all for the tension coursing through every muscle in your body, but apparently not. You bite your bottom lip as you reach the refrigerator and pull on the handle, the light from within illuminating your otherwise dark kitchen. Hoping to find a well past midnight snack, you squint into the fridge and bend down as far as you can to peer into it. The contents inside the fridge isn’t sparse in the slightest, but as your tired eyes look through it, nothing seems appetizing. While you’re debating between the  plethora of flavors of fruit smoothies Harry had stocked your fridge with, you let out a sudden gasp. Your hand on the fridge curls tightly around the cold metal, while the other one flies on instinct to the middle of your tummy. Your brows furrow together as you stare down in shock at your ever growing stomach. The feeling was one you haven’t felt before through the course of your pregnancy and it makes you pause for a second. You’re so exhausted, you aren’t sure if it was painful or if the baby had just kicked. 

 “S’going on down there, little one?” You whisper softly, pushing the fabric of the long sleeved, oversized shirt you’re wearing up to snake your hand onto your bare skin. You rub it in soothing circles, and then the three rather annoying beeps of the refrigerator steal your attention. You shut the door of the fridge and settle for grabbing the near empty pack of Chips Ahoy cookies from the counter before making your way up the stairs and to your room.

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