#and its really weird when people try to make it out like sky was some serial cheater mastermind

[floralovebot]

listen,, i am Not defending all of sky's actions or his personality but he's genuinely just not as bad as the fandom makes him out to be.

a lot of y'all forget that sky is a prince with extremely overbearing and downright abusive parents that refuse to listen to him or treat him with any ounce of respect. and that the whole diaspro vs bloom situation was started directly because his parents forced an arranged marriage between diaspro and sky, constantly telling her parents that it would work out and never listening to sky the hundreds of times he tried to stop it. like again, he's not great, he's my least favorite specialist. but that situation was never in his favor. he was a 16 year old that dealt with strict, emotionally abusive parents his entire life and got forced into an arranged marriage with someone he never loved and was constantly told that it Needed to happen for the kingdom. trying to play it out like he's a serial cheater with some nefarious master plan is like,, really weird. again! not a great person he does a lot of shitty things. but blaming that specific situation on him, a teen with absolutely no say in his life who just met someone he genuinely likes and could love, instead of his parents is incredibly weird to me.

[betterbemeta]

Sometimes I think this principle about the honse can even be bad.

The fact that working with them at all provokes profound feelings of awareness of your limitations and the need for communication, I mean.

If you are even peripheral to equestrian interest discussion you are going to see a lot of people who believe they understand their horse more than they do. And that's not unique to any hobby or interest; there are people who believe they are better hobby mechanics than they are, better martial artists than they are, etc.

But consider the dog.

The dog comes in a variety of sizes. There's lots of cultural baggage about dogs, and many people buy a dog expecting they don't need to know anything about dogs. They have schema about 'what a dog is' that they were raised with. They aren't prepared to see things from the dog's point of view. You can watch It's Me or the Dog to go see this in action pretty much every time.

It's easier to project this way on small dogs than big dogs because you can more easily manhandle a small dog and force it to do what you need. (not that people don't project on big dogs, some people treat them like muscle cars, it's weird.)

But even big dogs are pretty easy to accommodate in our society. They usually don't need special buildings, for example. The barrier for entry to owning a large dog is comparatively low compared to owning a horse.

It's true that some people can get a horse somewhat cheaply. But a horse's basic needs are harder to meet. They need a lot more space, they need specialized housing, they aren't casual companion animals for your daily life, and more.

A lot of people wouldn't commit to that... only to 'suck' at it.

So with dogs we start at the small end and the bigger and bigger the dog gets the more likely it's able to maul you if you treat it bad... and then I think we actually have a chance to step backwards when we get to a horse-sized critter. Because it is really difficult to put up that level of investment for what feels like a low return.

Like I am not going to put forward some kind of singular Horse Person Projection Theory, ok? there's a vast variety of people out there. Some people are so enamored with the idea of horse that they are willing to do all that work, but are fragile to criticism of an experienced ring teacher etc. Other people can put a saddle on something and decide they know how to ride a horse simply because they can get on top of it. Still others will experience a lot of near misses or accidents while riding their horse and begin to romanticize the patterns. And then you have the people who think they're Dragonriders of Pern... It's not all one thing.

But a horse is still a large beast that cannot directly tell you what it's feeling in human terms, and a large high-investment critter like that is a really enormous human emotional bid. 'Horse people are Like That because you can't do anything with a horse without entering into The Mind of the Horse," yeah, and human beings are also often NOT prepared to respect the mentality of even other humans. Being forced to do this by necessity will make people super weird about if they are any good at it. It is not only a 'spiritual merging' but I think a form of... trauma? of actually NOT being able to dominate a creature, or expect that it will accommodate you through social scripts.

There are many people unprepared for this, as they would be unprepared for alien first contact... but still want to tell their alien adventure story, because aliens, bruh, how could you meet aliens and NOT connect with them?

Me: I'm going to look at horse forums, I bet the drama there is so funny

Me after 4 hours of horse forums: Damn....those people really love and care about their horses...

[eveningepiphany]

only would happen to us | H.S oneshot

summary: you and harry just got stuck up on the tower bridge in london and it’s clear sometimes feelings are just too hard to ignore

warnings: smut! bandmate harry, fluff, heights, unplanned confession, making out, trying to hide it from everyone, REALLY CUTE CAR SCENE, tension, fingering, dirty talk, vague reference to choking, protected p in v sec, talk of unprotected sex, frat boy harry just being too hot.

a/n: this is a longer smutshot with a bit of plot, took me MONTHS of coming back and forth from this draft, but it’s so so cute I think you’re gonna love these two!

not heavily edited, may be some typos, just want to post it so bad and its 2am HAHA

———

A deep, almost shaky exhale passes through your lungs and out past your lips. Your own numb hands coming to your waist underneath the thick knitted sweater that hung baggy over your frame, meeting the tight harness fitted over your jeans. It was so cold outside that with each breath out, there was a pale cloud that got puffed out with it. The kind you’d see on a crisp morning while walking to school as a kid, and pretend you were exhaling a long drag of a cigarette.

It’s weird to see something such as the air from deep in your lungs in a way you never normally do. Something that is typically invisible, in the exact right conditions, can be suddenly tangible. The air you exhale always there, regardless of whether you can see it or not. But on a night like tonight it’s no longer able to be ignored.

How one individual might perceive it can be starkly different to another. What is perhaps an annoying reminder of the cold to one person— is a thrilling reminder of their state of aliveness to another.

You believe in the latter. Despite it highlighting how freezing cold you feel, it makes your heart sing. Right now, you’re alive, living in this very moment. Your breath is the very proof that you’re here, experiencing something few other people understand.

The mosaic of London city lights can be seen all around you, reflecting on the swell of water that consumes the far drop below your feet.

Gratitude floats through your mind at the tight harness wrapped around your middle, attaching to the safety line behind you. Otherwise just looking down would make you loose your balance, and that's not a fall you want to experience.

Filming music videos, you’ve learnt, is no joke. Considering you’re 200 feet in the sky above the river Thames on London’s most famous bridge.

“M’pretty sure I’ve just frozen my balls off.” Louis shivers out, earning a snort from Liam who has his hands shoved under his arms— in attempt to warm them up— beside him.

The camera crew have filmed the shots planned, and a few extras for behind the scenes footage, but everything that needed to be taken has now been ticked off, and the rest of the team are beginning to get ready for the band to come back down.

“And here i was just thinking how surreal it is to be up here,” You sigh out with sarcastic whimsy, “Louis sure knows how to put it into words…”

Niall pipes in, “Best view in the whole city and Louis is talking about his junk.”

Everyone up there let’s out a belly laugh at Niall’s quip. It’s an oddly touching moment. Just the six of you feeling like you’re on top of the world, laughing at a joke about Louis dick.

A very fitting theme for a bunch of still-teenagers, you think to yourself. Heartwarming in its own odd way that makes you smile. Eyes flitting from the skyline in front of you back to the band, attempting to take in every small detail that’s painting the wondrous view ahead of you.

You’re glad you went up first, it means you can see all their faces at once when you look to the left. The toothy grins, lit up eyes, and red, wind kissed cheeks.

Especially Harry, who beside you, looks absolutely elated to be up there. The glimmer in his eye's is possessing an emotion in your chest that's admittedly different tonight in comparison to any other.

Maybe it was just your surroundings, but you’re convinced this is the most beautiful he’s ever looked. His brown curls were tousled back from the breeze, lips flushed from the cold. The big khaki jacket cast over his broad shoulders is bundling him up, yet he was still shivering slightly.

Somehow now— even in London's coldest months—his skin still appears tan. Like if you reached out and touched it, it would thrum with the warmth of his blood. A heat you want to settle into with your entire body and soul.

Forcibly, you have to tear your gaze away from him. Reminding yourself that he is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. Not someone for you to be staring at as if there was something to be entertained.

Besides, you’ve spent months gaslighting yourself into the belief it’s simply because you work together so closely. Of course your brain is trying to tell you that there’s something there!

Hell, you’ve heard the horror stories from your girls back home. Problematic shit almost always happens when they fuck around with male colleagues at their jobs. You’ve even said to them, “Is he hot, or is it just because he’s a guy at your work?”

And while your relationship with Harry is arguably a lot more personal than just two colleagues, surely the theory still applies— you’re only so attracted to him because you both work together. That’s it…

Not at all the fact he is definitely the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen.

Shaking your head— as if the physical movement will stop the internal battle between the voices in your head, you focus your eyes back to the city. Trying to memorise this beautiful sight instead, and commit each red set of break lights, and every yellow glow of someone’s window to the mental picture you’ve taken.

You wish you could know how many people are looking at the Tower bridge right now. If they have any idea that there’s 6 idiots up the top of it. It casts a familiar, deep set of wonder over you.

Are they cooking dinner, watching tv, or staring out at the world just like you? who are they with, why are they with them?

Just the notion that all the people in that city are out there, living a life as shockingly intricate, and beautiful as your own makes your heart clench. It’s a feeling you want to hold forever.

Harry notices from next to you the look on your face. He sees this look often, he knows how deep of a thinker you are. When your lips part in the slightest bit, displaying that sense of earnest shock— and your big eyes search the scene in front of them as if it might disappear on the very next blink.

You do it at airports, in every new city you visit, and onstage too— you do it almost everywhere, come to think of it.

His own mouth slants into a warm smile, even Niall has glanced over and shared a quiet chuckle at your ability to just slip into your mind every time something unreal happens to the six of you.

“Alright— we’re gonna get you guys down one by one!” A crew member's call pulls you out of your trance. Harry is almost sad to see the captivation on your face get snapped away in an instant, making him divert his attention away from you so he doesn’t get caught staring.

Given that you were the first of them to go up, you’d be the last to be lowered down. Zayn however was the last to go up, and arguably the hardest of everyone to convince to get up here.

Despite looking like he could conquer anything, and any challenge, he is scared easily of new things. Like going on a plane for the first time, or being lifted to the top of tower bridge and held by only a harness.

“Thank god—“ he sighs a chuckle, running an anxious hand through his hair as he slowly starts to shuffle along the narrow edge you’re all standing on.

“People pay good money t'do stuff like this, is the real kicker.” Liam nudges him, earning a playful eye roll from Zayn at his dig.

“Don’ get me wrong, s’beautiful, but im out of here. Back to solid ground where I belong.” He points to the mechanism that will lower him back down to the platform underneath where the crew is, hand then coming back to cling to the X shaped beams behind you all.

From what you were all told, it’s actually for maintenance… a large steel cage of sorts. One that’s clunky on the way up and down, and can’t carry more than two bodies a time— at best.

You hear the sigh of relief Zayn lets out as he steps onto the solid metal— sliding the carabiner out of the cable holding you all to the bridge. Waving a hand down to the crew to lower the lift, shouting down to them, “good to go, thank you lads!”

Once it’s back up, Liam goes down next, smiling pridefully as he gets onto the platform. Everyone knows this is a night you’ll all never forget.

Next is Louis, who does a salute to you all, “see you all on the other side,” leaving with a wink as he unclips himself once he’s in the cage.

Niall cleared his throat to shout, “Goodnight London, I bloody love ya!”

However, this is where things start to go awry. Because the platform doesn’t come back up as you and Harry had both been anticipating… causing you to both share a confused look as the final two up on the bridge.

“What the fuck…?” The two of you hear a worker cuss in annoyance, clear to you a slight commotion is going on below. It’s a very faint murmur of concerned, and also annoyed voices, that you’re straining to hear over the wind.

But suddenly Niall can be heard, loud and clear. Whatever it is can’t be that serious, because Niall is giggling? You and Harry both are leaning your heads to try and hear properly. Eventually he sounds like he’s having a full laughing fit, followed by a loud bellow of his amused tone that echoes all the way up to the two of you, “…So they’re stuck up there?”

Your heads snap to one another, locking eyes as you realise why the platform hasn’t come back up yet. Your cold hand comes over your mouth in shock trying to cover up your dropped jaw, warm breath ghosting over the red tips of your fingers.

“Fuckin— there’s no way…” Harry frowns, shaking his head, “He has to be tryin’ t’pull one over on us.”

"Gave the team 10 bucks t'act like its broken..." He murmurs to himself, pursing his lips as his head shakes in disbelief.

A part of you wishes that was the case, but your gut is telling you that its not. That sensation confirmed when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.

Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket and glance to the screen, gesturing it over to Harry. Georgie, a part of your management team was calling you. He was a short, wiry red-haired man in his late thirties, who had a really lovely husband that would bake the band cookies with their son, Thomas.

With a sigh, you answer the call— putting it on speaker and shuffling closer to Harry so he can hear what he says.

Shoulder to shoulder, he leans his head down to listen, curls brushing the top of your head.

“Hello?” You say as you hear shuffling behind the phone, biting your bottom lip with your teeth as you wait for Georgie to actually talk to you.

Finally you hear him clear his throat with a short apology, “Okay— Y/N, Harry?”

He asks this as if it weren't abundantly obvious you were the only two people up there for him to be speaking to. It makes Harry palm his forward with a slight roll of his green eyes, “Georgie, what’s goin’ on?”

Annoyed look good on him, you thought. The way his brows pinched together and his lips formed a harsh line, jaw clenching tightly.

“Don’t panic but—“

“Oh, fucks sake, we’re gonna die up here, aren’t we?” You immediately interrupted, free hand coming up to your mouth as you take the nail of your thumb between your teeth.

“No, No!” He repeats, and you know he’s down there tapping his foot on the ground like he always does in conversations.

He’s either genuinely confident, or doing a really good job at faking it as he states, “All is well— just a minor inconvenience, is all…”

Harry and you say nothing though, waiting for him to fill the silence with an explanation of what exactly is happening down there.

“The cage lift has… uh,” his tone falters as he tries to find a way to explain the situation, “It’s had a bit of an issue. It’s not going up— we’ve got people on the way to fix it, so don’t worry.”

“They think it’s a combination of the cold night and the fact it’s not been used in a few weeks… but I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you guys down.”

Niall and Louis can be heard laughing in the back, and you feel at ease knowing the bridge isn’t about to collapse under your feet. You’re safe, just stuck up there for a little longer than planned.

“Wait till the media gets a hold of this,” Harry shakes his head, but a tiny relieved smile cracks now he also knows what’s going on— and likely at the boys cackling through the line.

“For now, just hold tight. I know it’s cold but atleast there’s two of you up there—“ you both shoot each other a confused look, “And I’ll call you when the blokes with their big tools are here to fix the lift and send it up…”

“Right… so in the meantime we just stay up here. On the top of a 200ft ledge?” You clarify, stupefied at the situation you've landed yourself in.

“Uhm, yep… I’ll call you guys back when I know more.” He replied curtly, before bidding a quick goodbye and hanging up.

Given the height you’re situated at, you don’t waste any time tucking your phone safely back into the pocket of your jeans. Glancing over to Harry who is smiling out at the city, “At least you’ve got a bit more time to try and memorise all this, hey?”

“Or we’re living our last hours up here before we die of hypothermia…”

A chuckle comes from him, where he nudges your shoulder with his, “C’mon Y/N, I think they’d airlift us off the bridge before it came to that point.”

"Now that would be a news story about us," you slant your gaze to him, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, “And that's at least true, I'm just being dramatic considering the situation.”

His lips curve into a smile, shaking his head with amusement, “We’re gonna get the biggest I told you so from Zayn.”

The wind blows your hair in all directions as it randomly pushes a strong gust against you, making you reach up to try and tame it back down.

“Whose fucking idea was it to leave my hair down,” you complain, despite it actually being your own. Harrys own hand comes to try and brush it out of your squinted eyes, quietly humming, “y’shivering, love.”

The way he is so gently pushing the hair from your face, paired with the hushed pet name makes you look up to him, “And so are you…”

Internally, you are cursing. Cursing right now whatever greater force has planted your ass in this set of circumstances. Stuck up here, in arguably the most romantic spot you could be put into. Together. Right at the time the resolve you've tried so hard to maintain that Harry is 'just a friend', is starting to crash and burn.

“C’mere.” He says, the lilt in his accent is deep from the crisp air, casually wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you towards him. Just the action alone makes your whole body heat up, and your praying your cheeks are already red enough to hide the blush that's creeping hot up your neck…

Your cheek meets his shoulder, nose bumping his collarbone as he tucks you in the space between his arm and his side, the hand around your waist splaying over the knit of your sweater. He smells so good, masculine… the scent woodsy, but with an undertone of warm spices. You try not to draw in an obvious inhale against the collar of his shirt.

You adored how close a connection two of you shared, but you also hated it. Hated it because there’s no hesitancy in the way his hand curls around your side and lets your body lean into his. The this is just what friends do mentality. Especially in a situation like this, where the action can simply be justified by that, and that alone. It kills you feeling him like this, warm and gentle against your cold body, and trying to pretend like it isn't currently making your insides squirm.

“If this ledge weren’t so bloody thin, I’d wrap you up with m’jacket.” He admits, looking down at you.

He cant help but unknowingly make it worse for you.

Lips forming a thin line, you try to bite back the smile that's forcing it's way onto your face. The image playing off in your mind no matter how hard you try to wipe it. Stood here, arms slid around his toned middle, meeting together at the small of his back. oh god...

Your own hands have unconsciously braced themselves on the outer edge of his jacket, gripping it for dear life as you try to calm your racing heart.

Eyes veering outwards as you look at the scene in front of you, “it’s okay... its cold, but at least its beautiful.”

His own eyes are trailing the profile of your face, heart thrumming underneath his chest as an almost welcome heat spreads through him. He’s made a mistake pulling you into him, he should’ve known he’d bitten off more than he could chew. That he’d want more, to feel more of you than he already is.

When suddenly nothing is more appealing than leaning down and nudging your nose with his, to let your head tilt for him, so he can press a warm kiss against your mouth.

“So beautiful,” he quietly parrots, but he’s not thinking about the view.

Forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat carefully. A tiny chuckle escaping in the silence that had enveloped the two of you as you stared out at the city.

“Only this would happen to us.” He suddenly says, and you feel him draw in a deep inhale. Confused in what context he means it, you turn your head to look up at him with a puzzled smile, “What do you mean?”

“I can almost bet a thousand bucks we are probably the first and only people t'ever have this happen t'them. Somehow I find it fitting.”

“Pretty special... if you think of it like that.” You mutter, nodding slowly.

“No one can even see us, and there's a whole city out there—“ he gestures out with his finger, “that doesn’t know we’re up here.”

A morbid laugh bubbles from your throat, "I know were not gonna die up here, but if we were, I can't really imagine what the last thing I would want to do would be." You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and he's shaking his head at you.

His voice is completely normal as he ponders the thought, "Well... we’re kind of limited with what we can do because of these." His hand finds the hem of his white t-shirt, peeling the material above his belly button. It's intention to gesture to the harness flush around his middle. Your eyes however... they veer to the tan skin of his stomach, and the dark tattooed ferns that adorn his hips and bracket the dusting of hair that trails up from the band of his Calvin Klein briefs. Only graced with the sight for a few fleeting seconds before it disappears behind the white fabric once again.

You almost about choke on nothing. Having to force your throat to swallow before a bout of laughter rattles out of you without you able to stop it, "The harnesses?'

Your obviously answered question makes his brows furrow, and mouth quirk into a confused sort of smile. It only makes you laugh more, hand coming up to scrape down your face as a desperate attempt to ground your brain.

But, fuck— what he just said, you're banking it was an entirely innocent comment, and that's exactly what is causing the confusion at your disheveled reaction. But he quite literally doesn't realise what insinuation you thought he was making. And that you are imagining all kinds of depraved scenes without ability to stop.

A parallel of you only a minute earlier, he begins, "What do you—"

The pang of realisation hits him.

"...oh."

His words die where they were in his voice box, stomach churning the second he clocks onto your almost guilty laugh. The sound drips with warmth as it enters his ears.

He rolls his eyes, but suddenly his cheeks feel hot as a blush spreads across them no matter how hard he tries to will it away, "That is not what I meant! Of course you would think that."

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, knocking your elbow against the side of his ribs, "What are you trying to say about me?"

You've taken a small step back from him, hand coming to your chest as a mimic of your fake shock. You know how dangerous this is getting, and quickly at that. Breaching into uncharted territory.

"That your head is stuck in the gutter." He mumbles, blinking fast as he avoids meeting eyes with you as if you'd be able to simply see the thoughts plagued in his head now.

"It is not, you're the one that worded it weird!" You tease, arms crossing. It is truly like the rest of the world has fallen away, and like you are the only two people alive right now.

"Is so," he argues passionately back, "So far in the gutter, in fact, tell pennywise i say hi."

You burst out with a laugh, trying to tuck your cold hands between your upper arm and ribcage, "Gross, Harry. I fucking hate clowns."

"And mind you, I said nothing! You came to this conclusion on your own."

"Okay Y/N, What conclusion is it tha’ I'm coming to, if y'would be so gracious to enlighten me." Checkmate.

He's smiling now, you are red, embarrassed or worked up, or perhaps a heated mixture of both.

The ball is back in your court, and you struggle to get your mouth to move properly, "I— You cant— Don't turn this back on me!"

Suddenly, he tumbles his own inner thoughts out of his lips before he can halt them, they sound with a rasp, "Darling, you're the one having deluded n’dirty thoughts 200ft up n'the sky."

God. Does this count as foreplay to the mile high club? And fucking hell, his voice sounds too deep right now. The way his thick accent rolls the words out. Its making your head hurt.

Your earlier resolve is officially gone. It's thrown itself off the ledge of this bridge and is falling the very far drop to the bottom. And you know what, pretty sure your self respect is going with it. Between the two of them, it will be loud enough to probably hear the impact they make when they hit the water at full force.

"Probably the first person to be doing that up here, too." The words are gritted out of you as your heart pounds in your chest.

You hear the inhale he takes, deep— as if he's trying to ground himself, hold back whatever is transpiring right here, right now.

"Do have even half the idea of how badly I want t'kiss you right now?"

Your head snaps from where it was, tearing your eyes from where they'd locked onto the city skyline in attempt to distract yourself from the trouble you're about to get into. A part of you deep down realises how bad this could get quickly, how absolutely irreversible this conversation is.

And that regardless if something or nothing comes of it, you are never going to function the same. Laying in bed staring at the celling you'll see his face, next time you're on stage you'll feel your stomach drop when he looks at you, when you're in a room with him you'll cease to be able to function.

His green eyes have literally pinned you where you stand, wind toying with your hair as your lips are parted in shock.

"You don't mean that..." you stare at him, shaking your head slowly. Trying to back out of this, attempting to give him a moment to throw the blanket back over what he was uncovering.

He frowns, almost offended, as if doubting him is the worst thing there is in the world. Taking a brief step forward to fully face you, "Y/N, I would have you backed up against these beams if I wasn't literally restrained from doing so."

"What— Harry, what about—" At this rate, you're mustering up any excuse to rationalise what is happening right now, "I'm pretty sure there's strict rules against this in our contracts— you know?"

"Fuck the contracts." He immediately replies, disregarding that as a point entirely. His hand coming up to brush the brown curls that have been blown in front of his intense gaze, "Could care less 'bout them, not like we haven't broken a million other things in them."

True. You can think of several things between you and the band. You're still employed, if that says anything.

"The things I would do to you if I knew no one would interrupt" He takes another step closer to you, close enough you can reach out and touch him, "then well see about me not meaning any of this."

His voice, the absoluteness in his tone makes your head spin. Resolve slipping, cracking, completely dissipating from where it was being grappled in your palms two seconds prior to this conversation starting.

You feel like you're floating outside of your own body as your hands find the bottom of his white shirt, lifting it until you can wrap your fingers around the black harness taut around his middle. Slowly, you pull it until he is forced to step closer to you.

His heart stutters at the action... it's arguably the hottest thing a girl has ever done to him— beating a tug of belt loops or a belt by a mile. This was personal.

"This is still a problem, as you said earlier." You drawl quietly. Tone void of any indicative of emotion, the only thing he gets any intel from being the blush that's deepened on your cheeks.

There's a few ticks of silence when his chin dips to follow the action that's led your cold hands underneath his shirt, the way he stares the only point of physical contact between the two of you. But god, when your stare flickers up to him and he meets it with his own— his stomach jolts. Eyes squeezing shut as his forehead drops down, hesitating before pressing ever so slightly against your own, "Y'are too much, love."

His hands sliding up to meet your jaw, your low voice echoes out a plea, "Well, it would be a waste if we didn't."

Referring to the kiss of course, it does feel like it would be a missed opportunity to surpass right now. As, in all fairness you'll never be able to have a first kiss with Harry in a more memorable place. So even if the idea is stupid, It could be justified by that alone...

You feel his chest rumble with a deep chuckle, his lips pulling into a smile, "We'd regret it... if we didn't."

"We’d always wonder.” You nod, tone bearing on certainty as the two of you knowingly come to the biggest reach of a justification you could.

His fingers coil around your jawline, and you can feel his warm breath gently panning across your skin. It makes your eyes flutter closed, feeling his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. Eliciting a shudder that runs straight up your spine, making him smile with pride.

Tipping your chin up, he brushes his mouth over the corner of your lips. Catching them just slightly, “I’d always be thinking about what your mouth would feel like against mine,”

“And then you’d just end up kissing me anyway,” you chuckle quietly, “just in a probably less cool place.”

“Mhmm,” the low hum of agreement rumbles from his throat as finally he bears his mouth down against your own. The press of warm lips against yours making your whole body sing.

Cold was no longer a feeling in you, there was only a hot tingling sensation that’s shot through your limbs as his mouth lingers in hesitation for a moment before moving to kiss lightly against the fullness of your bottom lip.

He nearly groans when you regain enough control over yourself to actively kiss him back, leaning into his touch.

The excitement spreads through you both like wildfire— you’re kissing each other on the top of a world famous bridge. Cars below, and mentionably the crew members also underneath, have no idea. No idea the fact your hands are skating up his white shirt further until you’re palming the hard slabs of muscle over his abdomen. Not even a clue that one of his hands has taking sanctuary on your hip bone, tugging your body into his.

Your mouths work against each other, tongues suddenly getting involved when he squeezes a hand along your ribs making your lips part. His warm tongue gliding into your mouth just enough for you to taste him slightly.

“Harry,” his name is whined against his mouth, nails clawing over the skin of his chest.

“Fuck—“ he bites out, tongue lulling against your bottom lip, greedily trying to taste more of you.

The action alone is enough to make your knees nearly give out, “I need—“

Your desperate words are cut off, the sound of your phone ringing bringing you both to an instant halt.

There’s a shared look, both taking in what you’ve done to one another. Left standing here with eyes half lidded and lips swollen— looking entirely, wholeheartedly, fucked.

A tortured sigh comes from you as he promptly leans back down and kisses your mouth. If it had anything to do with you, you'd let the call ring out just to have more of this. He is more sensible than that, clearly. As his hand comes to the back pocket of your jeans, sliding your buzzing phone out into his palm.

Wanting to whine when he pulls away, a part of you is battling all your logic and is begging to stay up here with him. For how long? You don’t care, forever as far as you’re concerned. Fighting the urge to just grab your phone and throw it off the ledge, purely so his hands can busy themselves on your skin again.

Harry clears his throat before tapping the accept button, hoping to god he can muster a normal sounding voice.

Georgie’s voice comes through first, less shuffling on his end of the phone this time— indicating some higher level of organisation in comparison to earlier, you assume.

“Harry, Y/N! Platforms on its way up you two, everything okay?”

“Yep, Georgie,” he nods, pursing his lips as his eyes find your to pin you with a stare, “things are good.”

A small laugh and he replies, “Well— I can’t really tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic but I’ll take it.”

“Anyway, once it’s up there we’ve been told strictly to keep it one at a time to come down just to be on the safe side so it doesn’t malfunction again.”

“Very reassuring…” Harry drawls with slight grimace, glancing over to where the metal cage is rising up.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he scolds playfully over the speakers, making Harry roll his eyes— but a playful smile falls on his lips.

“See you soon, thanks for saving us Georgie, I owe ya one.”

You finally lean towards the phone, “I second this, thank you.”

“Not a worry, didn’t want that much paperwork on a Friday night.” He teases, before ending the call with a quick ‘see you soon.’

Harry’s eyes return to you. Your lips part and draw in a hushed gasp as he leans back into your space. Hands slowly sliding around your middle. Making that same breath catch in the middle of your throat as he pulls you in, slowly, almost sensually as his eyes drop to your lips.

He lingers against you, a tease, you already know it.

Proving you right, he deposits your phone back safely into your back pocket, applying a few gentle taps to the swell of your ass as he leans back again.

"H." is all you can say, and at this point it comes from you as almost a whine. But it saying exactly what you want without having to even tell him.

A grin is plastered on his handsome face at the blush that’s already torn its way back through you. His bashful smirk mirroring that of two teenagers that have sneaked a kiss before going back to their friends or family.

Which is exactly what he does, struggling not to smile against your mouth as he presses warmly, firmly against you. Giving you exactly what you wanted.

Allowing you both as much time as reasonably possible to soak in the feeling before he starts to pull away, your body almost instinctually following his movement— leaning further, pecking against his mouth until he steadies your shoulders with his hands.

A soft chuckle breathily escaped him, heart nearly melting inside his chest as your wide, wild eyes stare up at him. A tiny, smile on your own mouth now, one he reaches up to thumb delicately over.

The touch is earnest and makes you nearly sink into yourself— or better yet, sink into him.

A light hum of pleasure, and then he pulls away, turning to start walking along the ledge.

Carefully, you both shuffle to where the platform is now fully stationary. As he takes a step onto it, feet planting solidly onto the metal, you see a sense of relief on his face. Hands working to unbuckle the carabiner, and his eyes flitting back to yours.

You’re staring at his hands… the way they seamlessly open the clasp. You’ve always been drawn to them, the firm tendons that run into his fingers. He catches you doing this, and whether or not he knows you’re ogling the stature of his hands, the smirk on his face is all consuming.

You roll your eyes bashfully at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms all in an attempt to be normal about this. But struggling to come across to him as unaffected by this whole ordeal.

He is having none of it.

“M’not done with you, love. Not even close.”

And that’s the last thing he said before the platform started the trip back down. Suddenly you are alone up here once again. The moment of solitude very sobering in a situation as such.

Unbelievable to consider that if you told yourself two hours ago that by the end of the night, you had made out with Harry up here, you would’ve believed sooner that you were having hallucinations than actually thought it were true.

Your brain is going over it and over it, like a flashbulb memory, all you can think about is him, and what you’d just done.

“Fuck sakes.” You cursed, hand coming up over your eyes in attempt to quell the thoughts.

It was closest to a face palm. Your palm immediately clapped over your eyes. It’s to no use though, as even behind the darkness of shut and covered eyelids you could still see him, still feel him. The sensation of his fingers softly grazing over the skin of your ribcage, slipped tentatively underneath the knit of your sweater. The heat of his tongue lulling gently into your mouth.

M’not done with you, love. Not even close…

The sound of his voice, even if it’s simply the imagination of it in your own head, it reignited the heat in your stomach— if it ever truly went away— making it churn with heavy desire. Almost worse than earlier, now that you had to stand here and suffer through it stationary.

Dragging your heavy hand up to take place in your hair, you push the loose strands out of your face, and tug at its roots.

With now open eyes, the city stared back at you. Supplying you with a mocking silence. As if to imply, I saw what you just did. Watched you kiss someone you shouldn’t, and not even just once by any means. You went back for more even after it stopped. Got your hands and feelings involved.

You attempted to smooth your hair down, annoyed that your guilt has conjured into the city of London taking over your internal monologue. It was messy as you combed your fingers through it, but whether it was Harry or the wind, you’re hoping that— and the rest of your disheveled appearance— can be attributed to the cold and wind entirely.

Which suddenly, that cold felt so much harsher now Harry was no longer up there with you. Either it was his body heat pressed against you that heated you up, or kissing him had that much of an affect on you. Tragically, you’re ball parking that it’s a torturously attractive combination of them both.

When the platform thankfully returns up, you steal a final glance out at the Thames and London. Definitely a sight you’ll have burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

Stepping onto the platform, you felt equal parts relief and anxiety. God forbid people can sense something is different between you two… and this is not a situation you’ve ever been in before. Who knows your own capacity to hold a convincing lie about something like this.

The second you’re down all the way and the platform meets the ground, you’re greeted with a flurry of workers and people from the crew. All chorusing questions of ‘are you okay?’ to you as if you’d been up there for days without food or water.

Tamara, one of the women on the styling teams, rushed up to you with a thick black coat, shawling it over you and rubbing your shoulders, “here lovie, y'shaking like a leaf you poor thing... this’ll warm you up.”

Her lower lip pouted out in sympathy for you, her dark curls of hair casting over her eyes as she spoke “Gosh, you look so cold, the wind up there must’ve been so chilly… your cheeks are all red— and your hair's all over the place."

At least she was attributing it all to the cold wind, and wasn't immediately aware you'd just snogged with your bandmate up there. Either way the slight shake to your hands was the last of your worries, and your gaze has landed on Harry— but he was already looking at you.

His stare said it all really, the look of we have unfinished business all over his face. The tiny curve to the corner of his mouth that may go unnoticed to everyone else but you. Possibly because you had his tongue in your mouth less than half an hour ago, but still— you pick up on it all the same.

Georgie is fussing over him currently, and Harry takes a second to break the eye contact the two of you held, pausing to let out a breathy laugh as he turns to Georgie, “And surely after all this excitement we get to go back to the hotel room— no more crazy behind the scenes to film?”

Tamara’s ears perk and she overhears him, nodding as she rubs your shoulder, “we’ve already got a car down there to get you back to the hotel."

You thank god for the bridge being closed to traffic, entirely unable to imagine trying to trudge through hordes of tourists and potentially fans just to get back to a car.

Several people escort you and harry down the stairs to where a black car is parked opposite to the exit.

Tamara opens the door for you both, and you share a look before scooting into the backseats. Georgie gets into the front passenger seat, greeting the driver politely. Already clued in on the mishap on the bridge, they waste no time having a relieved laugh about you both getting down in one piece.

The heater is already cranking in the black car, heating your skin. Harry pats the middle seat with his hand, giving you a look. It lingered like an unspoken sentence in the glimmer of his green eyes, and the tiny upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth.

Next to me, it said.

Like it was less question, and more that he needed you next to him more than anything else in the world right now.

And as you’re coming to realise, this look on his face can pretty much get you to do anything. It’s only telling how far that alone could take you. So you silently settle into the middle seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself. Buckling it in, feeling Harry’s thigh gently press against your own.

There are so many unspoken words floating in the air between you two. Things you want to say, things you want to do, all suspended above you. Making you wonder if Georgie— who is rugged up in the front seat and is apparently accompanying you both on the ride back to the hotel— can sense it too.

However, he seems oblivious despite your expectation for him to be the opposite. He pays no additional mind to you both, other her than the slight dart of his eyes to your body taking up the middle seat instead of the window seat behind him.

Your teeth are working over the skin on the corner of your lower lip as you’re driving back towards central London. Delmar, the driver whose name you’ve overheard in passing as Georgie and him acquainted, is weaving back into the thick of the cities traffic as you’re off the closed bridge.

Harry’s eyes are cast outside the window, but his hands are deciding to play a dangerous game. Simply at the fact he cannot help himself. He’s aware that Georgie is distracted, and is taking the opportunity to innocently flex his knuckles against your knee. Breaching the gap from where his hand rests atop his own. The warm city lights are cutting a deep shadow across his jaw, outlining the smirk on his side profile.

It conveys his need to touch you, that your body filling up the space next to him is not enough. Although you have to hold back an exasperated sigh at his actions, and how he is only making this worse for you, you end up sliding your hand down your thigh, slowly and carefully.

It's likely that you're just as bad as him, because you brush your hand against his— Nothing but your pinky stretched out, grazing his. Both of your eyes shifting upwards to lock with each other, then back to Georgie. A silent acknowledgment at how careful the two of you have to be right now.

Slowly, you link your pinky around his own, catching his ring finger too as he curls them against you. The delicate touch is somehow a head-spinning mix of sincere and beautiful, but also so insanely attractive.

He's smiling, a wide grin that his free hand attempts to cover as his elbow rests on the car door. Covering the dimples you wanted to take in, allowing you only the sight of slightly crinkled eyes from how hard he's smiling underneath the palm of his hand. To put it simply, right now he looks like an art piece. His chocolate curls over his forehead, and the smile on his face you know that you're the cause of. Hands brushing together, hidden between the both of you— all in the back of a car, trying to hide it like true teenagers.

It's sudden when you realise you are in the exact same state, struggling to disguise the curve of your mouth from not only Harry, but the other two people in the vehicle. Trying to press your lips together as he plays with your fingers. Hands soft and warm against yours, your eyes casting down to where they're joint together between the two of your knees. Just barely. Small enough a move to ensure you're the only two that know about it, but also enough to make your stomach churn with need.

I want his mouth on mine again, your brain chimes.

Before your brain can send you spiraling back into the memory of you two kissing, the sound of your name from the front seat cuts through it.

"Y/N, You were up there, tell Delmar what it was like!"

Snapping your gaze back to Georgie, he serves a unintentional reality check for you.

"Oh, uhm—" Shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts, you endeavor to form a coherent sentence. Harry's hand gently, and as discretely as possible, slides out of yours, taking its place back on his own thigh. If you were to look, you'd see that the smile on his face has somehow gotten wider, as if the aspect of being nearly caught out in the backseat of the car is the most amusing thing in the world.

Amplified by him listening to you stumble over your words, that too is endearingly hilarious. A true gentlemen.

However, you're now unable to find the words for what happened up there that don't relate to having someone kissing you over and over again.

"Well, you can imagine it was beautiful," A tiny, pained chuckle comes out of you, "London is... massive— from up there, y'know?"

God. You sound like such an idiot, you already know that.

The driver laughs and nods at your attempt to tell the story, voice warm and sincere as he replies, "Some things can be hard to put into words, I understand."

You take a moment to realign your thoughts, come up with anything better than 'London is... massive'.

Finally smiling back at him, you draw in a breath, trying to articulate the feeling prior to getting distracted up there with your bandmates mouth, "Well, the city lights are kind of like a warm sky of stars... Hard to believe that there's so many people in London when you look at it from that high up."

He hums at your much better description of the sight, and of course— just as anyone would, he curiously asks a few more questions.

Such as 'how long were you up there? were you scared?' All of which Georgie unfortunately does not swoop in on to steer the conversation again, as he too wants to hear the experience from you.

Delmar does eventually cast his attention to Harry's broad frame in the rear view mirror, quizzing him on his own outlook on the event, making you thankful to have a second to breath and not be skirting around the fact you made out with the person sitting currently right next to you.

He handles the questions with tragic ease— or at the very least it comes off that way— but you can hear how he is still trying not to laugh. And the way he's knocking your thigh with his every chance he gets when the eyes in the front of the car aren't on either of you.

The streets and the traffic within them get busier as the hotel the band is staying at draws close. Delmar weaving into the back lot so you can both get inside discreetly, not forgetting to thank you for the pleasurable chat. His kind words you both smile, and Harry isn't shy to also gives his gracious appreciation, "Drive was a dream, thank you mate, 'ave a lovely rest of your night."

His hand comes to open the car door, allowing him to slide out— But once he's standing, he gestured out his palm for you to take as your feet come to the asphalt below. The smirk on his face as you take it is enough to make you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the effect it has on you.

He leans discretely down to your ear, speaking only loud enough for you both to hear, "I know I will."

A wink to you, and it feels like your knees are going to give out simply where you stand. He gives it a squeeze before breaking off to shut the car door, and walk over to where Georgie is standing.

“Tamara told me they’ve got hot chocolates prepared in the foyer for you two.” Georgie informs you both, typing quickly back to Tamara on his phone before leading you both in through the back entrance of the hotel. Harry’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket as you walk beside him, likely to stop himself from caving and trying to grab your hand or arm in his as you walk behind Georgie.

The air is contrastingly cold compared to the warm car, which brings another bout of relief when you to get back into the heated hotel lobby.

Surely enough, a short, older lady comes out from a kitchen area upon you all entering. Promptly walking up to Georgie with a tray with 3 large cups filled with the sweet beverage. He gasps in excitement as she approaches, remarking sweetly that "Tam even got me one, what a sweetheart!"

"Bet thats the real reason y'came back with us." Harry teases, then nods in greeting to the lady holding the tray of drinks, "Thanks for these, love."

Even she looks up at him with a big grin. Reminding you of the way the elderly ladies talked about the boys when you were filming earlier for this music video. Harry— and all the others— just have that charm about them. Clearly it lacks a generational age limit. And you know what, you cant even blame her. She gets it.

"Not a worry darling's, buzz us if you all need anything else,” You give her a smile as she reaches to pat your arm, “it should warm everyone up.”

“Thank you so much.” You affirm as you clasp the hot cup from the tray.

Heading towards the posh elevator, Georgie presses the up button and is talking to Harry about tomorrow, how he has a fitting for a suit. Something about an awards show. You're struggling to pay attention, as you know all three of you are headed to the same floor. Not only does Georgie have to think you're going back to your respective rooms for the night, but if any of the other boys waited up for you two, there is no way you're going to get to be alone tonight.

Harry is busy entertaining Georgie's itinerary as you step into the elevator, his hand reaching for the '32' button on the control panel. The descent up each floor feels like it drags on forever, anticipation for how this is going to play out genuinely killing you.

When the large silver doors open to the 32nd floor, all of you walk out in tandem onto the tiled hallway. Your rooms are all pooled together at the start of the hall, meaning there’s hardly any further to walk once you’re out of the elevator.

Your own keycard for your room is in your phone case, so you reach to pop the case off and slide it out as you come to a stop outside the large white doors of your room.

"Well," You clear your throat, eyes darting between Harry and Georgie, "Glad we all survived that ordeal, I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow."

A small buzz sounds from the sensor as you hold the card over it, a small green light flashing.

“Mhm, tomorrow.” Harry affirms casually, casting a sly nod your way from where he stands on the opposite side of the hallway. Standing outside his own room, fishing out a keycard from deep in the pocket of his jeans.

Georgie, who is happily and unknowingly pushing open his own door, chuckles at your comment, "Definitely glad, see you two in the morning."

With a small smile, he makes sure to squeeze in a a final reminder to Harry, "H, half ten tomorrow, don't forget."

The two of you have both slid inside your respective hotel rooms as Harry laughs quietly, replying to him, "Wouldn't dare."

Waiting, your free hand clutches the door. Admiring his face in the warm glow of the hall lights, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the room Georgie was disappearing into. As you watch, you’re taking a sip of your hot chocolate when his gaze finally darts to yours as the click of a door sounds up the hall.

Now you’re just looking at each other, tension in the air thick and warm. He’s smiling as he mimics your behaviour, taking a leisurely drink from his own cup without breaking eye contact.

Given the few seconds of silence, you are certain that no one is going to disturb you, and a sense of relief washes over you. Finally. Other than the pounding of your heart in your chest, everything around you is quiet. You peak your head around the smooth rim of the doorframe, all the doors were shut, and the rooms were hushed.

By some grace of god, not only has one of your managers gone to bed without any hunch as to what’s going on, but the rest of your bandmates too. And it really is just the two of you.

Harry’s gaze is burning into with an equal grin when you look back to him. Revelling in the privilege he feels watching you step quietly back into the hall, turning your body to very gingerly tug your door closed again.

You cannot be closing the gap between you both fast enough, you’re practically running across the hall, shoes lightly clacking against the tiles to reach him before this perfect opportunity could be interrupted by a single soul. Pursing your lips as you step across the threshold of his door and the hallway, forcing back a laugh that’s bubbling in your chest at the situation.

Not wasting a second more, you invade his space. Leaning into the curve of his body where his arm is braced against the door he’s holding open.

“Hi…” Your hand reaches up to meet the back of his neck, where it cranes to look down to meet your eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, eyes fluttering as he takes you in. The black of his pupils have blown out over the mosaic of emerald green surrounding them, dilated in what can only be described as sheer anticipation. Conveying the want and need he feels without having to speak more than a word. That alone is something you can’t handle for half a moment longer, because suddenly your hand sinks into the soft curls at his nape, and you’re pulling to tug his head further down. Moulding your lips together in a single, rushed movement.

There’s no words that can do justice the feeling that explodes in your chest. Little buds of heat bloom and flower in there faster than you can keep up with, kicking your lungs into a pant as his tongue can’t help but get involved immediately— lulling over the fullness of your bottom lip. The firm press of a single kiss had promptly melted into a plethora, one after the other as your lips show no mercy against one another.

You have to physically focus to keep the cup from slipping from your grip. A nearly impossible feat when his tongue is invading the gap between your top and bottom lip, gliding into your mouth with a hum from his throat at the taste of you. Warm and chocolatey, a flavour he wants to sink in.

Harry too tastes of the warm drink, a sweet contrast to earlier— when your tongue tingled from the spearmint on his breath. Your body leans into his. More, more, more, your brain is practically begging. Naturally it causes him to stumble back as your chest is arching to press against his own. The softness of your body makes him want to groan, and his hand almost instinctually leaves its hold on the doorframe to meet the dip of your waist. Supporting your stature as he pulls you to follow each step back he takes.

With a loud slam, the door falls shut, eliciting a slight flinch and laugh from you both. Like you didn’t expect it. As if natural consequences don’t exist right now, and the world around you is falling away with every press of lips against skin. There is no actions causing reactions, except the ones happening solely between the two of your bodies.

“Oh god—“ You sputter a strained laugh, hand stroking along his jawline as your eyes dart to the now shut door. It’s thrown the room into darkness, except for the faint glow London’s city lights have provide from his window on the opposite side of the room. “So much for being discrete… and quiet.”

This lighting bought the sharp shadows back onto his face, but this time you can finally touch them— revel in them.

“You’ll be more worried about quiet later, darling.” His voice comes low against your cheek, hand on your hip. Guiding you backward until the small of your back meets the cool countertop of the kitchenette.

His words bring that familiar, pleasure-filled roll into your stomach. Drawing out a tiny whine from your throat as he smirks against your flushed skin. Placing a peck against your cheekbone, he lingers for a few seconds. Letting the warmth of his lips burn a mark into the very nerves they touch, before pulling back to take a swig of the hot chocolate between his hands. Using his free one to now guide your own cup towards your mouth.

As your big eyes look up to him, he breaks his lips from the lid to speak, “drink s’more, it’ll be a cold chocolate by the time we come back to it.”

Chuckling around the edge of the cup, you press your mouth to it and let the sweet and warm liquid trail down your throat. He watches intently, the way you swallow it down— knuckles coming to run from the base of your throat upwards, tracing along the hook of your jaw.

He has to stifle a groan at the sight of you, the way your throat bobs with your red cheeks and messy hair. It translates instead through the clench of his jaw, and fluttering shut of his green eyes. The expression makes your stomach flip, not only warm from the hot chocolate, but from the arousal that’s sparking heat in every part of your body it can tangibly reach.

“Fuck— H,” you say, turning to push the takeaway cup on the counter behind you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, look at you.”

Finally, that groan escapes him simply at your words. Furthering into something more as now both of your hands run up his white shirt. No longer stopped by the barrier of a body harness, you skate along the taut, firm muscles of his abdomen in one long stroke.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” he curses, eyes darting down to meet where your hands have slid up his shirt— again, for the second time tonight.

It’s a much more heated parallel of earlier, one he takes no hesitancy to act on. Leaning into your touch, he turns briefly to place his cup adjacent to yours on the bench top. Feeling your nails scratch along his abs, he is quick to move so he’s facing you again, planting his lips back on your own and reigniting the fiery kiss.

With two free hands now, he runs them up your hips, firmly pulling you against him as he walks you away from the kitchenette. Your feet stumble along with his long strides, brain struggling to pay attention to anything other than the drag of his hot kiss against you.

It’s clear all resolve is lost to you both, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the cool comforter… “Im gonna wreck you, love… if you’ll let me.” The depraved words are whispered against your lips.

His body presses you down, you have to sit now, thighs meeting the bed and your lips disconnecting. The sudden distance causes you to whine, “Harry—“

“You’re going to have to tell m’too stop.” He rasps, the heat of his palms travelling up under your sweater. However this time, they traverse higher than just your ribcage— ghosting over the sides of your breasts.

The sight is obscene on its own, despite all articles of clothing still being on. The tension around you both is crowding the air to the point your lungs are heaving to bring any oxygen left into them.

Finally, your brain manages to string a sentence together, “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t think you realise what you’ve done to me.”

The urgency held in your words starkly highlights how fast your need for him has snowballed. You’ve gone from wanting just his lips, to wanting every inch of him. Needing his body pressed against yours, pressed into you. You grasp his hips and tug him to stand between your parted legs.

Once you’d done that, if that hadn’t thrown your last handful of caution to the wind, your fingers now reach for the hem of your sweater.

This was a greenlight. It was a go ahead to cross a line that you both knew shouldn’t be crossed. As it was no longer just words. Not just strung up whispers that imply a want, it was an action that affirmed it. One that drags a growl from him once your hands have shucked the knit from your body, leaving you in just bra and jeans, “pretty little thing y’are.”

“We’re making a mistake, probably,” you pant out, reaching your arms up to his shoulders, grabbing the collar of his jacket to slowly slide it off him. The thick fabric hitting the floor with a gentle thump, “but I don’t fucking care.”

“Mistake is already long done baby, we made that hours ago when we first did this.” He finally cranes down again, pressing a wet kiss against you, making you almost moan.

“Fuck it,” I rasp, “I need you Harry, I wanna do this. Don’t care how stupid we are for it.”

Breaking away from the kiss, his eyes bore down at you as his jaw forms a hard line, “You want this? Need y’to say it…”

His sentence trails off, allowing you a moment to verbalise a yes. A seek for certain consent turns you on even more.

“If it’s not already obvious,” your response comes out in a breathy, almost tortured chuckle, “I do, H.”

It’s like his expression flips. As if his gaze darkens, and now all he wants is to make you feel everything he possibly can, “Right, darling— gonna have to be quiet tonight, though.”

Tonight. God— in your head this implied a want for this to go on for more than just one night. That it’s not just a one and done situation. Your body reels at the imagery it creates in your head.

The picture that shows more than tonight, the two of you sneaking around all over again. Fucking him in his dressing room before soundchecks, in dark hotel rooms, climbing into his bunk on the bus…

And right now, somehow that’s all you want for your future.

“I can…” you nod, “I’ll be quiet if it means I get you, please.”

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, the plea so desperate that it comes from you in a tone you’ve simply never heard before. In response, his hands make quick work of your bra as they skate up the skin of your back to meet the clasp— shedding it off your body with a gentle groan.

He lowers you down with his arms, letting your back meet the mattress as he closely follows with his mouth on your neck.

“Already being so good for me,” he rumbles, voice so deep it has you nearly seeing stars, “will y’let me turn the lamp on baby? Want to see you, properly.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you nod. He wants to revel in your body, see every reaction it has to offer— and that’s enough to have goosebumps rattle up your skin.

However, your nod alone doesn’t satisfy him.

His hands run up your waist, skirting up your ribcage as his lips instead move down. Mouthing over your clavicle, “Words, love…” making you whine out when his sucks lightly over the skin.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes… yes turn the lamp on…” The words almost shudder out your chest, evoking a smirk from him against your collarbone.

“Good girl.”

His words are foreplay enough on their own with the way his sweet accent twists them out. They replay over and over again as some part of your brain registers the sound of his feet walking across the floor, and the lamp flicking on. Casting a warm glow across the room.

“Want to see you too...”

The sentence comes out of you airy, as if you’re floating. When turns around to come back to you, he audibly groans just at the sight of you. The way your skin is peppered with goosebumps and nipples perked from the cool air of the hotel room.

His steps take him quickly back to you, your eyes big as they stare up at him, hair fanned across the duvet. He reaches a hand to run lightly over your hip, “God, you are fucking divine.”

Shyly, you smile. A part feeling so out of place as you watch him looking at you. Knowing Harry is perceiving you right now— your body from the chest up entirely naked— seeing you in a way he never has before. In attempt to even the playing field slightly, you reach for the white tee that’s fitted across his chest, tugging the hem of it so he gets the hint.

As he peels it off his torso and you want to cry. The abs on his chest are in front of you, along with every inch of tan skin that’s littered in the dark ink. Secretly, his tattoos have always been something you’ve wanted to trace your tongue over. An urge you’ve been denying since he got the first one, and it’s only grown since… the idea of re-carving the lines of the butterfly that sits in the middle of his abdomen with the heat of your mouth… or perhaps lower over the laurels that bloom from the band of his jeans.

“You look so good… so beautiful, H.” Is all you manage to groan out. Your legs part instinctively as you spew out compliments, letting him step between your thighs again. Filling the space like the piece of a puzzle, he slots perfectly between them.

Wasting no time before taking his lips to your breast, kissing over you and making your back arch. Hands coming back to the dark curls on his head, lacing into them as his mouth works delicately over you.

The whimpers that are echoed around the room are enough to drive him insane. Tiny whines and pleas of his name coming from you as your hands tangle further into his hair— pulling at the soft roots. Your body is reacting to his touch like it’s lighting a fire inside of you.

“Harry— fuck—“ when he looks up to you, he sees your flushed cheeks and screwed shut eyes. That paired with the slight upturn of your brows as your hips suddenly— and desperately— grind into him is enough to make him nearly loose it. He’s unable to take it anymore, and seeing you like this is utterly corrupting him.

His kisses work a trail back up your neck and jaw, meeting your eager lips before muttering with hot breath against you, “Y’are unbelievable, love. Gonna completely ruin myself in you…”

His hands are nearly shaking as he presses his hips flush to your core.

“Ohh—“ your voice croons out as you feel him, the hardness snug between your legs. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt. Your whole body practically gives out just from that simple action alone.

He is truly going to ruin you and himself in the process.

And happily, you’ll let him.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, over your naval to pop the button of your jeans open with a single hand. Watching his plump bottom lip come between his teeth as your hips instinctively rise upwards to help him slide the tight fabric down your frame.

“That’s m’girl,” he murmurs, patting your exposed hipbone as he slips yours jeans off you. The way his pupils have blown out as he peels them below your core, eyes meeting the fabric of your panties.

“What’s all this?” Once your pants are stripped from your legs, his fingers take place gently to press between your parted thighs. Delicately drifting over the wetness that’s seeped through your already thin pair of underwear.

“T-the panties, or the state that they’re in?” You manage to croak out in amusement, tone tight as he touches over the most sensitive parts of you.

“Because arguably, both are for you.”

“For me…” He hums, “Skimpy pair of panties, and the fact y’ve wet them all the way through… both of those things are all f’me, love?”

His finger plucks underneath the seam of your underwear, yanking the lacy material forwards before letting it snap back into place. Only making you moan aloud, “Fuck—“

“It’s been—“ his thumb runs against you, firmer this time, breaking your voice, “it’s been a long night—“

To your admission he only smirks, unbuttoning his own jeans— again, all with the talent of a single hand. As his other is busy with the ministrations it’s working over your clothed core.

“Mm, wouldn’t want to drag it out any longer, hey baby?” His playful voice making you practically clench… “or should I make you come a couple of time first…”

Suddenly, he’s shucked his own jeans off and kicked them over into the haphazardly made pile of other clothes on the floor. And the simple but absolutely mouth watering pair of CK briefs is all he’s left in. His hard cock filling up the space in them, making it abundantly clear he’s working with a lot tonight.

He leans back into your ear, feeling your legs wrap around the backs of his thighs like you’re trying to mould the two of you together, “Could work over your pretty pussy with m’fingers, get it nice and wet.”

The filth from his mouth only makes you moan, tightening your legs and finally feeling the length of his cock back against your cunt.

There’s few layers between you now, and his hands meet your hips to hold you in place flush with himself, “fuck—“

“Could play with you using my mouth for a bit—“ he bites out, already struggling to regulate his breath, “reckon you’d loose it the second I got m’lips around your clit.”

Jesus Christ.

“H— please—“ your words are desperate, voice growing louder.

“Or does my pretty girl just want my cock? Is it too much for you to wait before y’have me— y’just need to be filled up now?”

You rub firmly up against him, a long drag that has him muffling a groan into your neck— teeth grazing the skin of your ear as he revels in the feeling entirely.

“Want it now,” you conclude, “can’t stop thinking about you just stretching me out.”

“God— you are such a fucking tease, y’don’t even realise it,” he growls, kicking back into action as his rough hands travel down your side to hook into your panties.

“Laying here, begging for my cock like a good girl.” The rasp in your voice only makes you more turned on… and the pet name— that in itself is enough to keep you here all night. All things he’s about to witness first hand as he steps back so he can work your underwear off your body.

“Lift y’hips up, dove, let me see your pretty cunt.”

He moans at the sight.

Your panties aren’t even off you and he’s moaning like he’s a starved man.

“Fuck, baby.” There’s a desperate sound to him as he sees your swollen cunt, green eyes raking over the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. Unblinking, scared as if you might disappear.

His own moans kick you off too, making you whine out your own plea, “God— Harry, please…”

He manages to get the panties off you, and now he’s able to spread your legs and really look at you. Hands coming between your knees to part them.

You’re a mess.

A complete and utter mess.

“Hiding this gorgeous cunt from me for so long, never knew you’d get this wet f’me.” He groans, fingers coming to your cunt and spreading you open, “puffy clit looks like it’s been wanting attention for hours, darling.”

The sensation ripples through you body, washing up your spine with a chill that he can almost see, “I— shit…” your voice shudders, “feels like it.”

“Kills me thinking you were this ready for me when we were in the car, or god— on that fucking bridge.”

He swirls his thumb over your clit, your arousal glistening on the pad of his finger. You’re begging before you can stop yourself, backs of your legs tightening around his as you groan, “Harry, please, don’t tease me.”

This pulls a chuckle from his chest, rumbling as he flicking over you gently, “M’not teasing y’baby, just enjoying you.”

His finger slowly dips inside of you, “S’this better, this what my girl wanted?”

“Fuckk…” you roll against his hand, feeling him work a second one into you at your reaction. Relishing the feeling of you around his fingers, the wetness he can’t believe he’s managed to be the cause of.

Never in a million years did he imagine the two of you would be in a situation like this, yet here you are. Breath panting out of lungs as he smirks down at you, watching your brows knit together with every slow curl of his long fingers.

Suddenly, he verbalises this, “Never thought I’d get you under me like this, that I’d get to see you all worked up for me.”

“I—“ you bite your lip as his thumb comes back to gently stroke your clit while his other fingers ease in and out of you. The pace excruciatingly slow, considering you just wanted him to flip you over and fuck you senseless— but is causing a deep winding in the pit of your stomach.

It’s another moment where your mouth and brain struggle to match up, but finally, you push out a reply, “I’ve always been denying that I’ve wanted this… but fuck.”

“Mm?” He hums, cocking a brow and urging you to keep talking with a quicker thrust of his fingers, “Care to tell me more, love, about these thoughts of yours?”

“Always pretended I didn’t, but fuck I’ve wanted to have you—“ he hooks his fingers, “B-but— fuck, Harry— I’ve wanted your cock for so long…”

His mouth is suddenly on yours, a rough and messy exchange— tongues running over lips, teeth grazing already kiss swollen mouths. It’s a kiss that you’re both groaning into, yours perpetuated as his fingers slide out from between your core.

An unwelcome emptiness to your body, especially given the pleasure it was slowly building up for you.

However, this is no longer an issue when he leans to your ear, “I have condoms, baby— just say the words.”

“Yes, yes, please—“ you croak out, hands running up his bare back before he doesn’t waste any time breaking away from you.

Trying to make it quick as you lie there awaiting his return, a hand running between your own legs in the meantime.

He comes back with a small square packet, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees the sight of you. When he thinks there’s no way his cock could get harder, he’s proved wrong when he catches glimpse of your own fingers pushed into you.

“So desperate,” he almost growls as he walks over, pushing boxers down his thighs without a second thought. A moan escaping you at the sight of his thick cock springing up, lust driving the both of you now— its deep hooks sunk into you in their entirety.

“They don’t feel the same though, do they?” He asks, eyes dark as his hand runs down the middle of his stomach to come wrap around his length and slowly stroke over it, “don’t hear you moaning like you were five minutes ago.”

“Fucking hell,” your hips feel like they’re on fire, another roll against your own hand but he’s right, “no, nothing is as good…”

“I have a feeling we’re going to fuck ourselves up here,” he pauses, taking the wrapper of the condom between his teeth and tearing it. Hand rolling it over his length— his teeth sucking his bottom lip between them at the sensitivity. His nose sighs out a breath after a moment, glancing back over to you, continuing on from what he was saying a moment prior, “tha’ no matter how hard we try we’re always gonna want this.”

His hands gesture between the two of you, and despite how many problems that idea alone could spell you, you nod feverishly, “I’ll have it… I’ll take it that way if it means I get to have you.”

With that, he’s stepping forward and taking the space between your thighs, “guess the damage is already done, anyway.”

His breath is laboured as he pulls your ass forward, cock pressed against your core.

“You tell me baby,” Harry sighs out, leaning his body over yours again from where he stands at the edge of the bed, lips grazing your cheek in a soft but heated movement, “tell me just how you want it.”

There’s an element of tenderness and care in the way the hushed words fan warmly across your face. Intimate with the way the two of you are pressed together… almost as close as you can get. One step away from being two halves that form some kind of messy, beautiful whole.

Your hands embrace the moment, sliding between your chests to cradle his jaw. A tiny laugh coming from you as his gaze flickers down to your breasts, and how they’ve pushed together from your arms. As a silent acknowledgment of your giggling at him, he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.

And oh god, he is beautiful.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Plain and simple, the words come from your hushed voice, “Want you just like this, H.”

His lips part, looking at you.

“Want you close, just want you to fuck me.”

And how could he ever say no to that.

A hand wrapping around his cock, he carefully lines himself up with you, leaning back to kiss you as he slowly, so very slowly, pushes into you.

There’s a gasp that immediately comes from you, and a moan that rumbles from him. Shared between the fraction of space between your lips, opened both in shock and pleasure.

“Fucking hell—“ his voice is so deep as he leans his forehead to yours, hair messily cascading over it, “so tight ‘round me.”

“Harry— f— shit…” you can’t even complete a sentence, even with the litany of profanities that are echoing in the chambers of your head.

“That feel good?” He asks, hand coming to your waist as he slides further into you, finally reaching the thick middle of his cock.

“Mmm…” only able to nod, your hips are rolling on their own accord now. The slight pinch of him stretching you out, paired with that pleasurable fullness that neither of your fingers could come close to.

His body straightens up at the buck of your cunt against him, “D—fuck—dontfuckingmove—“

It feels like all the blood in his body has deviated in two directions. Firstly, into his head, making him feel so lightheaded the room is nearly slanted. And secondly, straight to his cock, pulsing inside of you so hard you can feel it.

You moan at the sensation, and at the rough clamp of his fingers around your hips— attempting to still them, “baby, don’t… just— just need a moment, or I’m gonna come before I can even ruin you…”

“Already ruined,” you pant, eyes coming to his as sweat starts to dampen your skin— a light sheen over your glowy complexion.

“So fucking filthy.” He mutters, looking down between the two of you.

His cock half pushed inside you he’s certain is the best view he’s ever seen. Better than any view from the top of a bridge, a mountain, or any other landmark in the world.

Your swollen, glistening cunt wrapped around him, already leaking arousal more arousal now he’s got his cock in you. Reacting as you’ve never been touched before.

Slowly, he manages to get himself fully inside of you, and is starting to make small thrusts— hips gently hitting against yours as he draws in and out of you. A low, intense groan escaping him with each movement. And it’s good to know it feels just as insane for him as it does for you, because right now— even with just his length rutting at such a gradual pace inside of you, you’re already melting.

Every inch of your body is tingling as his name comes from your lips in the form of a desperate moan, “Harry….”

A harder thrust, and your hands are wringing the white comforter as you legs wrap tighter around his middle.

He wants to imprint the shape of your body on this duvet, and frame the scrunches from your curled fists like art pieces. Just to know that what he did to you, and how it made you feel was entirely real. Not something he dreamed up. That the words leaving your lips are no figment of depraved imagination.

“I'm so fucking wet… I’m sorry— I'm making a mess.” You whine, body shaking. You feel out of control, every reaction coming from your body that of a primal instinct you can't wrap any element of authority over.

The sweet cadence of your voice as you shift beneath him... that in itself makes him feel like if he blinks, he’s suddenly going to wake up. Alone in a hotel room, in need of a cold, cold shower. Making his head spin, and it effortlessly swindles his sense of reality from him.

His hands splay on your hips, the hint of possessive nature in him you felt as they coil and tighten around the skin there. Anchoring where you lay as he cements himself in reality.

“No baby—“ he scolds at your apology, “y'dont 'ave to apologise. Being such a good girl f’me… feel you clenching me so hard already.”

An unbridled moan tears from your chest as he takes it upon himself to pull almost all the way out of your cunt, and then swiftly drive back into you.

“Fuckkk!” It’s a high pitched moan, the exact thing he wants to hear more of, even though the two of you should be trying a lot harder to be quiet. It still manages drags out a groan of him in response.

“Have to— shittt… have to be quiet darling…” he reminds, head tossing back as he suddenly picks up the pace between your legs.

“Feels so good, H… your cock is filling me up feels so fucking good—“

“N’ya takin’ it so bloody well,” he slaps lightly at your ass, suddenly grabbing it to cant your hips upward, “never been fucked this good, have you?”

In truth, you haven't. Never has it felt like every nerve-ending on your body is tingling, and like any more from him and you would simply break.

“N-no, Harry.” your head physically shakes, arms using any strength you have left to come behind you, and prop yourself up onto your elbows. Desperately, you want to see him inside of you, and what he's done to you.

He smirks at this, watching your eyes meet where he's stretching you out between your legs. The way your eyes flutter shut and roll back just at the sight. A visual accompanying the feeling is almost too much for you to process.

"Tha's it baby, take a look... see what I'm doing, how my cock is making y'feel so good."

A clench around his cock, and he grunts with another deeper thrust into you. Its sudden and abundantly clear that he’s starting to loose himself in you, unable to stop his mouth from spewing every dirty thing his brain produces, “C'mon, love. Beg me for it.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

Your core is fluttering around him now, succinctly timed to each press of his cock, “Harry—“

The words however don’t come, only whines and moans as his cock pushes deeper into you with each stroke.

“Don’t make me get rough.” His tone is a sweet contradiction to his words, and he only juxtaposes them further with the feather-like touch of his fingers against your breast, "Or is that what my girl wants, wants me to get rough? Use you a little. Let me be selfish with this pussy and take it how I want.”

Curling his fingers around your breast, he squeezes gently, making you bite down on your lip to stifle the cry that was threatening to come out.

“Rough, be rough… can take it.” You pant out, arms giving out again as your back hits the mattress. Unable to support your weight, but still managing to reach up and tug his face to yours. He folds his body over yours to comply with the pull of your hands. Chest to chest, his cock is starting to slam harder into you, deeper— hitting places you were unaware of as his pelvis stimulates your clit from this new angle.

Turning to mush, the moans are bubbling out faster than you’re able to hold them back, your mouth resting parted against his cheekbone. His ears hearing each and every sound with complete pleasure.

“Shh, such a loud girl.” He says, but its hardly a scold or instruction to quieten down. It speaks more like an invitation, to let him hear more of you, no matter the consequences it could bring after the fact.

Infact, his own voice is beginning to sound strained, like another rough clench of your cunt and he's would to come straight into the condom wrapped around his cock.

You want him to come desperately. Your body perhaps wants it even more— doing things to tip him closer and closer to the edge you're both teetering on without even consciously noticing it.

Legs tightening around his waist, arms holding him as close as physically possible, nails clawing at the firm muscles of his back. As if there were a way to fuse the two of your frames together.

“God… it’s so fucking good… I feel so good.”

“Pretty girl, about to come all over my cock." He grinds out, feeling you pulse around his length, "About to wake the whole floor up, aren't you?"

The sound of him fucking you is enough— each slide of himself into your slick arousal that’s soaked both your cunt and his cock is louder than the next. But god, oh god, its hand that slowly wraps around the column of your neck that completely undoes you.

He doesn't press down, the touch is actually quite tender. But even the semblance of control it represents in your mind rips a moan from you as your core tightens, a hot budding sensation in the pit of your stomach. His slender fingers gliding up slowly— a stark contrast to the pace he's taking between your legs— thumb stroking the hook of your jaw with just a tad more pressure behind it.

Your impending orgasm feels like a pot that is just about to boil over the edge. It's making your whole body shake, "Sh— Shit! Harryyy, im gonna—"

"Mhm, baby, it's okay, i know," He whispers hoarsly into your ear, "Dont worry, y'can come, let it all go around my cock."

"Ohh— Oh god!" Your syllables draw out as you moan, eyes screwing shut as suddenly all the pressure between your hips explodes, "come with me."

The plea spills from your lips as your body clenches around him, making him moan with you. In an instant response to your words, you feel his thrusts turn messy and harsh inside you. Your name a loud drawn out whine that echoes around the room as he gives into your ask without a single question.

The two of your moan completely in sync as a shared blanket of ecstasy and euphoria casts over you both. The moment maybe lasted a minute, or really no more than two. But it felt endless, as if time and reality ceased to exist when you both finished with each other. His cock released into the condom, but his thighs stuttered against yours either way, as if he were filling your cunt with his orgasm. A groan rattling from him when your legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him flush to you. You know he knows that's exactly what you were wishing were happening right now. Playing along with it to satiate the sick craving for it within you as you still pulsated around his length.

Expletive's are the only things coming from your mouths other than whines. Your orgasms gradually subsiding from the heated high that was all consuming to a low hum that lingers in your bones. Still, you're holding his hips to yours as if to keep him inside of you.

Logistically, a condom was the appropriate thing to do for first and very unplanned time together, but of course right now you wish otherwise.

"Fuckkk, dirty girl," He growls out finally, pressing a hot kiss to your smiling mouth, "Acting like im filling you up?"

Hand sliding up to your cup your jaw fully now, he cranes his thumb out and is pulling on your lip, waiting for your brain to slowly start working enough to generate a sensical reply.

"Is that wrong?"

"Fuck, no. it's so hot." His voice is low as he kisses you again, letting your mouths work against each other again in a sensual kiss.

"Can't help it, H," You try to justify anyways, "cock feels so good inside me, was wishing I got your come..."

“Didn’t know you wanted it angel,” he whispers in a pant.

“Mhm, neither,” you hum against his mouth, “till I just realised how good it made me feel imagining your finishing inside of me.”

"Gonna make me hard again..." He sighs out with a shake of his head, "'Nother night baby, can fill you up anywhere y'like."

Anywhere. God.

Images of his cock filling your mouth makes you shudder with need. A thing you are keenly interested in trying… and since clearly he’s insinuating this could happen again…

"Want this again?" You ask, a slightly serious tone taking over your voice as he slowly peels off you, feeling your legs loosen from around him as his cock softens.

A smile blossoms on his lips at the way your big eyes gaze up to him, "Again, and again."

"If it wasn't obvious already, love."

A blush was conjuring on your cheeks out of nowhere, "I— Okay... good. Because I do too."

"Who knows—" He begins, pausing with a slight wince as he slides out of you. There’s a lull in what he was saying for a moment, when he leans down to kiss your cheek, walking over to a bin to dispose of the used condom that was just wrapped over him.

He also goes and grabs the two take away cups from the counter, wasting no more time before coming back to you. Finally resuming his prior conversation, “Drink this and then maybe we can squeeze another round in before we have t'sneak you back to your room."

"Think we woke anyone?" You giggle, sitting up to take the cup from his hand thats gestured out to you.

"Wouldn't rule it out." He snorts, "we can worry about what lie we'll tell later, if anyone asks."

"But," he takes a small sip from his cup, still staring at you, "either way, right now, i dont care."

"I want you." His voice is certain, "So, rest of tha' is irrelevant to me."

"C'mere," Hand wrapping around his bicep, pulling him onto the bed with you. The mattress sinks with his weight on top of it, his firm frame that was only just on top of you moments before... You lean forward and peck his mouth with yours. One he doesn't want to end as soon as it does, his mouth chasing yours as you pull back far too soon for his liking. Clearly, you're in the same boat as him, unable to find it in yourself to care about anything other than him. That in this very moment as you have him, real and in front of you, he is yours. "Fuck, then. Lets just do it."

"Think we already did, love." He chuckles, letting the innuendo come out with a rasp. Unbelievable, he is.

You can only shake your head, suppressing a grin as you bring the once-hot hot chocolate to your lips. The liquid is lukewarm at best, but somehow nothing has ever tasted better— except maybe his mouth.

———

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, this has been in the works in my drafts for SO long. pls let me know what you think! ily, thank you for your support and hopefully will post some more writing soon lovelies🤍

[apollowhoo]

could you pleasee do a gravity falls one shot?

so basically Bill Cipher meets the youngest Pines member but they're like 3-4 years old. And basically Bill doesn't know how to react, he's all confused but also in awe. Make it fluff and i know it's going to be hard to write this as canon Bill Cipher so you can ignore if you want <33

Bill Cipher x Child!Reader (PLATONIC)

The forest surroundcing the Mystery Shack was quiet. Somewhere between dimensions, floating lazily, was Bill Cipher, his single eye half-lidded with boredom. His typical schemes to cause chaos were on hold, and for once, he was simply… existing.

That’s when he heard it—a soft giggle, light as a feather. Bill’s eye snapped open, immediately. There, standing among the wildflowers, was a small figure with messy hair, chubby cheeks, and a bright, curious gaze.

The youngest member of the Pines family.

His eye narrows slightly. A little kid, no older than three or four, was staring right up at him. Her tiny hands gripping a stuffed animal that seemed to be some kind of hybrid between a cat and a duck—perfectly nonsensical, just the way Bill liked things.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bill floated closer, his voice carrying its usual sarcasm. “A little ankle-biter out all alone? Shouldn’t you be with your oh-so-boring family?”

The girl tilted her head, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocence Bill found really weird. She didn't seemed scared. She suddenly reaches out, poking Bill with a tiny finger in pure curiosity.

Bill’s eye widened a little in surprise. Most people who encountered him would either scream, run, or try to strike some ridiculous bargain. But this little human? She just poked him like he was some new toy.

“Hey, hey! Hands off the merchandise!” Bill exclaimed. He wondered, why wasn’t she afraid? Why wasn’t she running? And why, in all his chaotic glory, did he find this child so… interesting?

The child giggled again, a bubbly sound that seemed to echo in Bill’s mind. She pointed at him with her free hand, her other continuing to clutching her stuffed toy close.

“Triangle!” she declared proudly, their voice high-pitched and filled with wonder.

Bill let out a bark of laughter, genuinely amused. “Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s right, kiddo. I’m a triangle, the best triangle you’ll ever meet. Got any other shapes in that little brain of yours?”

The kid smiled. They started babbling, half-formed words about god know what, pointing excitedly as if expecting Bill to just understand them. The demon was used to others feeling fear, but this… this innocent curiosity was something else.

“Alright, kid, slow down,” Bill said. “You think I can just whip up stars and moons like a party trick? You’re talking to Bill Cipher, not some street magician.”

For the first time in… well, forever, Bill felt utterly out of his element. He could outsmart the smartest, scare the toughest, and twist anyone around his finger, but this kid? She just saw him entertainig.

Bill hovered beside them, his eye following them every move. He had cought a small, harmless ball of light, flickering in and out of existence.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, kid,” Bill mumbled, though there was no more venom in his voice.

The girl just grinned, leaning her head against his triangular form as if he were just another friend, not a demon with a penchant for chaos. Bill let her, floating there quietly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

For once, he wasn’t planning anything. No schemes, no deals, no manipulation. Just a strange, peaceful moment with a little human who saw him not as a threat .

And for reasons Bill couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind it one bit.

[barcapix]

hiii i love ur fics nd i was wondering if you could do a joao felix fic sort of inspired by dorothea by taylor swift. sort of like childhood best friends nd joao let the game get to him and he forgot about y/n. inspired by the lyric that says ‘and if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know , know you’ll always know me.’ anyways thank uuuu.!

✮ Dorothea - João Felix

joão felix x childhood bestfriend!reader

sy: your childhood bestfriend, joão, made you many promises, however he kept none. after years, the two of you meet again upon his intention; causing your heart to break a little more.

a/n: SAD ENDING & probably no part2 but it depends.. report me for taking so long to do this @joaosnovia 💔

warnings: very descriptive & not proofread

the field was empty; the straws of grass a little too long, the sun a little too low. the wind whispers forgotten prayers with each gust, the force of it guiding you into a deep corner of the grass.

the leaves beneath your feet crunch, as the wind hisses when it passes—only bringing you back to the memories you made with your bestfriend, so long ago.

venturing past the open and drawn into a more excluded area, you’re drawn to a small wooden frame leaning against a tree. it was quietly tucked in between the isolated corner of the plains, where no sunlight could reach.

it stood there defeated, leaning up against the stump for support; as if it had been carved out of its happiness. wheat straws were woven between the branches, forming a goal, with the scratching of yours and his initials on the wood.

your makeshift goal.

“i’m just giving you a chance y/n,” joão said, pretending to trip over the ball so you could score. his grin was wide, boyish and endless.

“so who’s making it pro now?” you taunted, kicking the ball up to meet your hands and trying and flaunting your (albeit) not-so-perfect football ability by shuffling dust from your shoulders. “personally, i think me.”

“sure sei lá.” he laughed, wiping dirt from his shorts. “most people like to dream.. not all can make it reality.”

as joão makes his way closer towards you, you roll your eyes at him, throwing the ball to the ground. “really huh? i say we play another match, just to prove i’m more so skilled.”

“ah, no i love you too much,” the brunette claims, cracking his knuckles. “i wouldn’t want you to count another loss.”

the ball was at your feet, your control, as you take a few simple inside-outside touches at it. the sky softens into a breathtaking hue of pink, with delicate streaks of orange and gold lingering across the horizon. it was way past your playtime hours, and you could only imagine what your mother was doing right now.

“or your just saying you don’t wanna lose to a girl?” you challenged. giving him a wicked smile. “i know you’ve got loser syndrome mr. felix.”

“i never lose to girls,” joão retorted with a chuckle.

you scoffed. “count your days j, i’ll be the first.”

“mmmmhm,” he hummed, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “and how do you plan on doing that? stalling me?”

“that’s for losers,” you stated almost too confidently. you throw his arm away from your shoulders and pick the ball up. “try me.”

the boy dramatically huffed and puffed, doing himself a little jog on the spot as if this were the olympics. you couldn’t help but hold a fist to your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“what are you doing?”

“a warmup. this is what professional footballers do, thank you very much,” he stopped jogging and flexed his measly muscles.

“more like some weird demonic practice,” you snorted. “you weirdo.”

“eugh, you’re the weirdo,” he childishly frowned, like he took personal offence. “the weirdo who’s about to lose.”

joão took the ball and pointed at the goal. “first to shoot in the goal—wins.”

he places the ball on a patch of grass that you both marked out with twigs in four corners, calling it your own pitch.

you both stepped either side of the ball, and although it was a strange suggestion, as soon as the grasshoppers had squeaked, that meant game on.

the game was chaos—in the best way. you darted around each other, laughing, slipping, shouting over the crunch of grass and the slam of feet against dirt. joão nearly scored first, but you cut him off with a last-second block, sending the ball flying back into the open.

then it was yours.

you sprinted forward, the wind in your hair, the sun at your back. just as you struck the ball, joão had lunged in and his foot met yours at the same time.

the ball had ricocheted towards the goal, and you both chased it, shouting, laughing.

and then—it slid past the post. just inside.

“that was definitely me!” you said, bent over and catching your breath.

“no it was me!” joão panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “i kicked it last!”

you both stood there, breathless yet smiling, neither of you willing to back down. the setting sun casted long shadows across the field, lowering into the sky as the moon rose.

you raised a brow. “i guess we’ll never know.” you coughed to hide, “but it was me.”

joão narrowed his eyes playfully, “sore loser.”

“what was that?” you sang, turning away and placing your fingers on your ears. “la la la. i can’t hear you.”

“hey you!” he chuckled, poking at the sides of your stomach. “stop thatt!”

joão continues poking at your side until you cave. you desperately try to push him off but he’s just too strong for you. he has his knees on your legs, as he made you fall onto the grass.

“joão stop! that tickles!” you rasped, still squirming.

“ill stop when you listen to me,” he taunted. “otherwise..”

“okay—okay! ill listen to you!” you did cave in, and thank god, he actually stopped; your limbs were intertwined and messy together.

“well finally,” he laughed, rolling to lay down besides you with his arms behind his head. “that kinda took it out of me too.”

for a beat, you both lay next to each other in the freshly cut straws of grass, looking up at the clouds crafting with eachother—moulding into faint shapes, of which you could only say was a bird of some sort.

you were both just caught up in the starry sky, mesmerised by the view. thankful for him. sure he was a pain in the ass, but he was your pain in the ass.

joão was the first to break the silence. “i have to ask you something.” he turned himself to you, propped up an elbow.

“yeah?” you hummed, turning your head.

“do you reckon..” he circled the grass with his thumb, looking down. “you’re still gonna be friends with me if i do make it pro? like you’re not gonna leave me for some jock.”

“jock?” you giggled and mocked him. “what are we in some american teen movie?”

that made him laugh childishly, but he still avoided your eyes as if he were prepared to take the rejection. “but seriously.”

“no joão.. im not gonna leave you. as long as you don’t forget me of course,” you joked and tap on his nose. “if you promise.”

the boy eventually looked down into your eyes, a glimpse of confidence shining behind his hazel eyes. “i cross my heart and hope not to die, promise.”

“in that case, i won’t be going anywhere meu garoto,” you held out your pinky finger as he looped it with his. “i would never leave you, even for a jock.”

“alright i get it,” joão grinned, extracting a daisy from the grass and twirling it between his fingers. “i just wouldn’t want you to forget me that’s all.”

“why would i? i couldn’t even imagine any better best-friend like you, even if you do annoy me sometimes.”

joão slowly reached for the hair behind your ear, slotting in the daisy. “me neither. i’m never going anywhere without you.”

the starry sky you still picture is laying above your head, probably mocking you. the walk back home is nothing short of pitiful.

its been six years since you last spoke to joão. even that, it was just plead from you—begging for him to text you back.

no further replies, no calls. he was probably sipping cocktails in a fancy bar, surrounded by girls in thin lingerie, laughing at your deterioration.

you finally reach home, shoulders heavy and feet sore, the house is completely quiet—the lights were dimmed with no signs of life.

if anybody were to step in, you’re positive it would of set ‘abandoned home’ kinda-vibes.

something stops you at the doorway, an envelope. your name is scrawled across it, in handwriting you recognise more than your own.

your heart stutters for a second but you tear it from the floor with shaky hands. a few heartbeats is all it takes to realise, who—who, had sent this.

the letter was embarked with a logo that you didn’t recognise, but the name, you knew.

your breath catches, but you torn between shock and fury. why was he reaching out to you now?

after six years of silence, this is how he reaches out? no apology, no message, just a ticket?

just a seat number and logo you’d never seen before. part of you just wants to rip it into two.

but the other part? the nieve, gullible part that still craved to listen to his voice again, his laugher that would fill the field.

so even if it was against every ounce of your judgment, you go.

THE STADIUM… is far from being tourist-friendly.

this one was unrecognisable. the banners of black and red, nothing like blue and red or blue and white: the ones that you knew.

you step through the gates cautiously, and honestly you could drop-dead puke right now. the bundles of nerves felt electrifying under your skin, causing a slight wobble in your walk.

like fuck. you’re supposed to act confident not scared.

“the tunnel…” you flip out the folded letter from your back pocket and into your hands. “where—“

“hey.”

the sudden voice startles you.

the man’ is wearing a jacket with the signature red and black stripes, the ones picture-perfect with the entire stadium, windswept hair and a friendly grin.

“you look really out of place,” he says, taking one of his airpods out. “are you lost?”

“hm, well, not really. i mean,” you shrug. “yeah okay kinda.”

the player laughs. “well im rafeal by the way. what are you looking for? your seat?”

“um,” you mimic saying it in your head and it sounds ridiculous, because you look so…unstereotypical to be saying this but, “joão felix.”

“w—are you his girlfriend?”

you let out a nervous laugh. “not quite.”

“another one of his hookups then?” rafeal lets out an almost disbelieving laugh. “i told him to keep to a limit, this guy just never listens.”

you pause for a second.

hookups? since when was the innocent, ‘ew-a-girl just-touched-me’ joão, the one who you knew, passing from woman to woman?

you swallow the lump in your throat, eager to change the subject. “do you know where i could find him?”

“probably down in the dressing room,” leao points down into the tunnel. “it’s like his cave down there.”

“will i see you again?” the guy lays out his hand for you to shake, and you take it. “y’know that’s harsh—i hope you last longer than the others have.”

you raise a brow. “how come?”

“i mean, you seem more down to earth. the other girls seem to have lost the plot. it’s refreshing.”

there’s a sharp whiskey that blows, luring his attention. “well i have to leave now, ill catch you later?”

rafeal offers you a genuine smile before wandering off, and you instantly make way for the tunnel.

your feet move on autopilot through the abyss, like your body was refusing to give you a choice.

its warmer in here, quieter than the hussle forming on the pitch. the lights dim with every click of your shoes, like watching torches disperse in a cave of an action movie.

“so a left.. then another left,” you stop in your tracks, spinning. “then a right? wait—lea—”

what did you expect. yup, he’s a goner.

your eyes squint at the letterings on the wall, trying to piece together what direction you needed to follow.

there’s two lefts, a right, or straight ahead.

“is that really you?”

that sound. the one that makes your stomach knot but also flip. his face is palled with shock, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

your steps falter as you take him in. both the foreign nature and the imagination of his presence, soothing yet infuriating.

joão’s almost in disbelief. “you really came.”

it should of sounded like victory, not guilt. seeing him again, branded as someone completely new—it hits you.

“it only took you six years,” you spit out hoarsely.

his blanken expression makes you step back, examining his face intently. his features screamed otherwise, but the signature move of the corner of his eyes that creased with rejection, and the suffocating puff of his eyelids proved to you, that maybe you were both equally suffering.

but only in one way, silence.

“its just because i—i’m tired,” joão mutters, running a hand through his curly hair. “of all of it. the game, the press.. being someone i don’t even recognise.”

you look at him, and for a fleeting moment, he’s the boy you knew—the one who braided daises into your hair, the one who would plaster your cuts up from scrapes.

the one who promised he’d never let fame get between you two.

“i meant to reach out sooner. i really did,” he takes a step closer. “i’ve just never had the time.”

you’re too stunned to speak, so he carries on.

“sometimes,” he exhales deeply, looking at you with a glint of guilt, ray of hope. “i wish i could just.. go back. to when it was easier.”

to when it was you and me.

he wanted to say it, so why didn’t he?

“it’s the life you chose,” you slur. you desperately tug at the material of your jacket over your wrists, as if preparing in case your tears dared to fall.

“i know,” he admitts truthfully, staring down at his feet. his voice is gentle, quiet, almost as if he wasn’t speaking at all. “and it cost me everything.”

the regret in his eyes was palpable but something in your stomach churns at his words. he expects you to comfort him, to accept him and most importantly to forgive him. although, it’s not like you didn’t want to—all you wished to do was rush into his arms and tell him it was all going to be okay—but you couldn’t.

the emotional distance, the apology that seemed like rehearsed words, just to get what? to use you for what?

“you don’t get to say that,” you eventually croak, but the faltering confidence of him was enough to make you snap. “you don’t get to show up and tell me your tired joão.”

by this point, you’d subconsciously stepped back, the distance between you growing vast. “you left. you left me.”

your expression turns sour.

“i was happy for you! god joão couldn’t you see?!for years, even when you cut me off.. i was still there behind a screen cheering you on, but you can’t just…” you trail off, your throat tightening with unshed tears.

“i know,” he whispers back. “i know.”

“no you don’t fucking know! you don’t know anything!” you exasperate. what kind of nerve did he have to tell you that he could relate to the pain he caused you?

“it came at a cost. this.” you gesture between you both. “you knew that from the beginning joão, but traded me in.”

his shoulders sag, and for the first time you did, in fact, see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. the weight of his life, his choices—all bearing down on him.

even being so far apart, the tension between you hit even wider. your mind was going dizzy, your eyes hazy with the blur of tears wavering through.

you quickly swipe rub the water from your eyes, crossing your arms in defense. “i have to go.”

joão acts eagerly, his head snapping up, “no y/n don’t—”

“i’m going.”

the man stays still, shaking his head. his lips part to say no, but there’s no urge—he won’t stop you.

“good luck out there joão.”

you didn’t wait for his response. turning and walking away, was the only solution to prevent a complete flood of tears.

IN THE STANDS… the game was slow, and in contrast to what you had watched, joão was playing different. slower, sluggish perhaps. the familiar energy you had seen him exploit when you were kids, the constant cockiness in the way he’d run.

that was all gone.

as if any remaining energy he still clung to was gone; maybe this time you were costing him.

their opposing team had slipped two threatening goals past, making the score 2-2. unfortunately, they were both accepted into the net at the expense of joão’s mistakes.

the first, he let the ball slip past his feet, sending him tumbling to the turf. the second, a lack of concentration from his part when pulisic shot him the ball but the star didn’t make the run.

it was leao who saved it.

quick-firing the ball, in the last dying minutes, past the keeper to crown them the winners.

the final whistle erupts, and the surrounding fans close in around you, jubilant and loud, tossing confetti into the air and scrambling for the barriers.

but, you stayed rooted in your seat, body numb, whilst the world continues to swirl around you in a dizzying ray of red and black.

you stare ahead at the pitch as the players leap and cheer, but your eyes are only fixed on one.

joão.

the portuguese stands still amid the frenzy, his teammates lost in their own euphoria. your eyes lock, and everything fizzles into the painted background, like reality wasn’t quite in your reach.

for a split second, it’s just the two of you again—like it used to be.

the young children who’d lay under the sun, exchanging impeccable promises and futures that now feel like torn scripts.

but that’s not who you are anymore.

that boy isn’t here. and that girl, who loved him without question, doesn’t exist anymore either.

stood amongst the seats of the stadium, you watch him. stood amongst the pools of families and players, he watches you.

the miles between you two had never felt so apparent. his face a portrait of confusion, a kind of sadness you couldn’t remember seeing in him before.

the apology, the pain, the words he couldn’t say; the same regret when you were just a memory in his rearview mirror.

you offered him the smallest of smiles, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. and then you stood up from your seat and walked away, your footsteps now with purpose.

his apology was just a facade.

not that of one you should keep sticking around for. that you knew, would only cause you more heartbreak.

then you hear it, his voice. “y/n no! wait—”

you don’t turn. you can’t.

upon reaching the gates, your heart skips an unrelenting pattern, like it’s trying to outrun something it can’t escape.

you don’t look back. you wont.

as you step further into the exit, you hear him break through the crowd. the desperate shoves, pushes, knocks.

his teammates and their families were still wrapped up in the celebration but joão isn’t with them. urgently fighting his way through, with not a single care in the world other than reaching you.

but he’s not fast enough.

by the time he reaches into a clearing you’re gone; consumed by the emptiness of the tunnel.

with sweat beads sticking onto his forehead, his eyes are still frantic, his heartbeat still pulsating.

yet, the only thing he could see was the empty row of seats where you once sat. the confetti still lingers on the ground, a cruel reminder of his loss.

back to his previous stance, frozen, the world is still celebrating, the sound of joy so sharp that it cuts through him. the players are lifting eachother in triumph.

but, joão just remains a ghost among the living.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 9: UNSAID UNDERSTANDINGS

synopsis: you come to an understanding with arthur and formally introduce yourself to that ex-o'driscoll.

word count: 3.2k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: content warning for one use of the r-slur (reader uses it to describe themselves) & also sorry for the big gap between chapters, studying for finals has been eating up my time TT-TT

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics , @literallyrousseau , @xprloki , @pedifero , @6esi , @xnorthstar3x , @scorpio-echo , @eafv2323 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

So far, Jack and Charles are the only people to ask you directly what the future’s all about. Charles, because you opened up to him first; Jack, because he’s a child and doesn’t know any better regarding manners and tact.

But one man has you asking questions more than anyone else. Who else could it be besides Arthur Morgan? Of course it’s Arthur Morgan…

It’d take an entire army’s worth of eyes in the sky and boots on the ground to trail him and figure out what he’s truly thinking. First, he points a gun at you, makes fun of you, deliberately misunderstands what you say, and laughs at you. Then? Then, he offers you his cot after you faint – he technically didn’t even offer it; he just laid you up in it. You’ve only really seen this kind of erratic behavior from… well, you haven’t even really seen it before. He’s just acting weird.

But it begs the question. Does he care? Does he actually, really care? Or was he just trying to fulfil some secret obligation you don’t know about? Did he lose a bet? Does he feel guilty? You don’t think so, because if he felt guilty about pointing a gun at someone, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d feel when he pulled the trigger.

Arthur is a goddamn mystery. You’re being given the pieces to solve the puzzle that is him, but the more you’re given, the more confused you are.

You’re sure he feels the same. In the morning, you offered him coffee (at Hosea’s insistence), but at the end of the day, you were yelling at him. Maybe you’re the mystery and not the other way around.

Well, actually, on a fundamental level, you are a mystery – but not because you’re hot and closed-off and are secretly an international spy with a menagerie of lovers. You’re a nervous mess that claims to be from the future that could barely hold down one man. No one knows what’s going on, least of all yourself.

But that doesn’t stop things from continuing to happen. As much as you want to press pause and fuck off somewhere else for a while, you can’t. This isn’t Adam Sandler’s 2006 hit Click. And honestly, if you could be anywhere right now, you’d be in Adam Sandler’s 2006 hit Click. It sure as hell would be a lot less stressful than slumming it in 1899.

Adam Sandler wouldn’t have to fetch water like goddamn Cinderella, you think to yourself as you dip the pail Grimshaw sent you with into the river. You stand up straight and set the bucket on top of your head, balancing it with a hand on either side. “Oh, I’m Happy Gilmore, and I’m so happy because I live in a time with running water and easily accessible plumbing!” Fuck off entirely.

You sigh sharply, but try your best to shake off the lingering jealousy that must’ve confused your longing for a normal life for a longing to be Adam Sandler. You’re… pretty sure you don’t want to be Adam Sandler, anyway.

The ground underfoot is a bit steep, but nothing you can’t handle. The rubber of your boots are wet from standing in the shallows while collecting water, but it almost kind of seems to be helping with traction against the dry ground. The weight on your waist from the filled canteens hanging from your belt seem to be helping you keep your balance, too.

A man comes down the trail, riding on a horse. He pulls the reins when he’s a few yards away from you, causing the horse to stop.

“Hello,” he greets. “May I ask how you’re doing on this fine day?”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you say. You adjust your grip, bringing one of your hands up to the lip of the pail. “I’m going back to the, uh… homestead. With water. For… my chickens.”

“Chickens!” The man says, his voice enthusiastic. “It’s gettin’ to be summer – they must be laying a lot of eggs, right?”

“Yes,” you say. “Lots of eggs. The – the general store can’t get enough of my eggs.”

You put on a grimacing smile and try your best to ignore whatever awkward mess of words just came out of your mouth. The man seems… charmed rather than put off by anything you just said.

Before he can say anything more, thundering hoofbeats storm up the trail from behind the man. Arthur Morgan descends on this little picturesque moment between strangers, his horse’s hooves digging into the ground as he pulls to an immediate stop.

“Hey!” He barks. He draws his pistol, but keeps it aimed at the sky. “Sir, I gotta ask you to keep your distance. That’s an accomplice of Landon Ricketts – dangerous criminals, both of ‘em. I’ve been sent to hunt and capture ‘em.”

The man grips his reins tighter, an almost shocked look passing over his face when he actually processes Arthur’s words. You can’t even speak to refute what he said.

“You – really?” The man asks. “Why aren’t they reaching for their gun, then?”

Arthur points to his temple. “Brain’s crippled from a lawman pistol-whippin’. But make no mistake – this one’s killed hundreds.”

The man looks you over, his eyes wide. “My! I wouldn’t imagine a simpleton capable of such things…!”

“I’m not,” you say, a mix of anger and anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “You’re – I don’t even… Who’s Landon Ricketts?”

“The stuttering, the confusion,” the man says, waving a hand. “It makes sense. Well, good luck on collecting your bounty, sir!”

He spurs his horse, then he’s off like a shot. You don’t even have the opportunity to say goodbye before he’s out of earshot.

“What the hell was that?!” You snap at Arthur. “I’m trying – I was just talking to him!”

“He was gonna rob you,” Arthur says, as if it were the most obvious thing ever. “I don’t know if you can find it in yourself to appreciate it, but I could’ve just saved your life.”

“You didn’t do jack shit!” You throw the pail on the ground, splashing his horse’s hooves and legs. “You rode up, called me dangerous, then called me slow. What – which is it? Am I a danger to you? Or am I just some retarded piece of shit?”

Arthur looks away, then back to you. “Now, I never said –”

“Which is it?” You bark. “Am I a danger to you? Or to myself?”

“You’re… not dangerous,” he admits slowly. “And you ain’t mentally crippled, neither. I was just tryin’ to get him away – can’t you see that?”

“Oh, so you’re justified,” you say. “You’re justified because you’re this – you’re this big man, big Arthur Morgan. Big Arthur Morgan who gets to do whatever he wants. Big Arthur Morgan that doesn’t have to apologize for what he’s done.”

“I apologize that that’s how I had to go about gettin’ rid of a potentially dangerous man.” He sweeps an arm out towards the direction the man rode away in. “Need I remind you – you don’t even know how to draw your gun!”

Your hand flies to Uncle’s gun in your holster, then your arm snaps straight. You look down the barrel at Arthur. An uneasy silence settles over the two of you.

You can feel the blood rushing through every artery, vein, and capillary bed in your body. It roars in your ears. Sweat drips down the middle of your back. Your finger rests on the trigger, the metal cold against your warm skin like iced fire.

You’re paralyzed. So is the world around you. So is Arthur. He just looks down the barrel back at you, blinking and breathing and beating his heart like nothing’s wrong.

“Do you know what it’s like?” You ask, your voice shaking despite your efforts to steel yourself. “To wake up just to have a gun shoved in your face? Because I have. Because you pointed a gun at me, and – and you haven’t even tried to apologize!”

“I know what it’s like,” Arthur says, his voice rumbling and quiet. “I’ve been shot, I’ve been stabbed – hell, I’ve been knocked unconscious more times than I can count. What point are you tryin’ to make?”

“I’m…” You take a slow breath in, then out. “I’m trying to say… I don’t – I don’t know. I just… You’ve been such a dick, and I haven’t said anything because I’m a nice person. But you just keep – you keep being such a little fucking shit about everything!”

“You’re pointin’ a gun at me,” Arthur says. “I don’t think that’s very nice.”

“Shut up!” You snap. “I just – I just want an apology, but you can’t even do that, can you? You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”

“The hell do I need to apologize for?” He asks, incredulous.

“For pointing a gun at me!” You shake the gun in your own hand for emphasis. “Y’know, the thing that could actually kill someone? The thing you have used to kill someone? Where I’m from, pointing a gun at someone is enough to get you arrested!”

“Oh, and I’m sure your sheriff is doin’ a wonderful job enforcin’ that rule,” Arthur says, his tone growing more impatient. “Now can you put the goddamn gun down?”

“Can you apologize?” You counter. “I just want to know. Are you physically capable of apologizing? Of saying the words, “I’m sorry”?”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur pulls on the reins of his horse, causing him to shake his head back and forth. “Are you happy now?”

Though he actually did say the words “I’m sorry,” his tone obviously holds no sincerity and serves as just another mockery. But, you relent. He is physically capable of saying “I’m sorry.” You holster your gun.

“Somewhat,” you say. You bend down and pick up the bucket you threw. “I’m… I’m gonna go get water. Don’t wait up.”

You turn and start walking downhill, once again balancing the empty pail on your head. The filled canteens on your waist now weigh you down instead of grounding you. There’s slow hoofbeats behind you.

You don’t turn around. “Are you seriously following me?”

“You have proven yourself to be a bit hot-headed,” Arthur says. “I’m tryin’ to keep you outta trouble.”

You bite your tongue and keep your eyes forward. Yes, maybe you are a bit hot-headed, but that’s only when it comes to Arthur… and George Foreman, you guess. You’ve done a lot to keep your anger in check, but it’s hard to keep it there when he tempts you so.

The river laps at the soles of your shoes, then splashes onto the tops of them as you wade further in. Arthur stops on the shore, water just barely reaching his horse’s hooves. You bend down and get a bucketful of water, then set it on a rock jutting out of the river. 

You glance over your shoulder at Arthur. “Where’s your canteen?”

“Here.” He detaches it from his saddle and holds it up. “Why?”

You hold your hand out. “I’ll fill it.”

“Don’t piss in it,” Arthur warns. He tosses it to you, and you catch it with ease.

“What the hell?” You unscrew the cap and dump out the old water. “I have a grudge, I’m not insane.”

You let a little river water trickle in the canteen, then put your palm on the opening and shake as a crude form of cleaning. After a few seconds, you pour the water out. You dip the mouth of the canteen into the river, letting it fill. You screw the cap back on and underhand throw it back to Arthur.

“Thank you,” he says as he clips it back onto his saddle.

“Don’t get used to it.” You pick up the now full pail, hefting it up with a grunt and balancing it on your head. You walk out of the river, then start uphill again. Arthur keeps pace beside you on his horse.

“What… what’s his name?” You ask. “Your horse.”

“Belmont,” Arthur says.

The horse does kind of look like a Belmont – his coat is white, sprinkled with black dots of varying sizes. He’s tall, and looks more agile than strong. You wouldn’t really expect Arthur to choose that type of horse, but you suppose he is still a mystery to you.

“You got a new horse, too,” he says, as if offhandedly. “She got a name?”

“Bronya.” You adjust the way the weight of the bucket is resting on your head. “It’s Russian.”

“Huh,” Arthur hums. “Can’t say Russia holds any prevalence in my life.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I… wouldn’t really expect it to. Not a lot of, um… Russian immigrants nowadays.”

Arthur goes quiet, looking out at the treeline. Well, that’s what you assume he’s doing, because you can’t really move your head all that much when you’ve got a bucket on top of it. You can feel through instinct that he’s not looking at you, anyway, and that’s kind of the only thing that matters to you.

The rest of the walk to camp is mostly silent aside from Belmont’s hooves hitting the ground and your quiet cursing when water spills over the lip of the pail. You greet Bill (who’s on guard duty) with a smile, while Arthur greets him with a tip of his hat. 

When the hitching posts are about twenty feet away, Arthur dismounts and takes his hat off, then stuffs it in his saddlebag. He sends Belmont toward the other horses. You stop and look over at him.

He looks a bit… different without his hat. You’re not sure if he looks better or worse, but he certainly looks different. The sun that drips through the trees highlights some strands of his hair and makes them look a sunflower blond, while others the sunlight doesn’t touch look more like a golden brown. You know at least a dozen women that would kill to have hair like his.

“I was gonna offer my help,” Arthur says. “But if you’re just gonna stare, I can go.”

“What?” You swallow, harsh against your dry throat. It registers that you were, in fact, staring, and that Arthur is offering to carry the water pail. “Oh, yeah. Um, sure.”

You lift the bucket off your head and hold it out. Arthur takes it, then hefts it on top of his head without a whole lot of effort.

“Where’s this goin’?” He asks.

“The kitchen’s wash basin,” you say. “I need to go replace the canteens on the horses.”

Arthur just grunts in response, lumbering away towards Pearson’s wagon. You turn and make your way towards the fenceless corral – it’s just an area where Grimshaw decided to put the horses when everyone first arrived, really.

You start to match the canteens with the horses; a deerskin canteen for Bill’s Brown Jack, a canteen with silver inlays for Dutch’s Count, a plain black leather canteen for John’s Old Boy. They all seem happy enough to let you, a virtual stranger, approach them and pet them before you clip canteens onto their saddles.

Bronya paws at the ground as you come closer, her ears pointed forward. Her saddle is hanging on a post nearby, making her sort of look naked in a silly, horse way. You pat the corner of her jaw, smiling up at her.

“Hey, girlie,” you say softly. “How’ve you been doing?”

She just snorts in response. She doesn’t look stressed, or very worried about anything at all. In all honesty, she just looks happy to be alive.

“Is – is that one yours?”

You snap your head towards the voice to see the O’Driscoll standing there, a brush clutched in his hands. He looks nervous, like he’s constantly feeling something akin to your anxiety.

“She is,” you say. “Have you been, uh… taking care of her?”

“I have,” he says. “I hope you don’t take no offense.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would…? Whatever. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” He switches his attention over to Brown Jack, brushing over his thick neck. “What, um… what’s her name?”

“Who, Bronya?” You say. “I mean, uh… yeah. That’s her name. Bronya.”

This is going just great. Your anxiety is bouncing off his anxiety, gathering more nervous energy and ricocheting back to you. It’s like a game of tennis singles where both players are scared and it’s not entertaining at all and everyone loses and everything sucks.

“M-my name’s Kieran,” he blurts out. “Kieran Duffy.”

You nod politely and give your own name. He nods in response.

“Weren’t you, uh…” You point over to another area of camp. “Weren’t you tied up? Why’d they let you loose?”

“I told ‘em where I thought Colm was,” he says. “He wasn’t there. But I saved Arthur’s life, so they, y’know… they didn’t put a bullet through my brain.”

Oh, great, you think to yourself. This guy saved him in what was probably a real life-and-death scenario and I pointed a gun at Arthur over a verbal dispute? Christ, and who am I, using words like “verbal dispute…”

“Well.” You shrug one of your shoulders. “I guess you earned not having a bullet in your brain.”

“I guess I did,” Kieran says.

Bronya nudges your hand with her nose and flares her nostrils, carefully playing with your fingers with her weird horse lips. It feels… kind of gross, for lack of a better term. But you’ve had baby spit-up on you, you’ve had to clean bathrooms at retail jobs, and you’ve been Hep-C positive before. “Gross” things don’t really bother you anymore.

“Bronya, stop that,” you chastise softly. You feel like you’re talking to a child. “You’re being weird.”

“You know she – she feels safe?” Kieran asks.

You turn your head and look at him. “Huh?”

“She’s…” He puts a finger close to his lips. “When horses are, um, gentle like that. It’s a sign that they feel safe.”

“Oh.” You turn back to Bronya, then pat the side of her neck. “Well, I stole her off a drunk, so… I think she’s just glad to be away from him. I think anything would be preferable to living with a drunk.”

Kieran gives a half-hearted laugh, then turns his attention back to Brown Jack. You glance over your shoulder at him. He has his back to you, but you’re sure Kieran still has his ears perked up just in case you were to rush him and attack him. He’s more like a scared horse than a scared man.

“Y’know, Kieran,” you say. “Thank you. For, uh… saving Arthur. I don’t really… I don’t really like him, but he’s a… cornerstone. A cornerstone for the gang. So… yeah. Thanks.”

It almost sounds like you’re unsure that the words coming out of your mouth are actually yours. Are you actually thanking someone for saving the life of a man that threatened yours? You are. And… maybe it wasn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be. It’s 1899 – what’s some gun-pointing and some life-threatening between friends?

“I’m just tryna earn my keep,” Kieran says.

“You’re doing good,” you say. “I mean, you’re… you’re doing a whole lot more than I am. The horses are an important part of our lives. Do you, um… do you know a lot about them? Like, taking care of them, I mean.”

“Oh, I love horses.” He glances over at you, then quickly away. From the brief eye contact, you can see how his eyes lit up when he started talking about them. “I’ve been takin’ care of ‘em my whole life. It – it feels like my purpose, y’know? Like I was meant to take care of ‘em.”

“I understand,” you say. “Were you taking care of them while you were, uh… with the, um…”

You wave your hand in a vague motion. You want to say O’Driscolls, but you’re unsure if it would be impolite or breach some kind of outlaw code of conduct.

“Yeah, I took care of their horses,” Kieran says. “But I weren’t one of them, okay?”

“I get it.” You comb your fingers through Bronya’s mane absentmindedly. “You… were doing what you had to do to survive. Doesn’t mean you’re proud of it.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flit to yours, then away again. “Exactly.”

You look Kieran over. He still looks scared. Of you, of everyone else – you don’t know. But he’s doing what he has to to survive. You sincerely hope he doesn’t look too much into you in turn. (If he does, he’ll see that you understand that sentiment more than anyone else alive.)

[gracefireheart]

Kinda wanna make pokemon teams for pre-portal incident Mystery Trio just for the hell of it, so here I go.

Stanford: -Slowking *Look, ever since I read this GF x Pokemon fanfic where Stan and Ford had each a Slowpoke, to which the latter's evolved into a Slowking and the former's evolved into a Slowbro, I just couldn't stop thinking how perfect it is. Especially since Slowpoke are often found on the beach. -Noctowl *With all the owl stuff around the Shack, I thought it would be a neat pokemon to have. Especially when he needs eyes in the sky. -Glimmora *Tbh, just feels like a Ford pokemon. -Volcarona *A cool moth that may be ancient?? I actually am not sure?? It's found in such a strange location in it's main game. -Metang *Another "just feels like a Ford pokemon" pokemon. -(Shiny) Wooper *A gift from Fiddleford :) -There's loads of pokemon around Gravity Falls he studies, such as Unown, Sigilyph, Relicanth, fossils of different pokemon he has found, Spiritomb, etc.

Fiddleford: -Pignite *He grew up on a hog farm, so he gets the beefy hog pokemon that becomes an even beefier hog pokemon. It helps carry heavy metals and such, and also heats up anything he needs welded together. -Porygon 2 *For computer stuff and whatnot. Also, when it evolves into Porygon-Z, it's stated in it's pokedex that "Its programming was modified to enable it to operate in other dimensions. This did not work as planned," which ends up making it glitchy af. -Chimecho *It's pokedex entry says "Its cries echo inside its hollow body to emerge as beautiful notes for startling and repelling foes," so it's a helpful lil' pokemon for Fiddleford to have. -Mudsdale *GIVE THAT MAN A HORSE >:( -Sunflora *He seems like he would have a Sunflora. Someone who could help with chores or just relax with. -Beheeyem *"With its psychic powers, it rewrites its opponents’ memories. You, too, may have already had your memories rewritten." :)))

Stanley: -Slowbro *Basically the same as I wrote under Stanford's Slowking. -Garbodor *I remember a lot of people really disliking this pokemon when people first saw it, so I can definitely see Stanley finding a Trubbish alone in an alley and immediately adopting it on the spot. -Vigoroth *Idk, it- along with Slakoth and Slaking- just feels like a Stan pokemon. -Purrloin *A pokemon that would help in swindling / pickpocketing some money. "They steal from people for fun, but their victims can't help but forgive them. Their deceptively cute act is perfect." -Only has four pokemon for now. Costs quite a bit to get pokeballs and some food for them.

Trying to think like-- how this would work for an AU or whatever. 'Cause I can't see these three trying to collect Gym badges or whatever. Maybe Stanley wanted to back when he was younger, but after he got kicked out, there was no way he could do that anymore.

It could go more into all the different weird, ancient pokemon that both are and aren't legendary / mythical. As for Bill, he could be an already existing legendary / mythical pokemon (such as Giratina), or an Ultra Beast (like a mix of Blacephalon and Kartana), or he's just his regular triangle self.

Besides that, idk what else to add to this :')

For a moment tho', I was thinking about giving Ford a Toedscruel and while Stan had a Tentacruel.

[sapphiresaphics]

Okay, after seeing a bunch of WILD takes on Arcane (and specifically season 2), I feel like I need to educate you guys on some deep Arcane Lore to understand why some things are happening in Arcane.

Magic in League of Legends is kinda a curse. It’s a gift from the gods, but the gods are also cosmic Eldridge Horror H.P.Lovecraft style deities of malevolence. The more you use the magic, the more corrupted you’ll become.

And rest assured… Magic WANTS to be used, just like the One Ring in Lord of the Rings WANTS to be found. When people use magic in League of Legends it’s very easy for the power to corrupt in unusual ways as the magic flows through them and convinces them that their way is the right way.

Heimerdinger actually calls this out:

“I've seen miracles spring from the hands of mages many times, but so often they turned to horrors. I'd always presumed it was due to mankind's turbulent relationship with power.. but perhaps it is a property of the Arcane itself.”

This is explained by Rise in League of Legends lore:

"Magic wants to be used," said the sorcerer. "It is all around us, emanating from the first fragments of creation. It wants to be wielded. And that is the true challenge on the path we both walk. When you realize what the magic wants, how eager it is... Well, then the difficulty isn't how to begin wielding it. It's knowing when to stop."

So like… THIS is why Hextech is so dangerous. Hextech isn’t just like nuclear power being introduced into the world, but like a version of nuclear power that ITSELF wants to destroy the world and will possess and corrupt anyone it can reach around them to achieve its goals.

And THIS is why when Viktor is fused with Hextech he starts seeing Sky and being led down to the undercity to “heal” all the shimmer addicts and become a hive mind community. Viktor THINKS he’s doing something good, but all along hes being guided and manipulated by the powers of cosmic magic.

And THIS is why he needs to be snapped out of it to realize what he’s done. He is NOT himself when he’s manipulating and controlling everyone. The Arcane has been guiding him there so it can be used and achieve what it wants.

Magic isn’t progress. It isn’t beneficial to the world by and large. It’s DANGEROUS and CORRUPTING.

Just think about this too: in areas where the Arcane seeps into the world, it corrupts the world around it. What do you think is making those toxic caves under Zaun? What do you think is in Shimmer? Why do you think Jayce was being corrupted in the AU world when he fell down into that cave? Why do you think that AU works was so bleak and moldy and gross?

You guys need to understand the role of Magic in League of Legends lore to understand WHY the show LITERALLY CALLED ARCANE is about the dangers of magic and how it manipulated and corrupts people to spur the cycle of violence until it destroys everything.

If you were ever confused about why the show that SEEMS to start as a commentary on systemic oppression ends with a giant cosmic marvel style battle, THIS is why. The Arcane is waking up. It’s heard it’s masters call. It WANTS to be used. And it’ll use ANYONE it can find to achieve its goals. Zaunites and Pilties alike.

Every one of you who’s like “oh but shimmer is Zaun’s only form of medicine! It’s bad Piltover tried to snuff it out!” is REALLY missing the forest for the trees.

When you stop trying to compare Arcane’s storyline to that of real world conflicts and history and instead engage with Arcane on its own terms with its own lore, a lot of what you might think are weird choices start to make a lot of sense.

Arcane can be enjoyed by everyone but it was made for the fans of League of Legends first and foremost. Maybe brush up on some of the lore and you’ll start to see what the writers were ACTUALLY trying to say.

[pleepisdelulu]

F1! Mafia AU Lost daughter (1)

3rd person P.O.V.

"We found her Sir" Pierre stumbled into Sebastian's office. "Found who" Sebastian looks up from his work. "Serena and Y/N sir" Sebastian was shocked at this news. "Well then where ar they?" "They are in Stonehaven Sir"

Sebastian stood, turning toward the tall windows of his office. Stonehaven. After all this time, Serena had chosen Stonehaven of all places to dissapear to. He wondered if she knew what kind of danger thath brought to her doorstep.

"I need to see her," he said, voice low. "Both of them."

Y/N P.O.V.

"Sweetheart it's time to wake up" my mothers voice woke me up from my slumber."Ugh" I replied before slowly getting out of bed. I just put on some jeans, a tshirt and a sweater before heading downstairs where mom was already making breakfast. "Smells delicious mom" I gave her a hug.

Once we finished breakfast the doorbell rang. "I'll get it" I said while getting up. I opened the door to reveal Ollie. "You ready for school?" he asked me. "Yes, one second" I grabbed my backpack and gave my mom a hug. "Bye mom" "Have a nice day sweetie".

The walk to school with Ollie was quiet at first. It usually was. We were both still half-asleep most mornings, and the early fog rolling through Stonehaven didn't help. The town always looked like it had secrets hidden in its mist.

"You okay?" Ollie asked after a minute. "You've been kinda .... distracted lately." I shrugged "just weird dreams, I guess" "Weird how?" "Like .... this is gonna sound crazy .... like someone's watching. But not in a creepy way. More like .... familiar." I didn't know how to explain it. "It's probably nothing."

Ollie didn't press. He never did when I clearly wasn't ready to talk. And that is why he is my best friend.

School was uneventful, as usual. A blur of classes and faces, none of which really mattered except for ollie's. But when we walked back home something felt off.

"do you see that car?" I asked, nodding toward the black SUV parked across from my house.

"Yeah.... I haven't seen it before."

I waved Ollie goodbye before walking inside where mom was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Hey Sweetheart, .how was school?"

"There is a weird car outside."

Her smile faltered for just a second. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but I knew her tells. I knew something was up.

"that's probably just someone visiting the neighbors," she said too quickly. But I saw her glance toward the window. And then, quietly, she locked the door. 

3rd person P.O.V.

Serena stood in the kitchen, hands pressen flat against the countertop. Her knuckles were pale. She watched the black SUV through the window, its dark windows reflecting the overcast sky. She didn't need to see who was inside to know.

They'd found her.

And worse-- they knew about Y/N.

She exhaled shakily and hovered over one name: Lewis. But she didn't call. Not yet.

Instead, she turned back to the stove, her movements mechanical as she stirred the soup she no longer had an appetite for. Elira couldn't know. Not yet. She had been safe for fourteen years. Serena would make damn sure that didn't change now.

Y/N P.O.V.

I was in my room, trying to focus on homework, but my mind kept going back to the car. The way mom had reacted.

She never got rattled. Ever. Even when I broke my arm falling out of a tree at nine, she was calm, collected, reassuring.

But today?

She was scared. I could feel it in the air. 

Later thath night, I cracked the door open and peeked down the hall. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. I could hear faint voices-- one of them hers, the other.... male. on speakerphone.

"...It's not safe here anymore," she said, voice low but urgent. "If he's here, then theyre close behind."

A pause. Static.

"Do you think he knows about Y/N?" the man asked. My breath caught in my throat at the mention of my name.

"I don't know" mom whispered. "But if Sebastian is in Stonehaven.... everything changes."

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Pretty like poetry ◦ l.f

-felix always tended to hate the freckles that adorned his face, believing they were blemishes that deserved to be hidden under layers of foundation, but what will he do when you convince him that his freckles were pretty—pretty like poetry?

Paring◦ Lee Felix x Fem!Reader

Words◦ 2681

Genre ◦ Fluff with i think some hurt and comfort low on the hurt heavy on the comfort

Warnings ◦ Felix being kinda dramatic, he's also really insecure(felt), Weird dialogue (I wrote this half alseep please bare with me, babes), honestly there's nothing in here but some cute hurt and comfort where you spend the night at his house and you catch him barefaced🤷, spelling errors and shitty punctuation (you're on my page what's new).

A/N ◦ to all the people that say felix's freckles are like stars I promise I'm not targeting you guys I'm just yapping and that's what my brain came up with please don't like come at me 😭🙏 this is just a silly little fic I wrote to try to practice my "poetry" skills idk what half of this is but hey what can you do 🤷 also I really fuck with the mood board on this REMBER IF YOU LIKE IT PLEASE TELL ME I GET REALLY INSECURE ABOUT MY WRITING okay enough yapping for one night hope you enjoy pretty <3

Your relationship with Felix was still budding like a freshly planted flower, waiting for the petals to unfurl. You liked Felix. You really, really liked Felix, but there were still a few things you hadn't done with him yet, like bake brownies, sit under the stars while you secretly stared at him instead of the sky, shared an ice cream cone under the hot summer sun, but spending the night at his house was long past due, especially after the 4-hour movie night filled with giggles, kisses, and popcorn being thrown all over the place, your throat was still sore from the amount of laughing you two were partaking in. He made you feel safe, happy, loved, and that's all that matters right now, that, and when he shyly offered for you to spend the night, how could you refuse, with his red ears and fidgeting fingers making you just want to fold him up and stuff him in your pocket, never letting the gross evil world dull his sparkle.

You rub the towel over your hair before hanging it back up on the rack and walking out into the bedroom, fresh from your shower. You smirk, noticing the way his eyes widen, scraping over your body, adorned with the baggy clothes he lent you.

He isn't getting these back.

You flop onto the bed, bouncing into his arms.

"Hi darling," he beams, looking down at you with sparkling eyes and, well, sparkling cheeks too. You squint, wondering if what you were suspecting was true. As he tilts his face away from yours, you notice it in the glint of the light.

He still has his makeup on.

You furrow your brows. "Are you going to take your makeup off?" You ask, words feeling heavy on your tongue.

"Oh," his eyes linger away from yours. "No, I'm too tired," he smiles, but it's weak, fitting weird on his mouth. Concern worms its way into your bones.

“You shouldn't leave makeup on your face overnight, Felix; it can hurt your skin,” you say, carefully grazing a finger over his smooth cheek. He grabs your wrist gingerly, watching you with wide, glittering eyes.

“I just want to hold you right now. Can I do that?" You stare at him cautiously, debating whether you should press the issue further. “Please,” he whispers. You can tell in the soft hues of his irises; he's begging you to drop it, so you do, reluctantly, of course.

“Fine,” you sigh, your eyelids drooping as you pull the covers over your shoulders, shimming into the mattress to get comfortable. His muscular arm wraps around your waist, dragging you into his warm chest.

“Don't be mad, please,” he mumbles, leaving soft kisses on the top of your head. You turn over to face him, your brows turned in worry.

"I'm not mad, I promise Lix, I just don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Trust me, darling, I'm anything but uncomfortable, especially with my beautiful girlfriend lying in the same bed as me.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His deep voice makes your cheeks flare with heat, flustered beyond what should be scientifically possible.

“Will you stop trying to rizz me up and go to bed?" You shriek into his shirt, he chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

"Rizz is an interesting word to use; I like that, actually."

"Turn the light off." You whine, pulling the cloth over your eyes.

"Flustered, baby?" He teases.

Oh, it's on.

He wants to battle; he's getting the whole war.

You don't know what came over you as you snaked your hand under the hem of his tee shirt, running your fingers across the hard ridges of his abs. His breath hitches in his throat. You tilt your chin up, resting it on his chest.

“Flustered, baby?” Your tone is smooth and sultry, his eyes are screwed up, lip curled into his teeth.

“Baby,” he chokes as you slip your hand higher.

"You sure you don't wanna turn off that light?"

"Yep, yes, on that r-right now," he stutters, scrambling to turn off the lights, especially as heat crawls up his ears, flushing across his cheeks. You giggle as the room spills into darkness, butterflies filling your stomach when he pulls your head back on his chest.

"You know, I'm surprised I still have a neck with the amount of whiplash you just gave me. I mean, there you were, all red cheeks and all of a sudden boom! Fingers, abs, and me, red cheeks," he rambles, squeezing you closer. "Your duality is truly insane."

You chuckle, loving the way his body engulfs you, pulling you under the waves of warmth and slumber. Silence creeps between the two of you until-

“Thank you for staying,” He whispers.

"Always.” You manage to utter right before-

You

D r o w n.

You don't remember when you woke up or what got you to the bathroom; you just know you're there, and with the need to pee becoming pretty overwhelming without thinking, you go to turn the knob.

"Wait," Felix screeches, slamming his body against the door.

 “Fuck Felix” You jump back, your heart practically hopping out of your chest. You gasp, holding yourself onto the door frame. If you were even a little bit sleepy then, you are wide the fuck awake now, your heart still thumping wildly in your ribcage.

“I need to pee. Can I come in?”

“No! Don't come in here, please!” He begs.

“Why? Felix, you only have one bathroom; if we aren’t close enough to use the bathroom in front of each other, that's fine. I just really need to pee. Now, can I please come in?”

He stops, waits for a few moments.

“You can’t turn on the light, and you have to shut your eyes."

“Felix, what?” You ask, exasperated, almost ready to just open the door and make him explain why he's tripping balls over something so trivial as using the bathroom. “What's really going on?” You're met with silence before a small whisper lingers from behind the wood. You could almost see it, his insecure frame curled into itself.

"I'm barefaced." Your gaze softens

"Felix,” you chuckle, “do you really think I care about something like that, especially at this time of night I can barely see my toes, let alone you, please?” You beg, your voice airy and light trying to dull is anxiety for the sake of your bladder and his dignity. “I'm coming in.” You turn the knob, but its quickly met with the door locking.

"No, stop it, y/n, I'm serious."

"What's the matter with you?" You huff, annoyance creeping into your veins, no matter how hard you push it back.

"I'm not ready to show you what I look like without makeup yet, okay!" He snaps, aggravated over something that seems so trivial to you. He should know you would never care about something as shallow as his bareface. He's gorgeous, with or without makeup. You know that, apparently, he doesn't.

"Felix," You sigh, your voice Is laced with sympathy, hoping to coax him out of this insecure rut he has himself in.

"Please," You lean your head on the door. Sometimes you wish you could serve him your heart on a silver platter—show him that it will only ever beat for him. Then, maybe, it would be enough to prove that no matter what he looks like under all those layers of foundation, it will never be enough to cut the little red string that ties your souls together.

The gears of the lock click under your hand.

"Okay, ground rules, before you can come in-"

You groan, banging your forehead on the frame.

"Felix," you whine, "I'm not kidding, I really need to pee."

"Y/n please," he whimpers, a desperate tilt in his voice, you can almost taste the anxiety in his tone, you cave, your heart cracking in two.

"Okay… You can't laugh at me-" You scoff, folding your arms in front of your chest defensively.

"You know I would never do that I-"

"See that's the thing! No, I don't, okay, I don't, so it's taking everything in me to open this door, so, please," his voice cracks slightly, "just let me say my piece... no laughing, no comments," he stops for a second as though he's thinking up another bullet to add to the list. "O-Okay, I think that's all," he says, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. You hear footsteps moving away from the door.

"Is it safe to come in?" You ask.

"Yeah," he clears his throat, anxiously. You pull the door open carefully, easing your way into the threshold, acting like you're walking into an active warzone. As soon as you reach the edge of the door, a hand covers your eyes.

He doesn't know why he did it; in a nervous fit of insecurity, he slapped his palm over your face.

"Felix," you yelp, "what the hell!"

"I-Im sorry, I-I just-" He feels so stupid—so pathetic—wondering why hes acting so childish about something as simple his bare face.

"Felix, can you take your hand off my eyes." He knows you don't mean it mockingly, but the way you tilt your words like you're talking to a rabid dog or an anxious toddler, makes embarrassment rip in the pit of his stomach.

"Fine," he mumbles taking his hand off your face, "J-Just remember! No laughing and no comments, o-okay, promise me!"

"I promise." You mutter as your lashes flutter open.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, eyes darting to the floor. The last fraying string of courage he's desperately grasping at is enough for his feet to stick to the floor, but definitely not enough for him to look into your eyes. Heat crawls up his cheeks under your gaze, curling into himself—he feels so foolish like this—anxiety flooding his stomach, making his hands shake behind his back, something so minuscule, and yet he's having such a physical reaction.

You assess him, taking him all in, and as your lingering gaze stays on his face for a few seconds too long, he wants to die, fold himself up a million times. Just enough so you wouldn't look at him like that, just so he could ease the burning sense of vulnerability that rages underneath his skin.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Why aren't you saying anything?

He really wishes he didn't make that no-comment rule because now you're here, and you're looking at him, and you're perfect, and you're not saying anything.

You raise a finger to graze the freckle, which just rests underneath the fragile skin of his eye. His breath hitches, flinching away from your touch.

"Your beautiful, Felix." you gasp, voice filled with sincerity.

what?

 The earth tilts on its axis as he stares at you like you're the biggest dummy on the whole planet.

"Really?" his voice trembles with the weight of his vulnerability. It shouldn't be this big of a deal; one simple Google search and you'd be flooded with images of a barefaced Felix, but seeing it in person seemed more real, more raw. It's easy to be vulnerable behind a screen of faceless, screaming fans, but when it's you, it's different. No matter how much your eyes fill with admiration, his thick skull can't seem to sink it in, the weight of his insecurity blocking all contact with the truth. 

For years, he was told that his freckles were blemishes—that his skin needed to be flawless, a pristine, perfect white; Grade school, trainie camp, JYP studios, every fan-sign, photoshoot, concert, and music video. It felt like everywhere he looked, he was being judged, but getting it from you would feel like a paper cut turned bullet wound. 

"Your pretty Felix, but, b-but-" You search for the words, but they can't seem to come to you, an unfathomable emotion sinking into your soul.

"B-But, but what?" he stammers, nervously wrapping trembling fingers around your wrist to pull your hand away.

"I don't know how to describe it" you whisper, brows scrunched in such a deep concentration it makes him sink into himself, wishing you weren't looking at him so hard, like he was a puzzle you were trying to solve. Time seems to blur between the two of you; nothing else mattering, but the beating of your heart and the words you are trying to weave together in an attempt to make a metaphor viable enough to suit what you are trying to express, but you always came up short—sentences seeming superficial, inept, under your careful consideration.

You always knew he had freckles, the way they would shine underneath thick layers of foundation when the sun hit his face just right; they had always reminded you of stars, but stars felt overused, worn out.

Stars died.

Stars faded.

Stars were a million miles away.

Stars were something physical, but what he made you feel wasn't physical, it was spiritual, it touched you unto the deepest depths of your soul, only a feeling some form of art could invoke. His freckles were unique, his freckles were little promises on the skin, little angel kisses.

He was pretty like poetry, cause poetry wasn't supposed to be perfect; it was supppsed to make you feel something.

"W-What?" he whispers, eyes shining with a deep form of admiration—pure joy dancing on his features like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and he could finally breathe again.

"Did I say that out loud?" you chuckle, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink, bashful about your cheesy insights. Your lips must have loosened when you searched too deep in your head, "S-Sorry," you stutter, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid for making such a statement.

You're pretty like poetry, what the hell does that even mean? You turn your head to dig it into his shoulder, groaning into his skin and wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Thank you for that." He whimpers, voice crackling with emotion as his lips linger on the top of your head. You don't realize he's crying until you feel water dripping on your hair, you reel your head back surprised.

"Oh my gosh, Felix!" you cup his face to wipe his tears; it was as though a button was switched in your brain to go into full comfort mode.

"I'm so sorry if what I said hurt you, I didn't mean-" you begin, your heart crumbling into a million little pieces in your chest, knowing that the words you threw around so carelessly hurt him. He interrupts you, softly holding your wrists in his hands.

"They're happy tears, I promise." He sniffles, wiping his cheeks with the back of his arm, "T-Thats just the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me" he hiccups.

"Maybe that's because everybody was too enamored with your beauty to know what to say?" He lightheartedly shoves your face away, pulling a giggle out of you. "If you don't shut up, you might just make me fall for you." You snake your arms around his neck, ghosting your lips over his, "and what if I want you too?" you whisper, sparks crackling between the two of you, "what if I already have?" you beam, finally pressing your lips to his.

Fiction always used to tell you that a true loves first kiss was all fireworks and electricity, but even fairy tales forgot to mention, when your lips lock for the first time it isn't just the fire that ignites your soul, no, it's the overwhelming feeling that you could be separated by raging seas, roaring oceans, stretches of time, lumps of land, you could be placed on different planets divided by spills of stars surrounding the milky way galaxy, and he would still find a way to love you. It was cheesy, yes, but it was Felix, and with Felix, everything felt like poetry, because poetry wasn't supposed to be perfect it was supposed to make you feel something.

[lwyikas]

Art and Passion ft Kuroo Tetsurou

" There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people"

“Can you not look while i write?You’re distracting me”

“Rejected” he grinned while watching you take notes in your notebook. You don’t even remember if you offered him to come museum with you, but here. At least some of his perspective on works of art helps.He bends down to look at what you wrote and grimaces.

“I have endless respect for you being an art enthusiast but if people who keep history wrote like you, a third of history would not reach future generations.”He didn’t even try to suppress his giggle while commenting on your article with a serious and wise, rather convulsive manner.He adores nerve in your eyes and frowning, oh you probably want to put the notebook on his head.

“It has been proven that smart people write awful”okay maybe he’s right,But you won’t entertain him more by accepting this.

“By whom?”

“Your mo-“your little aggressive sentence was not complete with he pulling you under his arms and imprisoning you in his chest.

“I’d rather you express your love for me in a more docile way, and for God’s sake, why didn’t you complete this earlier?will we stay here until midnight?

“I didn’t bring you here by force, you can go if you’re bored”You whined while saving yourself from his arms and fixing your hair.

“No it’s late,maybe thieves will come to steal Mona Lisa after I leave? I have to be here to save my sweetie”

“You are quite a gentleman, but original Mona Lisa is in Paris”but the important one is thought, admirable.You’re gazing at him,He shakes his foot Non-stop, sighs every five minutes. You’re bored too, we need to add some color.

“We will have diputation with you about Van Gough, i need your attractive ideas follow me” your raise tone get his attention.He offers you an arm. “Care to join me ma'am?”

Your eyes are gleaming as you giving him cheering smile. “It would be my pleasure.”As you two were walking, crowd around museum was dwindling, it was impossible not to notice young girls glances at him around. You tightened grip on his arm and you couldn’t help but stealing glances from him.He’s so tall and handsome ass hell. Even if his black hair has a weird style ,it didn’t make this man less attractive, even a little bit. We won’t even talk about his hazel eyes. Be sure that it won’t be difficult to find adore in those eyes that always on you and soften with you every moment.He notices your gaze and a slight pinkness appears on his cheeks. But of course he will never give you this opportunity.

“I think this is the painting you’re talking about” He's so bad, but he does it so well. When you’re looking for something in your bag, he takes out his phone and checks the clock. 9:45. After training, he was still tired and really he wants just his bed and rest. And he was bored like shit. But he enjoys spend time with you, he wouldn’t wait 2 hours to examine ancient vases or old paintings for anyone else except you in world when he is that tired. He gets rid of his thoughts with small “yay”sound coming from you.You probably found what you were looking for.

“Couldn’t you look at these paintings on google?”

“Nooo,look there are more detailed articles about its history below, and if I did it at home, i would probably be bored, it’s fun to romance things” He smiled sincerity and scratch his arms over his head.”As you wish goody goody”

“Alright,this is ‘cafe terrace at night’, Vincent van Gogh’s painting with oil on canvas in 1888. Van Gogh used theme of the starry sky for the first time in this. Although the work, in which the night view of cafe is reflected, is generally dominated by dark colors, no shade of black color was used in the drawing.Instead, with preferred warm colors and depth of perspective, this painting is unusual for Van Gogh’s works.”You explained with excitement.

“Yes, when i look, i can definitely feel emotions.” It’s nice painting, but mixed colors, metaphors and so on, he can’t say he gets messages right.

“Really?”

“No”

“What do you see when you look at it?”

He turns back to painting and examines it.“Tables, peoples, buildings, and stars.I guess i liked starts more.The colors catch my eye, but I can’t say much in terms of emotion, it’s a peaceful picture.”he stated.

“Such wise words,you must be a work interpreter”

“I’m trying my best!”

“But you got a point, intense and contrasting shades of bright yellows and dark blue not only convey a sense of harmony, but also reflect the emotional state of the artist. The azure sky, illuminated by stars, acts as a contrast to the warm yellows of the cafe. The side-by-side collar of colors creates a dynamic tension between light and dark, reflecting the emotional complexity that often characterizes.”

“You’re very attractive when you speak wisely”

“Tetsu”

“Fine fine, there are no colors that are completely in harmony with each other, even if it took my eye at first, after what you said, it seems more compatible to me in this way. If contrasting colors were used elsewhere, it would probably be “help”, but this painting is in harmony, it is not boring and overwhelming.”He crossed his arms and nodded jokingly while explaining.

“So you’re saying when things are concordant and monotonous with each other overwhelm you?”

“Maybe,calmness and peace are good, but above all, the passion of contrasts gets me in one move.”You stopped for a second and keep going take notes of what he said.

“I would rather die of passion than boredom”

This is no longer about the painting. You can get from his gazes and tone . You both stand in silence but he can hear a lot in silence.You two look at art but there are completely different thoughts in both minds. His rough hand rubs slowly to yours.But you both won’t make a move for more.He tries not to show it, but his ears are pink.

“We can go now”

“Ha?”

“I did complete writing”You put your notebook to bag and he helped you wear your jacket.You always say that you could wear yourself , but he always tell shut up.It’s a small thing he enjoys in his own way, so you don’t find it necessary to oppose too much.

When you two out cold air hits your face. It’s already dark. God, how many hours have you been there? But the hours didn’t seem too long to you. You don’t think you’ll get a low grade from your work, but it doesn’t matter if you take it, you don’t change these memories with him for anything.

“Its awful that you finished too early, we hadn’t yet come to the part where I read love poems to you”You wouldn’t exchange his antics for anything.

“You have to rest then you can pour your love for me into serenades”

“Definitely i will”he grins and pulls you closer.Kisses your temple.You’re glad he didn’t see blushing on your cheeks or you thought he didn’t.You two walking towards bus stop.

Hand in hand.

[valandrawrites]

2024 Recommended Fics - Incomplete List

Here's my start at an end of year round up. If you're looking for a specific kind of fic or trope, let me know, and I'll try to find something for you! I have many, many more I could add, and what I've included is in no particular order.

I didn't list the rating or warnings with this because it just got too long, and honestly, I'm lazy. Read at your own risk.

A. fragilis by eachainn @eachainn

This is quite simply the best fic I've ever read. Do not continue until you read this one!

150 million years ago, an Allosaurus finds a stranger had wandered into his territory and he wants the intruder out.

1878, the middle of what will become known as the Bone Wars between O.C. Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope. Castiel Novak is transporting fossils from the latest dig in South Dakota back to Yale. He has to be careful, because there are people who work for Professor Cope who would gladly take the fossils off of his hands.

Those Who Get in the Way of Peace by ladyofthelake17 @ladyofthe-lake

“Don’t make me an optimist. You will ruin my life.”

Dean Winchester finally has his shit together: business is booming at his auto repair shop, he's eating healthy (okay, he's eating salad with bacon bits), he's exercising (in a cemetery). He's single, but he's claiming it as a good thing. And so what if Sam's not talking to him? So what if his dad is marrying an insane artist? And so what if the priest marrying them is hot as hell with a name that sounds like a sin just to say it — Castiel?

AKA: another Fleabag fic, but maybe it'll have a happy ending. Maybe.

Illicit Ink by allmystars @allmystars-i

Dean Winchester has a secret. He does this thing maybe two or three times a week, and he loves it, don’t get him wrong, but… He’s a camboy, and that’s not exactly something he wants shared around the breakfast table. When Dean decides he needs a change, it’s nothing too drastic, just a tattoo. But the hot-as-sin tattoo artist he gets to do the job might just change everything.

Ground Control to Major Tom by MrsShinigamiDaiko @mrs-shinigami-daiko

Dean Winchester dreamed of being a mechanic all his life, but he never thought he would end up working as a mechanic for NASA and going into space. He is thrust into his first ever space mission after a strange lunar body, dubbed Luna-b I, mysteriously appears in Earth’s sky. Teams of astronauts scramble up to the permanent lunar base and begin analysis to determine if the blue orb is any threat to mankind. Most of the first team is sent home after a few months, nearly all of them having fallen ill with devastating cases of space sickness. As time goes on, it becomes clear that something altogether unnatural is going on here. Dean feels like he’s losing his mind as he and his crewmates also begin to succumb to sickness. He races to figure out what could possibly be the root cause. Is Luna-b I really just some weird, deep space rock that got caught in the Moon’s orbit by chance? Or is it something much more sinister, watching and waiting for the opportune moment?

Pinfall by crowleyo @crowleyo

Cas runs the family diner with his adopted son, Jack. His old high school flame rolls into town and he thinks he can just step back into Castiel's life. Well... He's kind of right.

This Impossible Happiness by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta

In one universe, Dean Winchester is pushing thirty. He’s just danced at his little brother’s wedding, he likes his job at the garage, and he goes on the occasional hunt with friends and family. He’s also desperately lonely for someone to share his life with. One day, he finds a mysterious package outside his door. It contains a news clipping about an urban legend that just might be real, and a book by Professor Castiel Novak, who happens to specialize in that same urban legend.

In another universe, Castiel Novak’s roadside motel is slowly dying, its business hollowed out by the interstate system. Dean Winchester, the man who asked him to run away together years ago, is only a painful regret these days. Until the day a mysterious letter Castiel doesn’t remember writing brings Dean back to his doorstep.

Out there in the multiverse, a man and an angel look for each other in all the wrong places. In the meantime, they might as well help a few other versions of themselves figure things out.

Then Comes the Rain by someonetoanyone @someonetoanyone-blog - a three part series

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Rowena tells him, as though that will absolve her of anything, “he may have a better solution for this, but the spell requires a smidge of spilled Grace. He’ll need to be hurt for this to work, and — Dean, all joking aside, you may be the only person fit to do this.”

“Oh, this’ll be great — go ahead, tell me why I’m the only one that can get butt-fucked to save the world.”

Mind Your Own Business by BunnyHunter

While the ability to overhear the secret thoughts of the people around him was distracting at best and anxiety-inducing at worst, Castiel had found ways to cope that included a pair of noise-canceling headphones and burying himself in his PhD research. After hearing inner thoughts for his entire life, there were very few things he overheard that surprised him anymore. So imagine his shock when his roommate Sam's brother, Dean, came to stay with them. While Dean may have been able to keep a straight face on the outside, his inner thoughts told a much different story.

Survivalism by bleuzombie @bleuzombie

Genetic engineers Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are on the verge of a breakthrough in cancer treatment and possibly even a cure, using genetic manipulation and incredibly, shark DNA.

Following a devastating diagnosis of brain cancer, and amid growing pressure from his boss, Dick Roman, for results, Castiel is pushed to an act of desperation. He tests the cure on himself with disastrous and violent results.

He has never been so hungry.

Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans) by foolondahill17 @foolondahill17

What if Dean just kept every kid he’s ever interacted with?

A re-write of season 6 onwards in which Dean slowly collects every conceivable stray that crosses his path.

The eyes of a lamb by naughtystiel @naughtystiel for Shedar

The year is '98 and Spring is approaching fast. For most, the season is a symbol of new beginnings with Mother Nature’s chaste kiss that breathes life into everything once more. It's inspiring, peaceful and beautiful. So, the fact that this is exactly when a certain serial killer loves to strike makes Detective Winchester's blood boil. Two years in a row now, the guy has slipped through his fingers, not leaving a single trace behind. No clues, no leads, just murdered women in the most picturesque places imaginable. And the worst thing of all? Sometimes Dean catches himself admiring the killer's work.

where there is darkness by quiettewandering @quiettewandering @wanderingcas 

When Castiel Milton takes a job to be the new assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse in Kittery, Maine, he expects to live out his new life in quiet isolation. What he gets instead is Dean Winchester: bitter, brash, and, like Castiel, harboring a dark secret. As the spark of attraction between them grows into a flame, the lighthouse walls start closing in—as do the ghosts of Dean and Castiel's checkered pasts.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Could I request a fluff fic for Astarion falling for a tav reader who's a bard and an amazing singer? Maybe he can't sleep, so he goes for a walk and finds reader singing to themselves, and he sits and listens, slowly realizing how hard he's fallen for them?

Thank you so much for putting this in my inbox! I hope you enjoy!

Astarion x GN! Bard Reader

I used the songs Nobody Knows Me At All by the Weepies and Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls because I am a cliche.

  The moon glows brilliantly throughout the night sky and the stars don’t seem to realize how lucky they are that they don’t have to deal with feelings and masters and all the other terrible side effects of being a person. 

 In spite of his name sake, Astarion does not have the luxury of being blissfully unaware of the horrors life has to offer. It didn't bother him so much- he took each terrible thing as it came and rolled with the punches. Whatever it takes to keep him alive until the next day- it’s essentially his life motto. 

  Another thing stars aren’t burdened with- the need for rest. 

 Traversing into the Shadow Cursed Lands is the last thing Astarion wants to be doing and while he was already worried for himself, he found he has an entirely other worry weighing heavily on him. 

 Where in the hells are they? He thinks, its been an hour and a half now since they wandered off! 

 He is trying to not be so clingy and weird- you don’t seem to mind his company and his overbearing ness, but the others had been teasing him and he was rather sore about it. 

 They called him a lovesick bat amongst other things and he is not lovesick. You are a means to an end, nothing more and nothing less. Granted, no one else needs to know that.

 Sleep continues to elude him as he waits impatiently to hear your footsteps walking back into camp or your scent to come rolling over him from the breeze.

  It’s probably only been 30-45 minutes- realistically- but Astarion has found himself becoming very preoccupied and aware of your safety. 

 You are a squishy mortal- your heart needs to beat and you need to breathe or he will lose you and he can’t fathom the idea of not having you by his side.

 His idle feet drag him to the forest, no longer able to sit and wait for you to make a reappearance.

 I just need to make sure they are safe, he thinks, because otherwise I am not sure they would keep me in the group- yeah! That’s why I’m doing this. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

 While most feel terrified of the darkness of the wilderness at night, he feels comforted and engulfed in it. He loves the sun, but unfortunately, at the end of the day, he is still a creature of the night and that is where he technically belongs.

 He supposes that’s another worry he’s had lately- an intrusive thought really- but what happens when this journey ends? You and the others assured him that they will free him from Cazador forever- Astarion even became a bit emotional when Gale said, “and he won’t find you alone!” when Astarion brought up the dangers of keeping him in the group. 

 You have rallied around him this whole time and stuck your neck out for him more often than not. The two of you have indulged in each other and been enjoying each other’s company, but right now he’s here and you may just not be attracted to the others.

 What happens when everyone gets back to Baldur’s Gate? He’s seen you in pubs before and playing so the bar goers can stay on tune with the singer. You have your own little following of people who crave your attention and while you have told him it all makes you uncomfortable- those people would be a far more appropriate life match for you than a Vampire. 

 Astarion’s ears droop on their own at the thought. He thought he got out of the childish elven habit of slouching his ears long ago when Cazador beat it out of him- you seemed to have brushed off some of the vines. It’s like old parts of a factory are slowly being restored and as it is, he finds pieces of himself he subconsciously knew were there, but are new to him again. 

 For example- he loves a good practical joke just for good fun. He bought a cushion of sorts from Mol and put it where Lae’zel sits- covered with a blanket. She sat down on the log for her watch as quite literally everyone was sitting down to eat dinner. He fell off his seat he was laughing so hard- it was worth being chased up and down a few trees. 

 He also enjoys dancing for fun- you dragged him around the fire during the night of the Tiefling party and taught him more informal dancing and less of the stuffy shit Cazador forces him to partake in. You growled at anyone who tried to cut in- it was rather funny.

 You are also quite the fan of the occasional shenanigan and he finds himself smiling at the memory of your baby hairs stuck to your sweat slicked skin as he kept watch for guards while you graffitied Vlaakith’s painting or when you waved at her instead of bowing.

 Life is fun with you- he forgot why people enjoy being alive so much outside of not feeling ravenous all the time. He feels alive with you and the idea of you and him never seeing each other again for your entire life scares him. He doesn’t want to stumble upon an obituary some time in the future and ‘remember’ the person who saved him.

 He wants to be at your side and it terrifies him, but it would be worse to be away from you.

 Feelings- it’s disgusting and he does not like it. 

 Your scent becomes stronger on a more beaten path and he feels his alarm bells going off- jolting in the direction he believes you are and praying that every God actually hears him as he silently begs for you to be safe. 

  Your melodic voice and the sound of the babbling brook melts the worry in his body. Astarion’s pace slows slightly and he feels that annoying warm glow spread through his body. 

  You are sitting near the bank with your laundry in hand- Scratch and the Owlbear cub are laying down together nearby, one of the pup’s ears upright to hear any intruders. 

 It brings him some comfort that you have Scratch and the little cub- he isn’t sure he would fuck with an Owlbear Cub or approach a Bard with a bewitching voice calling out into the night like a Harpy’s song.

 “When I was a child

 Everybody smiled

No-body knows me at allllll

 Very late at night and in the morning light

  Nobody knows me at all

 I got lots of friends, yes, but then again- nobody knows me at all-“

 You stop suddenly and stare up at the moon and Astarion is completely enraptured with you and your singing. He feels charmed and he is entirely okay with it. 

“I suppose that’s not necessarily true,” you say softly, picking at the grass and smiling to yourself. 

 Oh your smile- he feels himself slowly melt into the grass like a smitten school boy and his own grin dances across his lips. 

 They are talking about you, the thoughts sends shocks of happiness and twinges of guilt, your plan worked.

 He should be thrilled, but he could honestly give a shit less. He is too busy listening.

 “And I’d give up forever to touch you

 Cause I know that you feel me somehow

 You’re the closest to heaven, that I’ll ever be

And I don’t wanna go home right now.”

 If his heart beat it would be pounding in his chest right now. 

 Your face is so relaxed, but he adores the furrow of your brow as you concentrate on hitting all the right chords and remembering the lyrics.  The song is beautiful but he is certain it’s only because you are the one singing it. Anyone else singing a love song would make him feel nauseated. 

 Astarion feels centuries of heaviness roll off his body with every note and sweet omission of trust. 

 He is hypnotized by your lovely fingers plucking the chords and he feels the ghost of your hand in his- you had taken it in your hand while everyone walked through the forest. Your hand had felt perfect in his own and he felt like a young, giddy, new person again. You always make him feel like that though lately. 

 “And I don’t want the world to see me

 Cause I don’t think that they’d understand

When everything’s meant to be broken

 I just want you to know who I am.”

  Astarion had lost all hope- truly lost it all- before the Mindflayers had kidnapped him. He felt more hopeful once he landed on the beach, but that hope was also laced with overwhelming fear. 

 Lately, he has been more present in his day to day. He is happy and full most days. He wakes up near you or to the sound of your laugh instead of the screams of his siblings or angry commands from Cazador or being yanked out of bed by either Cazador or Godey to be dragged off to the Kennels or Gods only knows where. 

 Astarion has actually been trancing for four hours straight without interruption these days and he even fell asleep a couple of times- his body finally feeling safe enough to completely shut down for a while. He woke up feeling stronger than ever and your heartbeat echoing through his ribs. 

 You had been more than happy to let him share your tent at night after he had barged into your tent after a particularly bad trance. It had been shortly after killing Nere in the Underdark and before entering the Crèche. He has basically been sleeping there every night since and he gets to enjoy your company- and all to himself!

 You with your wild morning hair and sleep ridden breath- it’s a gift he has never been given before. Astarion is grateful for every morning he has gotten to wake up next to you and you are alive- so vulnerable and warm with sleep. 

 He adores the way you tiredly blink at him as you become more aware of the world. You have begun to leave a sleepy kiss on his lips in the morning and he finds himself looking forward to it; and the mornings you forget, he steals a lazy morning kiss from you. It’s like Gale and his coffee, he can’t start his day anymore without that first kiss in the mornings. 

 You continue to sing- your voice strong and full of passion. Happy tears make your eyes glimmer and sparkle under the moonlight and for once, he doesn’t hate being a creature of the night because you make nighttime seem ethereal and lovely; enchanting and whimsical; a luxury to witness. Astarion is positive you could make even the most dingy corners of the world look beautiful from blessing it with your presence alone. 

 You finish your song and he decides he cannot take being away from you for another moment longer so he backtracks just a bit.

“Darling?” He calls out with a fake worried voice, “are you okay?”

“I’m over here!”

 With a big, stupid grin on his face, he half skips half walks over to your spot under the tree.

 You are delightfully rosy with blush and your eyes light up upon seeing him- Astarion doesn’t think that will ever get old. You are the first person to ever genuinely be happy to see him and he laps it up like Scratch drinks water after he has a fit of zoomies. 

“I am so grateful it’s you singing- I began to feel charmed and feared the worst!”

 You roll your eyes at his comment, but smile widely anyway and put your luteto the side, taking his outstretched hand. 

“I am so glad you find my singing appealing,” you say breathlessly, “I will have to work harder to truly charm you next time.” 

“Oh- you may consider me thoroughly charmed, my Sweet,” he presses a kiss to your forehead and you giggle, “anymore and I might become your Thraul.”

“That wouldn’t be good at all!” You exclaim, “you would agree with me on everything and it would be terrible!”

 Astarion throws his head back with laughter- it’s not even all that funny, but the way you embrace his personality and find it enjoyable fills him with so much joy. 

 You pull him out under the moonlight and he cocks an eyebrow at you- you respond with a cheeky grin.

 “Magistrate Ancunín,” you say sweetly with a bow, “I thought I might have seen you across the dance floor this evening.”

 Astarion smiles, “Ah! Your highness- how lovely it is to see you, my Dear. I was so hoping you may be here tonight- everyone else is so dreadfully dull, as you already know.”

“Believe me,” you roll your eyes and wave your hand, “none of them find my jokes or my stories entertaining.”

“Perish the thought!” He puts a hand to his chest in faux surprise, “They should all be sentenced to death!”

 Your eyes widen for a moment before you snort and join in.

“I so agree,” you snap your fingers, “there- it’s all been magically taken care of. I am the most powerful Highness known to the realms, after all.”

“Oh your majesty,” he pretends to be on the verge of feinting, “no one has ever done something so wonderfully romantic like this for me before- however can I repay you?”

“You could repay me by giving me this dance?”

 He hears your heartbeat race slightly and you look a bit nervous. It’s such a bizarre thing for you to feel. Of course he will dance with you. It would be criminal not to.

 Taking your hand- he pulls you to him and wraps your arms around his neck. His fingers greedily cling to your hips as you sway together back and forth. 

 You hum as the two of you have your foreheads pressed together and your eyes closed- the only individuals privy to the moment being the moon and the sleeping animals. 

 Astarion appreciates how your voice always reflects your feelings- the happiness in your tune is pleasant to his sensitive ears. 

 Eventually it’s the sound of the river that you both sway to and he barely catches your sentence.

“I am surprised you came looking for me,” you say with a yawn, “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

 He shakes his head, “I couldn’t.”

“Bad trance?”

“Something like that,” he quickly tries to change the subject, “why are you still awake?”

“I wasn’t able to sleep and decided I wanted to enjoy the moon and the ability to sing so freely,” you sigh, “Gods only knows when we’ll see it again.”

 Astarion hums in agreement- taking your callused hands in his and tracing the line of your hands. This seems to help you relax and it does bring him quite a bit of happiness to be able to help you relax as much as you help him. 

“I- I am really scared,” you look up at him with tears in your eyes, “I’m scared to go into the Shadow Cursed Lands. I have heard the stories and the lands are haunted by the cursed dead- people who had lives- who had stories.

“I am scared I could end up joining them,” your lower lip quivers so adorably, but he doesn’t like the words you are saying at all, “if I make one wrong move or we all get separated-“

“Stop,” he says, his voice thick and his chest heavy with an emotion he can’t identify, “I won’t allow that to happen. I can assure you that you will be rather irritated with me by the time we kill Ketheric- I don’t think I will be able to allow you to be out of arm’s reach.”

 He says it, but the actual reality of the comment doesn’t hit him until a couple seconds later. 

 Fuck.

 You smile brilliantly at him, “I hope you are ready for the same treatment.”

“I would be offended if you didn’t!”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that!”

 You lean forward and leave a kiss on his lips that takes his breath away- he follows you as you pull away, not ready to be without your lips on his. Astarion smiles against your mouth when your breath hitches- he loves that sound.

 And he is terrified to lose you.  

 Astarion fucked up his own plan- well okay, not really, but he did kind of. You have fallen for him, that much is obvious, but he was never supposed to fall for you! 

  The swaying continues- even as your body becomes heavier and heavier with sleepiness, Astarion feels like he’s dreaming and also simultaneously having a nightmare.

 He needs to rid himself of these feelings before they become all consuming- before he goes and does something stupid. 

 Maybe I give myself some space- sleep in my tent tonight? His chest tightens and he cannot breathe,  no, that won’t work. I- I don’t want to do that. I could push them away- get them to break things off with me.

 That thought makes him feel even more ill. Being near you brings happiness, comfort, and warmth- even when he is feeling extremely confused and uncomfortable with his feelings towards you. 

 You see the pieces of him he doesn’t often let others see and instead of despising him, you smile at his jokes. You laugh the loudest out of everyone- even at the jokes that maybe don’t deserve it. You are patient when he is grumpy, unreasonable, and rude. 

 You have become important to him- more important than he ever intended for you to be.

“Let’s go back to camp,” you say with a large yawn, “I need a little bit of sleep- we have a hell of a journey ahead.”

 Astarion helps you pick up your things and he carries your bag for you. You hold his other hand and you both chat as if you have spent years together rather than mere weeks- both of you grinning from ear to ear.

 You eventually wind up in each other’s embrace in your tent and you are snoring softly. Always making music as he likes to say. 

 The nighttime eventually pulls him back into his own trance, but this time, his trance is filled with happy memories of your adventures together with every melody you have ever sung prancing through his head.

[hotdigitallegend]

🕯 void of course moon: what it is & how to navigate it 🕯

the universe hit “pause” and forgot to tell you.

what is a void of course moon?

a void of course moon is the period of time after the moon makes its last major aspect (conversation) in a sign… and before it enters the next one. it’s a period of in-between. a liminal hallway. nothing really “lands.” actions don’t have roots. it’s the sky’s version of airplane mode.

✨ it’s not dangerous. it’s mostly floaty, glitchy, weird.

✨ plans fall through. people forget. energy feels off.

✨ it’s not a good time to start anything new. however it is a great time to nap, clean, journal, do nothing on purpose.

it’s the universe’s equivalent of: “let me get back to you on that.”

how this feels depends on your modality (cardinal, fixed, or mutable) because the universe doesn’t treat everyone the same.

↓

cardinal signs

(aries ♈︎ cancer ♋︎ libra ♎︎ capricorn ♑︎)

you like to get things moving. but when the moon is void, the energy says sit it down. try not to Hulk out, trying to make things happen will just frustrate you. instead of trying to bulldoze through, this is your moment to plan like a chess master.

🕯 let your “doer” take a nap.

clean out your bag. journal, don’t text. just because nothing is progressing doesn’t mean you’re failing.

fixed signs

(taurus ♉︎, leo ♌︎, scorpio ♏︎, aquarius ♒︎)

you love control, consistency, and knowing what the plan is. a void moon interrupts your groove and you spiral trying to fix it. avoid making any decisions that feel rushed or reactive. you’ll thank yourself when the energy shifts and clarity floods back in.

🕯 don’t force anything, if you have excess energy go do something tactile like scrub the tub, brush your hair, water your plants.

mutable signs

(gemini ♊︎, virgo ♍︎, sagittarius ♐︎, pisces ♓︎)

you live in the in-between already, so void moons hit extra crazy. it’s easy to misread the vibes as a divine sign or existential warning. don’t try to lock down anything solid; this is creative free play

🕯 ground yourself. re-read your last text before you send a novella. you don’t need to solve your whole life today. wait for the fog to lift.

also: don’t flirt with ghosts during void moons.

general reminders:

• don’t launch anything

• don’t confront people

• don’t make big promises

• don’t start a situationship

• don’t assume you know how anyone feels

🤍 do rest.

🤍 do reset.

🤍 do slow down enough to feel what’s actually true.

🤍 do make tea, light a candle, stare at the ceiling dramatically.

🌙 for future reference:

• the last void before march 31, 2025 was march 30th from 9:17 am to 8:16 pm edt — that’s when the moon ghosted aries and slid into taurus. from “let’s burn it down” to “let’s chill and nap.” (hello, grounded energy).

• the next void of course moon occurs on sunday, june 1, 2025, beginning at 11:38 pm edt and ending on monday, june 2, 2025, at 3:00 am edt — the moon leaves leo (drama and glamour) and enters virgo “now, clean up the glitter, sort your inbox, maybe drink some water.”

so if you’re feeling stuck or things feel a little “off” during these windows now you know why. perfect time to lean into rest, creativity, or just slow down a bit. ✨

[csolarstorm]

The Circle of Arceus Doesn't Need Modern Legendaries

(Source: Centro Leaks)

That's right, it's time for me to post a theory about this.

A lot of people are pointing out that this diagram is obsolete simply because there's been five more regions of legendaries since it was made and it's been...almost 20 years. I think that's only partly true. It actually holds up surprisingly well in modern Pokemon.

GameFreak definitely tried to get away from the whole "legendaries are gods" thing after Gen IV, mostly because where do you go after Arceus? So you don't get a lot of newer legendaries involved in the creation of the Pokemon world.

Plus, GameFreak used to have these random moments where they worried about continuity. Why do we need incense to evolve the Baby Pokemon from Sinnoh? You think players are going to complain that Munchlax should've hatched in Johto? Well, you might be right...but still.

That might be why a lot of newer legendaries have an alibi that explains why they weren't in the Pokemon World when it was created. Many of them were either in Space, or "Ultra" Space:

The Orignal Dragon of Unova

The Cosmog Line

Necrozma

Eternatus

By the way, some professor really should look into the reason so many incredibly dangerous space dragons are just dropping into the Pokemon world.

Then there's legendaries that are strong in the context of their story, and some are even worshiped, but they're more like regional gods and myths.

The Swords of Justice

The Tapus

The Legendary Heroes

Kubfu Line

Calyrex and His Steeds

The Paradox Duo

The Treasures of Ruin

Ogerpon

Most modern mythicals unfortunately fall hard into this category, to the point that some are literally just a monkey, Zarude. Actually, there's no need to list the others. You get the idea.

But who does fit the circle?

That leaves the Aura Trio, the Forces of Nature, and...Terapagos. In my opinion, these legendaries would be right at home in the circle. The Aura Trio deals in life and death, which is pretty major.

That Yggdrasil inspiration would make the Aura Trio right at home on the tree of life from the beta origin story. You know, that "giant tree of life" that Rayquaza, Groudon, and Kyogre broke apart, that turned into the sky, earth, and ocean?

The three gathered in a circle and prayed, and the seed sprouted. The sprout quickly grew, and became the giant tree of life. However, the tree continued to grow, soon filling the entire world, and no one was able to move.

(...) RAYQUAZA wrapped its body around the tree of life. GROUDON and KYOGRE slammed their bodies into the tree of life. Eventually, the tree fell and broke into three pieces.

REI, AI, and HAI prayed, saddened that the tree would rot away like this. Then, the pieces of the broken tree would transform into the sky, earth, and ocean. RAYQUAZA became the pillar that holds the sky.

(Source: Centro Leaks)

Yeah, now I'm thinking the Aura Trio are more of a second try at this whole tree of life thing at GameFreak. Because the whole "Rayquaza wrapped its body around the tree" gives me major Yggdrasil vibes. Surprise Pokemon theorists, Nidhogg isn't Zygarde...it's Rayquaza!

Rayquaza did Ragnarok!

But some people think the Aura Trio are aliens who came to earth on the meteor that the Anistar City Moondial was made from, so that would explain why the Aura Trio aren't in the circle. After all, the Unovan Original Dragon came from a meteor just one generation earlier.

There's also the alleged "original story" rumor for XY that claimed that XY was originally about aliens. The Teraleak probably has something to say about that. So the jury's out about the Aura Trio - they could belong in the circle, but they might be aliens.

(Wait, the rumor was that the alien plot was cut for time? As in, it would have been included (and maybe made less "weird") if they didn't rush? So is THAT was what in Southern Kalos...)

Or maybe my theory is wrong. Deoxys is on the outer layer of the circle after all. Maybe Arceus doesn't discriminate against aliens, they just have to stay on the outer layer. It's not that much of a difference either way - there's plenty of room on the outer layer with the other mythicals. I'm talking about the head honchos really.

The Forces of Nature probably belong on the circle, if we're being honest. They kind of clash with the Legendary Birds' role in the mythos as "weather" gods, but they should be on there.

Lastly...Terapagos is an enigma when it comes to this whole post. It might be more powerful than Eternatus, since "tera" is more power than "giga", right? It's so much power it can literally warp a Pokemon's type. Like Arceus, or genetic engineering.

And Terapagos isn't an alien like Eternatus, at least there's no evidence of it. It's been stuck underground, but it used to live on land. I would say it's just a really, really powerful Pokemon that isn't technically godly, but it's literally based on the World Turtle, another creation myth.

It's in the same boat as the Aura Trio, only it's not an alien. Except, it is responsible for the "Stellar" type, as in stars. And there is this Pokedex entry:

An old expedition journal describes the sight of this Pokémon buried in the depths of the earth as resembling a planet floating in space.

Who says that planet is Earth? What if that's its homeworld?

Terapagos doesn't just borrow inspiration from the world, but the idea of worlds itself, or the philosophical idea of "turtles all the way down". Not only does it depict a world, but a world on a world. A world on a world on a -

I don't know how to end this. Are all my Teraleak theories going to be this long? I hope not. Happy Teraleak! Enjoy the leak!

---

Edit: Changed the name of the title. It used to be called "Newer Legendaries Just Aren't in Arceus' Personal Circle".

All pics other than the Arceus circle are from Bulbapedia. It's easier that way.

[canmom]

oh no she's talking about AI some more

to comment more on the latest round of AI big news (guess I do have more to say after all):

chatgpt ghiblification

trying to figure out how far it's actually an advance over the state of the art of finetunes and LoRAs and stuff in image generation? I don't keep up with image generation stuff really, just look at it occasionally and go damn that's all happening then, but there are a lot of finetunes focusing on "Ghibli's style" which get it more or less well. previously on here I commented on an AI video model generation that patterned itself on Ghibli films, and video is a lot harder than static images.

of course 'studio Ghibli style' isn't exactly one thing: there are stylistic commonalities to many of their works and recurring designs, for sure, but there are also details that depend on the specific character designer and film in question in large and small ways (nobody is shooting for My Neighbours the Yamadas with this, but also e.g. Castle in the Sky does not look like Pom Poko does not look like How Do You Live in a number of ways, even if it all recognisably belongs to the same lineage).

the interesting thing about the ghibli ChatGPT generations for me is how well they're able to handle simplification of forms in image-to-image generation, often quite drastically changing the proportions of the people depicted but recognisably maintaining correspondence of details. that sort of stylisation is quite difficult to do well even for humans, and it must reflect quite a high level of abstraction inside the model's latent space. there is also relatively little of the 'oversharpening'/'ringing artefact' look that has been a hallmark of many popular generators - it can do flat colour well.

the big touted feature is its ability to place text in images very accurately. this is undeniably impressive, although OpenAI themeselves admit it breaks down beyond a certain point, creating strange images which start out with plausible, clean text and then it gradually turns into AI nonsense. it's really weird! I thought text would go from 'unsolved' to 'completely solved' or 'randomly works or doesn't work' - instead, here it feels sort of like the model has a certain limited 'pipeline' for handling text in images, but when the amount of text overloads that bandwidth, the rest of the image has to make do with vague text-like shapes! maybe the techniques from that anthropic thought-probing paper might shed some light on how information flows through the model.

similarly the model also has a limit of scene complexity. it can only handle a certain number of objects (10-20, they say) before it starts getting confused and losing track of details.

as before when they first wired up Dall-E to ChatGPT, it also simply makes prompting a lot simpler. you don't have to fuck around with LoRAs and obtuse strings of words, you just talk to the most popular LLM and ask it to perform a modification in natural language: the whole process is once again black-boxed but you can tell it in natural language to make changes. it's a poor level of control compared to what artists are used to, but it's still huge for ordinary people, and of course there's nothing stopping you popping the output into an editor to do your own editing.

not sure the architecture they're using in this version, if ChatGPT is able to reason about image data in the same space as language data or if it's still calling a separate image model... need to look that up.

openAI's own claim is:

We trained our models on the joint distribution of online images and text, learning not just how images relate to language, but how they relate to each other. Combined with aggressive post-training, the resulting model has surprising visual fluency, capable of generating images that are useful, consistent, and context-aware.

that's kind of vague. not sure what architecture that implies. people are talking about 'multimodal generation' so maybe it is doing it all in one model? though I'm not exactly sure how the inputs and outputs would be wired in that case.

anyway, as far as complex scene understanding: per the link they've cracked the 'horse riding an astronaut' gotcha, they can do 'full glass of wine' at least some of the time but not so much in combination with other stuff, and they can't do accurate clock faces still.

normal sentences that we write in 2025.

it sounds like we've moved well beyond using tools like CLIP to classify images, and I suspect that glaze/nightshade are already obsolete, if they ever worked to begin with. (would need to test to find out).

all that said, I believe ChatGPT's image generator had been behind the times for quite a long time, so it probably feels like a bigger jump for regular ChatGPT users than the people most hooked into the AI image generator scene.

of course, in all the hubbub, we've also already seen the white house jump on the trend in a suitably appalling way, continuing the current era of smirking fascist political spectacle by making a ghiblified image of a crying woman being deported over drugs charges. (not gonna link that shit, you can find it if you really want to.) it's par for the course; the cruel provocation is exactly the point, which makes it hard to find the right tone to respond. I think that sort of use, though inevitable, is far more of a direct insult to the artists at Ghibli than merely creating a machine that imitates their work. (though they may feel differently! as yet no response from Studio Ghibli's official media. I'd hate to be the person who has to explain what's going on to Miyazaki.)

google make number go up

besides all that, apparently google deepmind's latest gemini model is really powerful at reasoning, and also notably cheaper to run, surpassing DeepSeek R1 on the performance/cost ratio front. when DeepSeek did this, it crashed the stock market. when Google did... crickets, only the real AI nerds who stare at benchmarks a lot seem to have noticed. I remember when Google releases (AlphaGo etc.) were huge news, but somehow the vibes aren't there anymore! it's weird.

I actually saw an ad for google phones with Gemini in the cinema when i went to see Gundam last week. they showed a variety of people asking it various questions with a voice model, notably including a question on astrology lmao. Naturally, in the video, the phone model responded with some claims about people with whatever sign it was. Which is a pretty apt demonstration of the chameleon-like nature of LLMs: if you ask it a question about astrology phrased in a way that implies that you believe in astrology, it will tell you what seems to be a natural response, namely what an astrologer would say. If you ask if there is any scientific basis for belief in astrology, it would probably tell you that there isn't.

In fact, let's try it on DeepSeek R1... I ask an astrological question, got an astrological answer with a really softballed disclaimer:

Individual personalities vary based on numerous factors beyond sun signs, such as upbringing and personal experiences. Astrology serves as a tool for self-reflection, not a deterministic framework.

Ask if there's any scientific basis for astrology, and indeed it gives you a good list of reasons why astrology is bullshit, bringing up the usual suspects (Barnum statements etc.). And of course, if I then explain the experiment and prompt it to talk about whether LLMs should correct users with scientific information when they ask about pseudoscientific questions, it generates a reasonable-sounding discussion about how you could use reinforcement learning to encourage models to focus on scientific answers instead, and how that could be gently presented to the user.

I wondered if I'd asked it instead to talk about different epistemic regimes and come up with reasons why LLMs should take astrology into account in their guidance. However, this attempt didn't work so well - it started spontaneously bringing up the science side. It was able to observe how the framing of my question with words like 'benefit', 'useful' and 'LLM' made that response more likely. So LLMs infer a lot of context from framing and shape their simulacra accordingly. Don't think that's quite the message that Google had in mind in their ad though.

I asked Gemini 2.0 Flash Thinking (the small free Gemini variant with a reasoning mode) the same questions and its answers fell along similar lines, although rather more dry.

So yeah, returning to the ad - I feel like, even as the models get startlingly more powerful month by month, the companies still struggle to know how to get across to people what the big deal is, or why you might want to prefer one model over another, or how the new LLM-powered chatbots are different from oldschool assistants like Siri (which could probably answer most of the questions in the Google ad, but not hold a longform conversation about it).

some general comments

The hype around ChatGPT's new update is mostly in its use as a toy - the funny stylistic clash it can create between the soft cartoony "Ghibli style" and serious historical photos. Is that really something a lot of people would spend an expensive subscription to access? Probably not. On the other hand, their programming abilities are increasingly catching on.

But I also feel like a lot of people are still stuck on old models of 'what AI is and how it works' - stochastic parrots, collage machines etc. - that are increasingly falling short of the more complex behaviours the models can perform, now prediction combines with reinforcement learning and self-play and other methods like that. Models are still very 'spiky' - superhumanly good at some things and laughably terrible at others - but every so often the researchers fill in some gaps between the spikes. And then we poke around and find some new ones, until they fill those too.

I always tried to resist 'AI will never be able to...' type statements, because that's just setting yourself up to look ridiculous. But I will readily admit, this is all happening way faster than I thought it would. I still do think this generation of AI will reach some limit, but genuinely I don't know when, or how good it will be at saturation. A lot of predicted 'walls' are falling.

My anticipation is that there's still a long way to go before this tops out. And I base that less on the general sense that scale will solve everything magically, and more on the intense feedback loop of human activity that has accumulated around this whole thing. As soon as someone proves that something is possible, that it works, we can't resist poking at it. Since we have a century or more of science fiction priming us on dreams/nightmares of AI, as soon as something comes along that feels like it might deliver on the promise, we have to find out. It's irresistable.

AI researchers are frequently said to place weirdly high probabilities on 'P(doom)', that AI research will wipe out the human species. You see letters calling for an AI pause, or papers saying 'agentic models should not be developed'. But I don't know how many have actually quit the field based on this belief that their research is dangerous. No, they just get a nice job doing 'safety' research. It's really fucking hard to figure out where this is actually going, when behind the eyes of everyone who predicts it, you can see a decade of LessWrong discussions framing their thoughts and you can see that their major concern is control over the light cone or something.