#and now the icons on my dash are fully gone

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around. 

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

 No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder. 

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up. 

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. 

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

 "Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck. 

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes. 

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their 

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her. 

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked. 

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him. 

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. 

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand. 

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

 "You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit. 

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer. 

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket. 

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

[jewish-vents]

first - i just want to say thank you for making this blog. it’s so important to know that we aren’t alone in the many things we’re experiencing and feeling right now, especially when so many of us have become painfully isolated as of late.

i apologize for how long this one is going to be.

i’ve been feeling so, so alone recently. my tumblr dash has been cut down to just a handful of jewish blogs that i can trust to be kind and understanding and nuanced, but it means that the majority of the content i see is about antisemitism and the war. after a while, it becomes draining to scroll through what feels like endless sadness. i turned to looking at fandom tags instead of following fandom blogs, but it makes me feel equally as insane to click on a blog about race cars and immediately see a post with 60k notes calling what’s happening in gaza “the new holocaust”. i started going back on twitter, but fan accounts on there too are only safe for a day or so before the account owner shares some awful antisemitic tweet from an account known to be an anti-jewish extremist. i went back on instagram briefly, but i was soon afraid to look at people’s stories for fear i’d see something terrible and lose yet another trusted person from my life.

in person, i have to walk by signs saying “zionism = genocide” and hastily scribbled palestinian flags with the colors in the wrong spot on my way to class every day. a wall across from my apartment says “BDS” in giant letters. i haven’t opened my curtains in months because of it. a “protest” of about 25 people stood in the center of campus and yelled and waved their fists in passing students’ faces, so jewish students didn’t go to class on any of the days they gathered. i only have one non jewish friend left at school - the rest abandoned me because i either called them out on antisemitic rhetoric or refused to go along with the idea that anyone, palestinian or israeli, muslim or jewish, is less than human. i had taken several of them along to our hillel’s seder in the past. i don’t know who i can safely go with this year. i have a few jewish friends, of course, but i love bringing goyische friends with little connection to judaism along to experience how joyful and loving jewish holidays can be.

it feels like there is no escape from this fucking war. it sickens me that it’s the only thing people pretend to care about - where is the attention for sudan, ukraine, armenia, uyghurs in china, syria, guyana? how is putting an emoji in your twitter bio or putting a translucent overlay of the palestinian flag on your tumblr icon any sort of real activism? how have we gone from “antisemitism is wrong” to “(((zionists))) control the world media”? it seems like the war is a fandom to these people. it seems like nobody cares enough to fully read and think critically about what they share, let alone do real research beyond looking at an infographic somebody shared on their instagram story. they’ll add on “don’t forget your click today!” to an unrelated twitter thread that went viral, flip the bird at the local starbucks, and put “won’t you free my palestine” on their instagram stories. they’ll anonymously tell a jew online to commit suicide. they’ll feel secure in the knowledge that they’re the perfect leftist, that this is somehow “good trouble”. all this praxis, and nothing to show for it but massive surges in hate crimes against jews. good job, guys! you singlehandedly saved every innocent person in gaza!

it’s isolating. it’s scary. jews can’t mourn. jews can’t be angry. jews can’t disagree. jews can’t suffer. jews can’t be whole, complex people with diverse beliefs and experiences. suffering is a game, and the goal is to hurt the most, scream the most, die the most, all to appease western leftists whose closest connection to war and violence was reading the hunger games in middle school.

i’m tired of it all. i want a peaceful and just resolution to the war. i want the mindless hatred everywhere to stop. i want to be able to scroll through social media and see nothing but fandom. i want to walk through campus with my magen david showing and all the friends i lost by my side on the way to the hillel seder. i want to open my curtains again. i know the experience of one diaspora jew is nothing compared to what people living in israel and palestine are currently going through, yet i still need this all to end. i don’t think any of us can go on like this, but we must, because we have. for thousands of years, we’ve gone on. that still doesn’t mean it has to be this hard all the time.

all i can think is “now we are slaves. next year may we be free.” now we are slaves to hatred and violence and suffering. next year may we all be free. next year may we all be in jerusalem.

.

[mae-i-scribble]

Since I am entirely too unwell about Ancient Magus Bride at all times of the day I have decided to break down the latest opening because I cannot do so for the friend I am watching season 2 with since she hasn't read the manga. Hands down this latest opening, Nemurasareta Lineage by Junna, is the best in the series to me. And I don't make that claim lightly, the first opening is iconic on so many levels from the visual to the lyrics, we ignore the 2nd opening bc it sucked (sorry to the fans out there I just do my best to pretend this one doesn't exist, no i have not moved on from my bitterness at its reused animation since 2016 next question), and season 2's first opening is also incredible.

However, what this latest opening brings to the table is some of the most spectacular visuals I've seen in a hot minute- and I don't mean from purely visual, I mean thematically, this opening is fucking spectacular. Every single moment has purpose and meaning behind it.

I will be putting the rest under a read more as to not clog anyone's dash bc this is gonna be l o n g

Starting off from the very first shot we already have so much thematic meaning crammed into this.

Firstly, the shot of Elias opening the book has many connotations, alluding to how he has read the Testament of Carnamagos while also alluding to the fact that him reading that book is ultimately what lead to this story happening at all. If Elias had never read it to try and transfer Chise's curse, Chise would not have done what she did and Elias wouldn't have learned how to let Chise be independent, and then Chise never would have gone to the college. In that respect it's a perfect opener for this "play," as it was the prelude to this act.

Then we have the next shot of Elias hanging like a puppet, showing us an empty vessel-like appearance before being pulled upwards. There are a lot of different ways to interpret this, personally it drew me back to how the Wil O' Wisp described a magus as "someone bound to their fate." Elias, a tried and true magus, is bound to his fate like a puppet on a string while Chise, someone who is not yet fully a magus is free to walk around the stage as herself. Elias' removal from the set, and subsequently the way he claps to bring forth the next "acts" in the show, I think speaks to the way he is largely removed from this arc. Of course he is there, watching over Chise and pushing her along as best he can, but he has very much taken more of a spectator role in this arc. He guides his pupil the best he can but lets her make her own choices.

Now, onto Chise's entrance.

With the college/the sorcerer's society as our stage, the protagonist enters. Chise walks in and looks around confused, just as she did when first entering the college and when she first learned of the dark politics lying underneath it. She is the only one not a part of the performance, the one factor that ultimately destroys the narrative the Sargent and the Rickenbacker families were trying to create.

At first, I thought these cardboard figures were a representation of the 7 powerful sorcerer families we are introduced to, but then I realized there were actually 8 figures so that theory is thrown out the window. This is something I'm not actually that confident in so if anyone else has interpretations I am so down to hear it. Obviously the woman in red holding the spider alludes to Lucy. The wolf next to her is most likely then the werewolf mother. The hooded man with the hammer I think can reasonably represent Isaac. While the knight beside him I honestly see as Rian (his sort of knight in shining armor attitude when it comes to Philomela, his very straight-laced straightforward view of things). The nun-like figure with the owl is mostly likely representing Philomela/Lizabeth Sargent. I can see the jester with the snake wrapped around him to be Zoey. For the last two figures though, I am absolutely stumped. The two women with the songbird remind me of Veronica, from the way she was raised up by her family to be a bird in a cage while simultaneously holding Philomela in an even smaller cage. For the family on the far right though I have absolutely nothing. However, I know there is some meaning behidn it, this opening is too packed with symbolism for it not to.

Speaking of symbolism, the sequence that follows is chalked full of it.

Elias ushers in the entrance of Philomela, trapped in her cage. The design of the cage and the flowers around it make it seem extravagant, exactly what Philomela's life might look like to someone not aware of what's really going on. But a cage is still a cage, and this one comes with a guardian owl, keeping watch over Philomela in place of actually showing Lizabeth. The toys lining the bottom are representative of one of the key moments that made Philomela realize just how tight the bars around her were- that she would never have her grandmother's love, no matter what she did.

Then we cut to moments of Philomela's childhood, again deceptively happy with what we know of Veronica and how she treated Philomela. The baby bird hatching from the egg, Philomela when she was still young and innocent and far too fragile. This association of the baby bird with Philomela also comes back later in a heartbreaking way so :')

Then Chise reaches out with the potpourri, and Philomela becomes alive. It's so fitting, in that Chise's kindness to Philomela, the understanding she has to exactly the pain Philomela is going through, is what touches Philomela so deeply, reminds her of the time where her life was not structured in this way. Chise gives her hope that it doesn't have to be, Chise pulls her out of it and gives her a perch to stand on, and it all began with one fateful meeting.

The shot we get of Chise smiling and swaying in the breeze is all too perfect, in showing that this desire for connection is mutual.

Fittingly, we then see Chise reach out to her friends one by one. Lucy and Zoe's each have a bit more meaning behind them, as we're still somewhat in the dark when it comes to Rian and Isaac's histories, but it still examplifies the ways in which Chise tries to help those around her as best she can. It also makes it abundantly clear why Philomela, and subsequently everyone else, are presented as children in this sequence: a direct reference to chapters 86-87 in which they all are mixed up due to Chise's influence and Chise goes around helping them regain themselves. It marks the turning point in which Philomela tries to take a stand against her grandmother and start believing in the people who have come to try and save her.

There is one gaping hole in this in that Zoey is in fact, not present at all in the whole mind melding thing, but I'm taking that as the animators/directors wanting to include him in this sequence as another main player. Plus the shot we get of him is very cheeking in showing a broken shell- in the way Chise figurative helped him break out of his shell and very literally revealed him to be a gorgon/human mix by accident.

In that interpretation it is also crucial to think about why Chise was kept as her teenage self and not also scaled down to baby form as in the original chapter. But overall keeping her as a teenager flows with the story of the opening itself better while still keeping those same allusions and thematics.

The next big shot to talk about is this one right here.

Many have already pointed out how it is an homage to the classical painting "The School in Athens." Which is very fitting for the college setting of this arc. More so than the reference itself, the way in which the characters are placed is so meaningful.

We have Chise in the center of it all as the catalyst of course. But we once more get that repetition of Elias as a bystander, observing the situation while remaining more in the background when it comes to Chise. Parallel to him is Lizabeth, who is similarly an outsider but with none of Elias' good nature, she is an outsider in that she wants to watch this scene burn to the ground (and probably why the choice was to then introduce a werewolf who leaps forwards on the attack, still under Lizabeth's control.)

Ruth and Alcyone are also parallel to one another, highlighted in a shot mirroring the two of them. This is interesting in that Alcyone is far more often paired with Elias when being given a point of comparison. While she is quite literally an artificial familiar, her presence is what sparks the idea that Elias might be something similar to her, and yet here she is paired with Ruth. They do have their similarities in the way they would do anything for the person they live for. A thought that struck me was in this mirroring there is also a contrast, Ruth shares his life with Chise, if he dies she is to die as well. However Alcyone's death was meant to be a way for Philomela to live- it was crucial in ensuring Philomela's freedom from her grandmother.

Also notably, Veronica is given a long, lingering shot. As a child, she is far more innocent looking, but the shot stays just a moment too long, as if trying to confirm the suspicions surrounding her (which manga readers will know are true). We also have Jasmine and Violet prominently featured, a very interesting choice considering how little a role they play in this arc, but I feel that current suspicions about how they will have a large role in the upcoming arc might be supported by their presence here. There actually isn't much to say about the shots with the werewolf and our first glimpse of how the show portrays the Testament as it gains a physical form.

While gorgeous there's just not much to say about them from an analytical standpoint. Besides for the way in which everyone is turned back into their play forms upon being killed, as if that was their original fate before Chise's interference with the story.

We then see Chise look devastated, the carnage of her dead friends behind her on the stage. It truly captures just how terrified she is of losing people she cares for. But then she looks at the thorn rune- plot relevant in the way her rune charms protected her friends from being killed. But it's also Elias' symbol, and yet another reminder of how he is still watching over and protecting her throughout all of this. It's only after she activates the magic that she looks up, determined to carry on and change this fate.

The start of our final action sequence for this opening is a bang, giving us this chaotic shot.

We see both bits of the classical painting and of our original stage figures being tossed around in the background referencing how the Testament literally rips its way through both the college itself and the students/teachers there. It also, notably, is not contained within the story, instead existing on the same plane as Chise. It's a being far too powerful to be contained in such a way, so it makes perfect sense for it not to be confined to the theatrical setting of this opening.

The next flash of shots is perhaps one of the most hearbreaking ones in this entire opening. First we're shown Philomela and her grandmother, then we cut to this:

Y'all the layers to this, the l a y e r s. We've already seen this bird represent Philomela in the opening itself as a hatchling. However the adult form of this bird is exactly the same as what Alcyone's base is, it is the only thing remaining once Alcyone dies. However we see all 3 stages of life here, lying dead on the ground. The Sargent family is a family of abusive cycles. Lizabeth passes down her abuse to her son, having been doomed to this path from the moment she was born. It's Adam who tries to break the cycle but ultimately fails, choosing to end his own life rather than return. This dooms his baby daughter to the same fate, nearly killing her as well. It's Alcyone, the last remaining gift Philomela has from her father and the one way he thought of to keep her safe even if he was gone. It's both about the cycles and about how they are broken and how Philomela will never truly escape the violence of the family she was born into, even after her grandmother is gone. This is then followed by the 1 picture of her parents that Philomela tries so hard to remember but cannot. Anyways I am going to be physically ill, next.

While the last sequence is just a build up to the final fight (cool as fuck but again, not much to say analytically), I do want to point out that when the Testament pulls in all the surrounding settings, it pulls in both the theatrical characters and the actual representations of Chise's friends with them. Which is such a cool little detail my jaw in on the fucking floor.

And after a brilliantly animated scene of Chise running to try and save Philomela from the jaws of this monster, everything abruptly comes to a close. Leaving us unsure of whether or not Philomela was truly saved, as the last set piece to fall away is that gilded cage, the angle making it unclear if Philomela is still inside before our title card appears. The quiet, peaceful shot of the classroom the title lingers over in favor of the chilling set pieces of the opening before it is an excellent place to end, leaving that sense of urgency and notions of the sinister lying in wait at the college.

All of this, and I haven't even touched on the lyrics- which I won't do so here. I am not a qualified translator and frankly this post is long enough as it is. It isn't as if this opening needs anything else to explain how fucking fantastic it is- the visuals themselves are stunning on a level few openings are these days. Not only does it tie into already existing thematics of the show, not only does it go through plot points we have seen and those yet to come in unique and engaging ways, the opening *itself* brings forth its own thematic reading of the college arc and Chise's place in it while telling its own story of events. Truly a masterclass piece of animation all around.

[lesbiancolumbo]

Question from the genuinely ignorant what is The Post?

because this is a good faith question and this was so long ago, i’m gonna answer it and then respectfully and kindly ask people to stop asking, and i think once you read my answer you’ll hopefully understand why lol

in 2017 as an extremely suicidal and isolated 23 year old, i watched lady bird after a really long and difficult weekend of being with my emotionally and verbally abusive mother. the movie was good but extremely triggering for me - i saw a lot of my self and my mother in the film. instead of killing myself that night (and i’m not being flippant, i walked home from the theatre to my tiny little apartment contemplating stepping onto the highway) i decided i would just get it all out somewhere. at the time, letterboxd was a small website and i was a no-one. i wrote a review and vomited all of my feelings.

it’s not a good review. i wasn’t even really able to fully articulate what my own relationship with my mother was at the time. i was still too young and vulnerable to her abuse. but it made me calm enough to go to sleep and start a new week, so i did. it got no attention, except from some friends who liked it and knew my situation.

cut to literally new year’s day 2021. an eighteen year old on tumblr finds my review, screencaps it in its entirety, and posts it on here. it makes it way onto my dash. at first im shocked - that’s me! and i think i reblogged it to say that hey, that’s me! omg! wow! after i did that i almost immediately regretted doing that, because the attention and harassment i’ve received in the THREE YEARS since this post has gone up has honestly been so detrimental to my mental health. my fucking FACE and NAME are in the post bc the op didn’t bother to crop them out. every day i wake up and thank a higher power that my mother hasn’t found this post. people made fun of me, downplayed my (admittedly not very well articulated) experiences, armchair diagnosed me and my mother, posted my letterboxd icon which was MY REAL FACE on this website to MAKE FUN OF MY APPEARANCE and insinuate i deserved everything that happened to me. white supremacist blogs were SPREADING MY FACE AND NAME AROUND.

i got a lot of followers and attention and wanted none of it, and because tumblr is a website and the internet is written in ink, a post never truly gets deleted, and now every 6-12 months my privacy and something i impulse wrote in a moment of pure and true pain gets spread around this website and i can’t do a god damn thing about it.

and like……… i get it. it clearly resonated with people. and i don’t like drawing a hard line. but the violation and the harassment that proceeded from it for MONTHS has made me intolerant. the op of that post is the same age now as i was when i wrote that review, and i hope to god they learned from that experience, because i still have to deal with the ramifications of their fucking choice.

and it sucks. because i love lady bird. but my health is already precarious and i do not want to go through this all again.

[rpschtuff]

Hi! You’d mentioned you hadn’t heard anything about accessibility issues with the new layout, so as someone who does actually enjoy the new layout but only reverts it because I can’t adjust it code-wise the way I’d like to make it fully accessible for my needs, here’s a few ways it’s not accessible!

OVERSTIMULATION: Compared to the previous layout, the dashboard feels very cluttered. Everything is squished together in the middle (and I’m saying this as someone running on a 1920x1080 resolution, so not a small screen). I personally had to Stylus in some extra spacing between the dashboard and the two sidebars, for example, and make the left labels slightly smaller text-wise and icon-wise so that they felt a little more spaced out. It just opened up the dashboard a bit more and made it a little bit less overwhelming.

TOO MUCH CONTENT: In addition to the above, there’s just a lot going on on the new dashboard, at least compared to the old one. Previously, with the old icon labels there wasn’t a lot of visual stimulation from those, whereas the new layout adds that. When you add in the mix of the recommended blogs, the What’s New carousel, Tumblr Live, and necessities that I use regularly from other addons (ex. xKit Tag Tracking+) it becomes A LOT. I actually had to hide a bunch of icons that I don’t use (ex. Live, Domains, TumblrMart, etc) in order to declutter the shit out of the dashboard so it wasn’t so horribly overwhelmed.

DRAFTS AND QUEUE NOT EASILY ACCESSIBLE: This I think is a big one. We as the RPC are attached at the hip to our drafts and queue, are we not?! When they had the account subnav in the left bar, I LOVED how accessible that felt; I loved how it just felt more easily accessible because I could keep it open and access it from any page in the left bar. But… then they removed it. This is probably my biggest gripe, because I just want the links to at least my drafts, queue, and blog settings back! Personally, I think in order to combat the redundancy, they should have removed the jump that was in the right menu when you’d gone to your blog’s view, not remove it from the left menu. That, or find a way to better organize/condense that blog jump so it’s not so crazy.

Personally, I think the first two are really problematic for those on the neurodivergent spectrum (which includes myself), and as someone who was in school for UI design and works in a field that involves customer feedback (I work in market research), I do feel that Tumblr’s method of sourcing feedback from users is incredibly poor. Whether that’s a monetary issue or not, I’m not sure. Thus far, it feels like support tickets go unanswered, and that Staff seems to pretty heavily handwave it as “not a big deal” rather than finding proper ways to source community feedback. That in general is the crux of the issue, I think, and forcing users to rely on external codes to retain their accessibility is a poor method to go about things.

Hey! Thanks for this, this is a good explanation. I am not entirely sure I agree on all of these points but I appreciate the input.

I do agree that the layout feels a bit too squished -- the sidebars should really be all the way to the side rather than right up next to the dash. I'm not really sure I get the "too much content" one, though. All the same content is on the dash as before, it's just arranged differently. In fact, I actually prefer that the main links now actually say what they are instead of just the icons, and I know I'm not alone in that. It seems to be one of those things that some people find better, some people find worse, and there is no one-size-fits-all solution.

I absolutely agree on drafts and queue being so hard to get to -- I noticed that the other day. It takes quite a few clicks to get to them when they were previously available right from the main page.

And the biggest agree on Tumblr's feedback sourcing being terrible. I really don't begrudge staff for this -- they have to appease the upper management who are pushing changes without really understanding things, all the while dealing with a userbase who will flip the absolute fuck out over literally any change to the site. And staff has generally been much more communicative about changes than I've ever experienced. But it would be nice to feel like feedback is actually going somewhere other than the void.

Anyway, the ideal would be having a simplified layout that you could opt into via settings, but I doubt that'll ever happen.

[sylviareviar]

anyway I'll continue to be out here sadly lamenting that there are no Drifloon/Drifblim, Kantonian Ponyta/Rapidash, or Shroomish/Breloom icons for me to yoink off the internet and use for rping Sylvia's other partner Pokemon :/

(also I stole that dash game off of one of my moots (i think it was @oneiricfallacy?)

Also I'm just spilling my brains out right now, talking about whatever comes to mind. I feel like it might be better to post and document it than just keep it hidden in case anyone feels like listening :3c

If I could also find a child face claim with pink hair and blue eyes (long pink hair, not short like she usually has it), I could RP as child!Sylvia.

She was ten years old starting her Pokemon journey in Sinnoh. Her consecutive journeys have since gone in this order:

Johto: 11 years old Kanto: 12 years old Unova/Sinnoh again because Team Galactic: 13 years old Hoenn: 14 years old Kalos: 15 years old

Usually when I RP Trainer Sylvia, she's 15 years old, the same age as when she's traveling through the Kalos region, but I write her with her old Sinnoh team because I'm fleshing out the actual step-by-step journey she goes through. Ideally, I'd like to make it an anime situation, where not only does she live in the world of the Pokemon anime, but she also sort of crosses paths with Ash every now and again until she finally fully reunites with him in Kalos and journeys alongside him for that region, studying Mega Evolution and trying to heal.

The truth is, I want her to have a unique team for every region, but I haven't fully come up with one yet. One of these days, I might go through and play some of my old games, creating personalities and stories for each Pokemon as I find them.

I haven't thought about what comes after Kalos for her. Ash goes to Alola, and from then on, my journey pretty much follows Ash's, because Sylvia's order of regions is based on the order of the games I played, minus Hoenn coming before Kalos. My first real, full journey through Kalos was in ORAS, but I figured Hoenn would be a good in-between while Ash goes through Unova, and sets Sylvia up for studying Mega Evolution as part of her research as a Pokemon Professor.

I was thinking, in Alola, either she takes the Island Challenge, or she waits a bit, while getting set up on Ula'Ula Mountain with a research center in the cold, because she wants to study Alolan forms, particularly those of Sandshrew and Vulpix.

So... Alola: 16 years old

And for Journeys after that, Sylvia would probably do an actual, full journey through Galar along with her siblings for old time's sake. Her brother wants to take part in the Gym Challenge, and they actually trek through Galar more thoroughly than Ash, which is a first for them.

Galar: 17 years old

(Unfortunately, no Galar games allow me to bring over Pip from previous games :/)

However, in the late parts of Galar, I want Sylvia to travel back in time. Her AND her siblings. They will be called upon by Arceus as heroes of the past and explore the Hisui region. But it'll be without their partner Pokemon.

This would mark the first time Sylvia spends a long period of time without Pip by her side. Again, I haven't really thought this through, but maybe Pip, Grover (Jack's Turtwig), and Amber (Lucy's Chimchar) find their way to them on their own? Or maybe they find Ash and beg for his help? Or maybe they don't find them at all, to make things a little more tragic.

Either way, they spend a long time in Hisui.

Hisui: 18-19 years old

After this point, Sylvia's gotten her reputation quite high in the Pokemon research community, plus it helps she has a sort of honorary title within the International Police because of her involvement in uhhhh several crime scenes (mostly as a victim? but also she was an able-bodied trainer who helped the police lots of times and seems to attract lots of trouble so they were like "yeah, uh, you'll probably get picked on again. just use our name and scare them or smth").

So she goes on to teach as a teacher's assistant in Uva Academy (I haven't caught up to Horizons yet, but I feel like it'd be cool if Horizons had Naranja Academy, but Ash's world has Uva; also I chose Violet, so I'm a little biased :3)

She gets involved in shenanigans revolving around Miraidon, so that's fun.

Paldea: 20 years old

After Paldea, she'll get a call from Clemont and Bonnie about the new renovations in Lumiose City, ever since the disastrous incident involving Team Flare.

Honestly, I'd like it if I could sorta do a time-stop on Sylvia after Kalos and just keep her at 15 years old. I don't like thinking of her as an adult, probably because I don't like thinking of myself as one. I'd like to keep her there a while longer. But idk. I feel like that might weird people out :/

[somenamewithepineapple]

✨Hellooo giftee, I’m back again! Wie gehts?✨

I’m so glad you replied to my previous ask, I was getting worried you had gone and abandoned me 😢*sniffle*... Just kidding, I already figured you were busy, and was waiting patiently (and not at all refreshing tumblr several times a day, nuh-uh).

As to your answers, I’ve included your songs in my HEX inspiration playlist (if you'd like I can share it with you after HEX is done)!

And I fully agree with Farah being the reckless one, it’s immediately clear the first episode in how she handles the burned one. I will fight with you against anyone that claims otherwise.

I’m glad I’m thinking in the right direction! I agree on Farah having a big savior complex as well. I even think Saul has it too, to a degree, mostly with Sky (tell me if you agree!). The things these two could uncover and solve through therapy, seriously.

And… would you please share your enemies to lovers playlist with the class? Pretty pleeeeease?🥺 (Alternatively you could just share a few of your favorite songs from said list, if that feels more comfortable.)

Your replies have been amazing, but were still not done. No no, I have plenty of questions left to ask you, I want to know it all🤓! This time I’ll keep them short and present them to you in a kind of quick-fire round.

Would you like your gift to be or contain:

Magic or non magic?

In a different world (Earth, somewhere alien, different series or movie, etc) or within the Fate universe?

An established Silrah separation or the full story (including their break up)?

A quick resolve or a slowburn?

Entirely focus on separated Silrah and their rekindling, or to have a sub-plot as well?

Once again you may be as elaborate (or not 😊)as you’d like!

Until next time, Tschüss! 🧚‍♀️🎆

Hello my dearest gifter 🥰

This time I managed to reply earlier (despite everything that‘s happening rn)

Yes please let‘s exchange our playlists after the gift exchange! That would be so cool! (also the playlist is still a work in progress)

Farah and Saul both have gigantic saviour complexes, certainly influenced by their soldier days under Rosalind.

Now to your questions:

Good question, I am fine with either magic or non-magic, just do whatever you feel like ✨✨✨

Earth or within the Fate universe (I feel sooo unhelpful but I am honestly happy with whatever)

Ooohhh maybe an established Silrah separation? We‘d get right into the enemies to lovers game which I am soo excited for!!

I don’t mind a subplot but you do you, let your creativity out into the WIP ✨✨

I‘m sorry for not being as a elaborate as usual, I still love you and I am super mega excited for my gift 🥰😍

Adioooooooooos 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

PS: some songs from my enemies to lovers playlist:

Lion - Saint Mesa (picture Farah entering the ballroom in a dashing dress, Saul almost chokes on his drink because his nemesis has an unfortunate effect on him)

Warrior - Icon For Hire (fight fight fight)

Angel With a Shotgun - The Cab (you know that moment when our enemies - who still think they‘re enemies despite clearly being in love - either team up to fight someone ooorrr one of them needs the other to fight for/with them)

[artisplatters]

Okay, now that I've calmed down enough that I no longer am trembling with excitement, let me give a more in-depth review of the Five Nights at Freddy's film

I will be talking of a few spoilers, so I'm gonna put it under a cut, but the basic review is:

4.5 stars; excellent experience

The cut is in place, and from now on it's spoiler territory, you've been warned

.

.

.

Fear Elements:

First of all, it has very minimal gore, which was surprising to me given what the film is about, but it's not minimal in the negative way. Any depictions of gore were well-placed to drive home the sense of horror in our characters, and any of the acts of horror were heard off-screen, rather than shown.

And this is a masterful use of our imagination, because what we see in our mind's eye can be infinitely more terrifying than anything they could make.

And yes, there were jump scares aplenty, but they weren't used excessively. Like a fine dash of salt, except, y'know, jump scares.

Also, there is not a "We Are Fnaf" type scene, further cementing my theory that the picture of Mike and Abby in the parking lot with the animatronics is simply a behind-the-scenes image. The closest we get to such a scene is when Abby is playing with the animatronics and building a fort, which makes sense since they're just kids, dead kids but kids nonetheless.

Props + Set:

Everything looks like it was pulled right out of the first game, I am not even kidding. The animatronics especially.

The classic tile, the posters, the way the stages were set up. Its like they used the blueprints of the game vers. of the pizzeria. Plus, many of the "prize booths" and such seemed to use actual irl merch items such as the iconic plushies and some T-shirts.

Specifically on the animatronics: They looked incredible, as if they were the real, original things come to life. The Jim Henson's Creature Shop did an excellent job re-creating them down to the delicate detailing. Even they way they move feels authentic to how they'd really move.

Cinematography:

The cinematography of when animatronics go after characters heavily reflects the games, another excellent execution. The angling of hallway shots, rooms, etc. all feel somewhat like we watch them through the security cameras.

In fact, there's several scenes where we literally watch through the security cameras, on the security monitors of the iconic office. And speaking of watching through the cameras, the positioning is identical to the games, as if it were the exact footage in higher quality. The use of flickering lighting to have the animatronics appear and disappear is identical too, and incredibly done.

Storyline:

More specifically, the differences.

Our main C is Mike, obviously, but his sister Abby still lives, and he's raising her on his own. The premise of why he takes the job is so he can support her and avoid losing custody of her to their aunt (Who Fully Radiates Karen Energy).

Vanessa (yes indeed that Vanessa) is a main character too, and enters into the limelight by the second night. She guides Mike and repeatedly gives hints and suggestions for him to leave, and is revealed towards the end of the film to be Afton's daughter, a surprise twist as up until this point we're lead to believe that Mike is the child, for obvious reasons.

Hopes that became Reality:

MATPAT WAS IN IT, HE MAKES A CAMEO AS A WAITER ABOUT MID-MOVIE, I NEARLY YELLED IN THE THEATRE WHEN HE APEARED AND I PROBABLY BRUISED MY DAD'S SHOULDER SHAKING HIM IN EXCITEMENT

There were also so many other amazing cameos, like CoryxKenshin being a taxi driver, and Baz, 8-BitRyan, Dawko, Razzbowski, and FusionZGamer are cameo'd as "Employee of the Month" photos.

(I am disappointed Markiplier didn't get a cameo but he's a busy guy working on another amazing horror-game-movie)

THE SPRINGLOCK SCENE IS IN IT AND IT'S PRETTY DAMN ACCURATE TO HOW IT WOULD'VE GONE DOWN, Not as gory but his yells are quickly cut off as the springlocks click into place, AND MR AFTON SAYS THE LINE! HE SAYS "I ALWAYS COME BACK" BEFORE THE SPRINGLOCKS GET TO HIS THROAT

THE LIVING TOMBSTONE'S "Five Nights at Freddy's" IS THE FIRST SONG IN THE CREDIT SEQUENCE, I ACTUALLY YELLED FOR THAT ONE, I accidentally startled an elderly couple in the row in front of us too lol, BUT THEY'RE IN THE FILM! THE SONG! IS IN THE MOVIE!!!!!!! OH!!! MY GODS!!!!!! EUGHFYTREHIWSEHFCERWYIFUCK

Not Really Movie-Specific:

I wore a purple-guy cosplay to the film, which consists of:

Black Sneaker x2

Black Slacks x1

Purple Button-Up x1

Costume Cop Hat x1

And I looked pretty fantastic if I say so myself.

A really pretty lady in a Foxy cosplay complimented my look on the way out of the theatre. We talked about the film for a minute before she had to go. If I hadn't been in shock and amazement by the film and by her complimenting me I may have asked for her number. Probably a good thing I didn't though. But yeah. Gorgeous nerd complimented me. Me! What an amazing day.

The theatre we went to was one of those fancy dine-in experiences, so obviously I got a mini pep. pizza to feast upon during the film. We were also brought a candy assortment bag that neither of us ordered so I got free candy too.

All in all, it was an amazing experience. I'm so glad I stayed around to see it lmao. So many people and references and such were lovingly added, like an allude to the Circus Baby animatronic, and a Balloon Boy figurine that was a little creep the entire film despite not being haunted.

I just know I'm gonna be rewatching it again and again for the next several weeks. And as soon as I can figure out how to redownload my art program I am gonna create So Much Fanart™

FNAF AT FREDDYS

THATS WHERE I WANNA BE

FNAF AT FREDDYYYYSSSSSSSSSS

[applejackofalltrades]

Why Do I Like AppleDash So Much?

Literally nobody has ever asked me this but I'm going to answer this question anyway.

Intro: How I Got Into My Little Pony

Imma be real. The reason I started watching the show is because some of my old Twitter mutuals were interacting with posts about the Friendship Is Magic 10th anniversary. Some of them were talking about Rarijack and how it was a good ship, and others were discussing the implied canonicity of Appledash.

I had, at the time, just finished catching up on The Owl House that had recently been in the process of finishing up season one or had just gone into hiatus (can't remember which) and I was losing interest in my old hyperfixations fast.

See, I do this thing where I get really REALLY invested in a show and then as soon as it ends or as soon as I absorb every bit of media in it, I lose some of the interest or it fades. I don't usually lose full interest. For example, I still love She-Ra (my last big fandom) and I'm obviously still invested in The Owl House, but ever since both of those shows ended/stalled, I was desperately needing something to distract me from the trials and tribulations of my will to live that my daily life often forced upon me.

As you can guess, ponies was my solution.

I went into the show with a Rarijack mindset, but knowing that Appledash existed. I guess my mutuals just really liked Rarijack. I decided to give season one a chance. Actually, I felt quite silly for even deciding to watch the show. You see, back in 2018, I was still quite... trivial about watching anything that was seen as "girly". I didn't really have any problems with watching cartoons (ie. V*ltron, Steven Universe, Avatar, Pokemon etc.) but it was the fact that a show was "girly" that made me iffy. I had a very fragile masculinity, okay?

Anyway, so I actually was really afraid to watch She-Ra, even though the teaser images and trailer looked good. But I did and I decided that even "girly" shows could be good and that I was silly.

But, oh boy, cringe culture really messed with me. In mid/late 2020, I was ashamed to watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I said I'd watch one season just so I could laugh at it. I wanted to watch it as a joke, and who knows, maybe I found a guilty pleasure to watch while I waited for The Owl House to come back?

I loaded up Netflix and I hit play. Instantly, I was cringing at myself. Can you blame me? Early season MLP was obviously meant for kids. Not that it was immature or bad, but it was definitely a kid's show, especially considering the iconic storybook opening of episode one.

I watched the episodes, but they mostly were just background noise as I did other things. I remember watching them, but I was indifferent, although frustrated that I found myself chuckling at a few of the jokes and quips. I wasn't that invested, though. I thought Twilight was boring, Rarity obnoxious, Pinkie annoying, Fluttershy frustrating, and Rainbow Dash infuriating. I didn't really mind Applejack, I mostly kinda just thought she was the best one. (Nothing's changed, eh?)

And then....

Fall Weather Friends

Season One Episode Thirteen rolled around.

It starts (as y'all know) with Rainbow Dash and Applejack throwing horseshoes.

I don't know why, but this caught my attention. Of course, being only a few episodes after Look Before You Sleep, I had Rarijack on the mind. But I did think that Applejack and Rainbow Dash were probably good friends and would make for an interesting pairing, and a more interesting episode given their similarities, but also their differences.

I found myself fully watching this episode, and I dare say, it's the episode that dragged me fully into the show.

Maybe it's because I see myself in both of them in a way. Maybe that's why I connect so much with the pair, but them having an episode together? That was really good for me. I wasn't in the best state of mind, and something about seeing two characters that were in some ways reminiscent of myself interact and argue and have an endearing episode together made me smile.

It was then that I discovered the simple amazingness of AppleDash.

I mean, who doesn't love obnoxious, competitive girlfriends that are both prideful and headstrong?

I know I love it.

Anyway, so at that point, my mind kinda just clicked and I decided that my OTP was AppleDash. However, poly rights and Applejack has two front hooves *cough* Rarijackdash *cough*

But yeah so that's how I got into AppleDash. Fall Weather Friends, which was kinda the episode that made me love MLP.

How That Progressed

Well, obviously, I still love that ship I mean I live for it. If I could have any one single ship it'd be them. It just kept getting better and better as the show progressed, I mean their dynamic is great whether you want to see it platonically or romantically. They have a lot in common right off the bat (example, they are both incredibly stubborn, though AJ would take the cake for that) and seem to be close (I mean right from episode one they appear to already have a pre-established friendship), but they're also different. Applejack is a hard worker all of the time with anything she does, while Dash tends to be lazy but can be extremely driven when she is motivated (for example, when she wants to achieve her Wonderbolts dream). Applejack is immensely caring and family-oriented and does things for the good of everypony, while Rainbow Dash can be kind of a jerk and not mindful of her actions when she's wrapped up in the stuff she's doing for herself (not to say she isn't caring, but she tends to be kind of an ass, even to Fluttershy sometimes).

Their growth was immensely fun to watch and as time went on, they shared more and more screentime together. Even if it's not an episode that revolves around them, whenever one of them is in frame, most of the time the other is close by, and they often stand next to each other.

Now, in terms of why they work in the show's canon (in my opinion, either romantically or platonically, they do make a great pairing):

They are both competitive and enjoy competing with each other, though they know (especially after FWF when they've taken it too far)

They watch out for each other (AJ often holds Rainbow Dash back when she's about to rush into danger, especially in early seasons, and Dash always lifts AJ out of danger first [the two examples I can think of off the top of my head are in Best Gift Ever and My Little Pony: The Movie])

Their personalities even each other out. (AJ is a lot more calm than RD, and while they can both get worked up, Applejack is usually the calm one)

Their colour schemes are literally complementary. (AJ's coat is orange while Rainbow's is blue. AJ's eyes are green while RD's are pink/red).

They share a lot of cute moments. (You can just look these up)

THEY'RE HECCING CUTE.

AND FINALLY

I mean fuck, the finale. They're literally canon, you cannot tell me otherwise. It was absolutely intended and you cannot prove otherwise. (read the script notes l o l "we actually could do sort of a subtle wink to the idea that they are now a couple???" < RE Appledash). They live together, they have domestic arguments about chores, they are always giving each other fond looks throughout the episode, always standing next to or near each other, and well we all know Rainbow's iconic hoof on AJ's head in the last shot of the show.

Ashleigh Ball really was the OG shipper and fuck it, she was right. We all know they are in love, she knows they are in love. The only reason they couldn't explicitly state it in the show is probably bc Hasbro would have been against that at the time (I mean, Lyrabon had to be very subtle but hey we gottem).

Oh and, I know this isn't exactly canon canon, but it is an official game: The My Little Pony Magic Princess app. Future AJ and RD's descriptions allude to them being together.

You could negate this and say that this is just them being friends but I mean... come on. Come on. Sweet Apple Acres is Apple family land, and the only people who live there as of The Last Problem are Apples. (AJ, Sugar Belle and Big Mac and their foal, and you guessed it... Rainbow Dash).

You cannot tell me that they aren't canon. You'd really have to be grasping at straws because all the signs are there. They had build up, development, and it just makes sense.

If you don't think it makes sense... did we watch the same show??? It absolutely makes sense.

Anyway, AppleDash is canon. :)

[gracy-simsie]

Tagging game

I was tagged by @queenofvraquin ♥ Thank you !

Why did you choose your URL?

Well, my name is Grace and I wanted something similar to my name, so here you go! But I've felt like changing it back to one of my old names from my old blogs!

How long have you been on Tumblr?

Poe I've had this blog since 2021, but... I've been on here for a while, I looked it up and it since 2013! I was so smoll when I started here, I was a little shocked when I found out haha. My previous names were @ambrosiay @lagraziasims @lagraziana maybe someone knows me when I went by those blogs haha! The reason I changed blogs was mostly due to me being sad a lot of the blogs I followed were inactive (because I was gone for a year for example), so started fresh and new felt like the right thing to do! No worries, I am not gonna change anymore :P.

Do you have a queue tag?

No, I do queue my posts, but no tag for it ;).

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

I don't remember so well - cuz wel 2013 haha - I believe it was because I used to post ingame pictures on the sims 3 website and then somebody on there said something about a simblr and tada I found my place!

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

Because Ruby is my currrent obsession ♥

Why did you choose your header?

"

What's your post with the most notes?

I really didn't know so I used an online counter >.<! It was a post I made about looking for story telling simblrs, and ofcourse people love to find new stories and share their own!

How many mutuals do you have?

I am ... I am really not sure, so I counted them 63! :)

How many followers do you have?

268! Thank you for being interested in my stories and gameplay guys! ♥

Have you ever made a shitpost?

Oh Yes, when I see something I posted a long time ago, I am like fhghjjgfgh did I really think it was good? But well, on the positive side I like to keep those shit posts, because they remind me I grew a lot! Also nostalgic !!

How often do you use tumblr every day?

A lot haha, I have it on my phone. I use it more than my instagram or any other social media, because they just don't interest me as much :P.

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?

You won't believe this, but no. When I was younger I ignored hate anons, because I thought why would I take the time to answer some petty ask when I could interact about nicer and more important things ;). TBH I don't know if it's because I notice different things now I am older, but I do like that people stand behind certain opinions or facts as of late. It is really interesting to read and I feel like I learn more, you know? I am not gonna interfere with it myself though, I am not certain I would be able to fully explain things in English. Sometimes I just need my passionate and harsh dutch words and phrase haha!

How do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

I see it more as a nudge than as a real obligations. It's still your own blog and I think people should post what they feel like. But I do confess I always read them, because most of the time those are very interesting real cultural, political etc. topics.

Do you like tag games?

Yes I do!

Do you like ask memes?

Haha, yes. As I said in other posts I like to talk. I have no filter in the amount I comment to people. I hope you are all okay with that, because that's not gonna change anytime soon! ;)

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I need a picture of a meme I saw rolling on my dash as of late...

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

No! I need to actually get to know someone before I can crush on someone! But I do sometimes crush on some of their sims for example @buglaur Theo , @gothoffspring Jet & @simgerale Sheridan 🥺🥺

I tag @simgerale , @buglaur, @alicesimblr & @gerbitfizz ! No worries of you don't want to or have already done it !

[happybunnykat]

♣️

HELLO I ALSO MEANT TO ANSWER THIS MUCH EARLIER THEN I DID WHOOPS-

You are the mutual who I am making care about Michael

How I met you: I'm pretty sure I followed bc of Ace Attorney, just like with Joey

I follow you for your art and also seeing your good opinions on fictional characters. You are also a friend to me

Your blog is an ace attorney blog to me, even though you have been mainly posting about splattoon recently. (First impression I suppose)

Your url is Ashenberry! I fully process both words every time I read it and that is your name to me.

Your icon is a Squidling? Octoling? I forget what they are called, but one of the kids from splatoon.

Random fact I know about you: You associate Michael Afton with the color green rather then purple.

General opinion: Good vibes!!! I see you in my notes and on my dash and !!!!!!

Random thought I had: each and every time I get to this part I struggle and no thoughts come to me... like I have adhd I have an unending supply of random thoughts the rest of the time why is it now all the thoughts are gone?

[your-turn-to-role]

Hello there! i saw someone else doing this and i thought it was a fun and cool idea so: Headcanon Saturday (or sunday if its sunday for you): share a favorite headcanon (or lots of headcanons), big or small, if you feel like it! Your blog is very cool and I love seeing your thoughts whenever they pop up on my dash! keep doing what you do :D

it is in fact sunday for me! (or, it was when you sent this, it's wednesday now bc i had an assignment i had to do and uh, nz just went back into major lockdown so that’s fun)

but thank you so much!

and honestly this question had me stumped for a bit, because, in theory i have some, right? but, one, i'm less of a theory fan and more of a collector fan, i can put together minuscule details from all over the show to get a big picture of a character, but i rarely have headcanons that aren't based in some show evidence or other

and when i do have some, they either end up in a meta post im writing, or in a specific tag (like my cr nd headcanons i'll link a bit further down), or in a fic that i will write half of and never post bc i am chronically terrible at finishing things 😂

that said! i have scoured through fic ideas and discord server messages, so here have a few

fave headcanon that's not mine

disabled essek. like, thank you fandom for this one, it's incredibly dear to my heart, i consider it canon, nothing can convince me otherwise, it is going in all my fics, just.... comfort character

sometimes a character can be a neutral evil criminal and a disability icon okay

fave identity headcanon

see this tag for my various "why cr characters are neurodivergent" essays, also, fjord and jester are arospec thank you good day

a couple ones just based on dnd mechanics that i enjoy

- gilmore is a couple levels self taught in wizard

(he at the very least would have magic initiate if you were to build him like a pc bc he has identify, which is not a sorcerer spell, but... something about how he loves magic and was very determined to stand out but also something happened to him with the whole runechild thing that makes him scared to admit he is one so obviously he wouldn't flaunt that power, also the way he's kinda self deprecating whenever he has to admit he doesn't know wizard stuff, yeah, he definitely tried to teach himself magic the non sorcerer way)

- percy has a pristine organisation system for every room he owns and if you mess it up he can no longer find anything

this one is based off of two things. 1) percy is canonically a very neat and tidy person. after the feast with the briarwoods he goes home, wrecks his room trying to vent his feelings, and then barricades himself in his workshop. when vox machina find his room the next morning matt notes that percy's room is never messy like this. also, just in how he talks to grog when grog's snooping in his workshop, percy definitely knows the precise location of every tool in there. also he's just a precise person in general.

2) taliesin's weakness in rolling good for percy is investigation checks. he fails them almost every time. he has a decent int mod, but the dice just decided no investigation checks for you! (also, i haven't gone back to confirm this, so i may be wrong, but i'm pretty sure one of the few good investigation checks he makes is in whitestone castle). strict organisation system. he is absolutely useless without it 😂

aaaand, fave angsty headcanon (bc it's me, there was gonna be one)

the blumendrei didn't leave their hometown for days after they killed their parents. like. okay i've had a fic i've been lowkey writing for ages about these guys (yes i have like 40 cr fics in some form of wip status, no none are finished, this is how i exist), in the aftermath of that, bc i love them and i have a lot of thoughts about it

(also, not that i can prove it bc the fic was never posted but i kinda predicted the, cold stone tower overnight thing, which had me feeling A Way when that became canon!)

but anyway what this is based on is like... there's an idea in the fandom that trent directly ordered them to kill their parents but he really didn't. like obviously he put every step in place, but when caleb's telling that story, trent barely even comes up. he talks about how he found out his parents were traitors and how he "knew what he had to do"

so honestly, given everything we know about how trent engineers situations, it makes the most sense to me that the blumendrei, didn't want trent to know about this at all

like they believed the lie that their parents genuinely were traitors, so if you find out that horrifying secret, in the environment they'd been in for the past two years? that's shameful, horrifically so. why would they tell trent about that if they could avoid it? why risk getting branded the same, you've been told up to this point you're special, and you'd kill to keep that title. why on earth would you admit that your bloodline is tainted like that?

no, they would have tried to cover it up, as long as they could. which, is exactly what trent would want bc that again puts them on the back foot, but like... yeah, i fully believe they waited it out for a couple of days before going to trent until they were sure they couldn't wait any longer for bren to get better without drawing even more suspicion. and, since their cover story is they were supposed to be visiting their parents anyway, maybe they didn't go all that far

[mrs-han]

Here With Me

Heeey could i request an scenario where the mc is stood up by Jumin , like she waits for him at the restaurant but he doesnt arrive bc he forgot since he has been stressed out with work all week and suddenly Jaehee lets him know and its all angsty but with a happy ending pleasee♡♡♡♡

~~~

Sure thing! Thank you for your submission!

~~~

"Madam, would you like to come inside?"

"No, no. My husband should be coming shortly, and I'd like to be here when he shows," you smiled, securing your scarf over your shoulders.

As the valet entered the building that chilly august evening, the thought of Jumin kept you warm, even gave you the strength to stay outside and wait for a little while longer. It had been over a month, and you two had finally scheduled a date night—no work, no distractions - just he before your eyes and you before his.

You fiddled with your lace gloves and primped your hair, glancing at the glass window as it acted as your mirror. You were fully decked out in the most delicate lavender twill dress, six-inch stiletto pumps, and fastened in your hair was a pin Jumin had picked out himself for you to don. You always wanted to look your best for this man, and frankly, you were excited to see how he would react.

Cars passed by the grand venue - you straightened and eventually slouched as you noticed a few of them stop, but none of the occupants were Jumin. Snow began to drizzle over you, and, with a faint shiver, you checked your watch.

0950.

You blinked and tapped the watch - that wasn't right. You had only been waiting for half an hour, not an hour and a half... right? You dug your phone from your purse and tapped his icon.

"This is Jumin Han, Director of C&R. Thank you for your call, but I am away -"

You ended the call quickly and called him again. And again. You were greeted with the same voice message, and your heart sunk in your stomach.

He didn't forget... did he?

~~~

"Mr. Han, it's getting late," Jaehee smiled forcefully, gripping her pen in one hand and her travel mug in the other. "This is a good stopping point, don't you agree?"

"Not quite," Jumin sighed, pushing his hair back and tapping his diamond pen against his desk. "We're missing something... something important."

"A meeting with the Prime Minister of Sweden is no small feat," Jaehee huffed, pressing her back against the chair. "But I assure you, we've covered everything we need to cover. You know everything about him, perhaps too much."

Jumin examined his notes and furrowed his brows. "No... no, something is missing."

Jaehee raised a brow and crossed her arms. "I assure you, Mr. Han. This missing artifact has nothing to do with the prime minister."

"I don't see what your hurry is. Tomorrow is Saturday, you have plenty of time to rest then."

"Until you call me in to do something," Jaehee muttered under her breath. "Listen, Mr. Han, with all due respect. It is going on twenty-two hundred hours and fifteen minutes, and I would like to go home."

Jumin looked dubiously shocked. It had gotten that late so quickly... his eyes widened. "Today is Friday."

"Yes, today is Friday," Jaehee nodded.

"No, no, no." Jumin slammed his folders closed and adjusted his tie, a frantic air about him.

"What is it?" Jaehee asked, observing his facial expression turn to one of confusion to one of realization.

Jumin dashed past his chief assistant, muttering slurs under his breath and heading towards the penthouse's front door. "I don't have time to explain."

"Mr. Han, if you're heading outdoors, you'll need your coat -"

Jumin flung the door open... and there you stood, shivering and dripping wet from the melted snow. You lifted your eyes and met his apologetic gaze.

"My... my love... I -"

You shoved your way past him, wrapping your scarf around your reddened face. There was no way you were about to let him see you cry.

Jumin stumbled back and tried to reach for you, but you were too fast. You ran down the hall and into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

"MC!" Jumin called while chasing you, slamming against the door as it closed. He pressed his palms against the wood, then his forehead. "MC, please."

Jaehee quietly gathered her coat and murmured, "I will see you on Monday, Mr. Han."

Jumin, too distracted by you, didn't care to hear her. "MC? MC, may I come in? Darling?"

He placed his hand over the doorknob and gripped it, ready to turn the handle - when he heard your sobs. Every sniffle, every sad moan, he listened to, desperate to soothe you.

"My love... my love -"

"Go away! Get away from me!" You hollered, throwing several objects at the door. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you!"

Jumin closed his eyes, your words piercing all parts of his heart. He waited for more words to come from you; he wanted to hear from you, even if your words had the potential to kill him from the inside out.

But you didn't say anything. Instead, you wailed and sobbed... and those sounds alone did more damage to him than any insult.

Jumin pressed himself against the door and sank slowly, his hand still on the doorknob. He would respect your wish and leave you alone, but he refused to be too far away. When you were ready to talk, he would be there.

His determination did not falter after an hour had passed, and another. He sat patiently outside of the guest bedroom and began to nod off when he realized - there was no sound coming from the other side of the door. It was utterly silent.

"MC? I'm opening the door," Jumin cooed, pressing the door open slowly.

He peeked in and saw you, not sound asleep as he had imagined. No, your back was facing him. Your gown, gloves, shoes, and jewels had been thrown onto the floor, a thick blanket the only thing covering you. You sat erect, like a graceful statue, gazing at the city below.

Jumin waited for you to throw him out with your words again, but no such thing happened. You were completely silent. He wasn't much of a risk-taker, and he didn't pride himself on being one. But for you, he was willing to do anything.

Jumin stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, his eyes squarely on your figure.

You didn't make a sound.

He walked towards you, slightly shier than his naturally confident stride.

You didn't make a sound.

He sat down beside you and, without hesitation, wrapped an arm around your body.

Your statuesque figure faltered, and you crumbled at his touch.

"My love -"

"How could you," you trembled, covering your face with your hands. "We had planned this date for a long, long time now! How could you forget!"

Jumin didn't say a word. He hung his head shamefully and pulled you closer to him, grateful you didn't draw away.

"I looked like such a fool, waiting for you out in the snow!" You sniffed. "I, I watched cars come and go, and I thought, that's him! In that car there! But it was never you, Jumin, you never showed up!"

Jumin looked at you, sorrow and regret the only legible expression on his face.

"I'm so embarrassed, and so... I'm so disappointed, Jumin... and I've never felt so much... anger towards you before..."

You wiped at your tears many times over, but they continued to bombard you, and your vision blurred. "I'm so angry," you sobbed. "So, so angry..."

Your emotions pounded within you, overtaking you; you curled into yourself and trembled vigorously.

A soft thump. That's what you heard. He's gone, you thought, moving your hands away from your eyes.

But no. Jumin was still there with you, now on his knees.

"What... what are you -"

Jumin grabbed your bare foot delicately and kissed your arch once, twice, three times over. "Forgive me," he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead against your cold skin. "Forgive me, MC. I was a careless man, a thoughtless man, and my foolishness meant leaving you out in the cold, waiting for me..."

Your lower lip trembled, and, as much as you tried to stop it, more tears came flooding down your cheeks.

"I hurt you," Jumin whispered, kissing your ankle, your calf, your knee. "I hurt you terribly, my angel... and I beg you to forgive me."

"Jumin..."

"I'm so sorry." His hot breath created goosebumps through your bare legs and up to your bare arms. "I'm so sorry."

You fell to the floor and tried to wrap your arms around him, but he was much faster than you. Jumin pressed you to his body, engulfing you entirely. You sobbed against his chest as feelings of anger turned into feelings of complete and utter devotion towards this man, your husband - your Jumin.

In his arms, you stayed until exhaustion overcame you. Jumin glanced down at you, lifting your chin to meet his eyes - you were fast asleep. Many thoughts ran through his mind - you needed a warm bath and a warm bed, who knows how long you had been standing in the cold. He needed to snap to it and make you as comfortable as possible.

But as he moved to pick you up, you pressed your head to his chest and let out a small groan. You were no longer crying, no longer in a state of despondency... no, you seemed to be in a place of peace. Perhaps he could treat you to a nice, warm bath, luxurious bedding, delicious food, and an enjoyable movie - whatever you wanted. For now, he wanted to watch you sleep. Indeed, he wanted to etch the peaceful expression in your face into both his brain and heart.

Besides - he was in an extremely uncomfortable position, his legs falling asleep and his back steadily aching. Yes, this well deserved, self-inflicted punishment would work magnificently.

[maxwell-grant]

Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario. 

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C." 

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home. 

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization. 

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake. 

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -" 

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears. 

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”. 

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank. 

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster. 

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel: 

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow. 

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Lady Wifi (Part 2)

Marillion AU

- - -

“He can’t do that! It’s illegal! I'm a superhero, for gods sake!”

Alya was fuming. How dare they? Expulsion would go into her school record permanently, it would influence her future career forever!

“But he doesn’t know that.”, Tikki reasoned. “And it better stays that way.”

Alya was tempted to change that. But if it came down to it, being Ladybird would always rank higher than revenge on Damocles in her priorities.

“I'm going to get them for this!”, Alya swore under her breath. “The principle, Chloé and her Alter Ego Marillion!”

“Alya-“

“No! You don’t get this, you won’t have to apply for jobs with “Expulsion for Theft” written on your record!”

Tikki backed away a little and Alya immediately regretted her tone.

“I... Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Tikki may be an insufferable know-it-all, but she was her friend. She cared for her and only ever wanted to help.

“It's okay, Alya.”, her Kwami calmed her worries. “I know how upset you are. But think of Marillion! We can’t risk that she gets to you, and you're in a vulnerable state of mind.“

Alya paled.

“Oh my gosh... What do I do? Tikki, what do I do now?”

“Stay calm! Marillion can only akumatize people who think there is no solution to their problems. You're Ladybird! You can think of something.”

Her jaw dropped. Of course! I'm Ladybird!

“Jesus! You're right, Tikki! I can do this!”

“Awesome! Maybe we should write a letter-“

“I'm going to confront Damocles as Ladybird! And then I'll kick Chloé's butt!”

“Wait, what?”

Alya jumped up and threw her hair back, revealing the white, pearly earrings.

“Tikki, spots on!”

-

“She's not answering her phone.”, Marinette fretted, turning her own off after the fifth attempt. “This is bad...”

“Oh no!”, Nooroo zoomed around her, just as anxious as herself. “Do you think something happened to her?”

Fear twisted her guts and she shook her head.

“I can’t think like that. I can’t... I have to... think clearly now.”

No time for her worst-case scenarios, she would only scare Nooroo. No, first she had to find some clarity about Alya's disappearance from her radar.

“You're the expert when it comes to your brooch’s emotion-radar.”, she mused and turned to her little friend. “Any idea what could cause her to just... vanish?”

Nooroo stilled, thinking.

“Well... if her mood had lightened up, we would have felt it. In order to completely disappear, she either lost consciousness, entered a meditative state, came in touch with a similar magic to mine, or... hm.”

“What?”

“I remember one instance where my... wielder set a trap to upset his victim. Their pain became so great it turned completely catatonic.”

He shuddered.

“He can speak of luck it happened before he could akumatize them. A catatonic Akuma is absolutely disastrous!”

She took a step back.

“That's horrible! Do you think this happened to Alya?”

Uncertain he bit his lip.

“I’m not sure. It’s also possible that she met Ladybird. I’m not very familiar with Tikki's powers, but maybe it’s possible for her to shield people from me.”

“Ugh, that’s just what I need now!”

Nooroo ducked his head.

“S-sorry.”

“No!”, she hurried to comfort him. “Not you, honey, this isn’t your fault.”

She sighed, looking up at the door to the principals office. This is so unfair!

“We've got to help Alya.”, she decided. “And if we can’t find her personally...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Then we'll just have to make sure her problems are gone when she returns.”

Nooroo nodded eagerly, happy she had an idea.

“What is your plan?”

“It’s... risky. But maybe we can help Alya and make sure she doesn’t suspect us to be Marillion. You know, once she realizes it’s not Chloé!”

“Good thinking, Marinette! Reveal-prevention is most effective when used early.”

“And I think I'll do it by... akumatizing myself?”

His mouth fell shut.

“Oh.”

“Is that possible?”

“Um. Well, yes.”

He didn’t look very happy.

“Nooroo?”

“Hm? Oh. It’s not dangerous, I just...”

He fidgeted.

“You'll have to take off the miraculous for that.”

That didn’t sound too dramatic. She could just... oh.

“You... You’re scared that you'll get lost, aren’t you?”

“No!”, he hurried to deny. “I trust you! You'd never be careless with the brooch.”

He didn’t look at her, scared he'd offended her somehow. She petted his forehead, a quiet assurance that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Nooroo,” she soothed him, “it’s alright to be scared. And you can always tell me if something sits wrong with you.”

Hesitantly he looked up to her.

“It’s just... if you renounce me, I won’t know what happens with you. What if you get hurt? Or you get carried away, like Stoneheart did? Or what if Hawkmoth finds me while you're gone, and the next thing I’ll see is him and I won’t ever see you again? Or what if the brooch gets lost and the next time I’ll open my eyes, I’ll find that two thousand years have passed and you are... you are...”

He was crying now and she felt tears form in her own eyes.

“Oh, Nooroo.”, she whispered and hugged her little friend. “That won’t ever happen. I promise! I promise you won’t end up there again.”

He nuzzled his face into the fabric of her jacket.

“But how can you be sure?”, he asked, his voice so faint she almost didn’t hear him. As if he didn’t want her to hear him.

Gently she pulled back a little, so she could look at him.

“We can figure something out.”, she stated confidently and tapped her brooch. “You don’t want to be left behind? Then we'll make sure that you’re not.”

He blinked, confused, and she smiled.

“This is your power before it is mine, right? I'm just borrowing it when I transform.”

“In a way.”, he answered, his voice still wobbly. “But I can’t create akumas without a wielder. At least no stable ones.”

“Then I‘ll create the akuma. I'll detransform and take off the brooch. I take the akuma and take care of Alya. And you stay close-by, guide me like I guide my champions, and hold on to your miraculous while I’m busy. Okay?”

He leaned his head sideways.

“You... you want me to take the miraculous? All alone?”

Was that a taboo for kwamis?

“If that's alright with you!”, she hurried to add. “If you don’t feel up to it, we can deposit it in my diary case. Or put it in Dad's safe.”

Nooroo shook his head, wiping his tears away. When he spoke, his voice was soft but firm.

“It will be my honor.”, he said. “To watch over it and you. I’m sure you can find Alya.”

She smiled and petted his squishy little cheek one last time.

“Then we're ready. Nooroo, dark wings rise!”

He vanished in a blur of sparkles and her transformation washed over her. Careful that the schoolyard was indeed empty, she dashed out of the bathroom and jumped on the roof of the school, eyes darting over the nearby park.

It was spring and butterflies weren’t hard to come by. As soon as she spotted one it was already fluttering towards her, settling on her outstretched palm to be of service.

“We have to help Alya.”, she whispered and covered its wings with her other hand. “But this time I'll do it on my own. Stay close by, my akuma!”

Her fears and concern for Alya transformed into inky shadows, drawn into the the white butterfly and sparking with potential. The newly dubbed akuma took off and fluttered around her, ready to fulfill its mission.

“Dark wings fall.”, she released her transformation and caught Nooroo in cupped hands. Exhausted he took the bonbon she offered him.

“Are you completely sure?”

She nodded.

“I'm not renouncing you, Nooroo. You'll be on your own for a bit, but if anything goes wrong I need you to take control. I trust you, okay?”

He swallowed, but when he took the rosy brooch from her hands, he looked determined.

“You can count on me.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the akuma and took out her phone. She had thought a lot about this, and... well, if she was going to avenge Alya, she might as well choose a form her crush would approve of. Already sketching out a design in her mind she held up her phone.

“Let's do this!”

The akuma took a dive for her and a bubbly feeling shot through her hand.

“It'll be fine, Nooroo.”, she waved him. “But this is a job for Lady Wifi!”

-

The door to the principals office flew open with a crash.

“Monsieur Damocles!”, Ladybird roared, righteous fury burning in her chest. “You have unjustly thrown out an exceptionally talented student! So now you must answer to- Monsieur Damocles?”

The principal was frozen in place like a mannequin. A pinkish Pause icon hovered in front of his chest and send a chill down her spine. Her fury fizzled out like a cheap sparkler and she dropped her dramatic pose.

“What the...”

She waved her hand in front of his face, to no avail. Before she could take a closer look at the problem, the computer on his desk flickered to life. Alya gasped.

“Marinette?!”

If someone had asked her how she'd come to this conclusion, she wouldn’t be able to answer. By all accounts, the girl on the desktop looked nothing like the Marinette she knew. She was dressed in pitch black spandex, accentuated by white stripes and a symbol resembling a Wifi icon. Her skin was ghostly pale, and pink eyes glared out of an angular butterfly mask. The soft black hair Alya had braided during countless sleepovers was out of its usual pigtails, loose and unkempt. The most striking difference however was her bearing.

Marinette tended to make herself small, to slip in the gaps between people or hang onto her friends. When she walked there was always an endearing air of hurry or absent-mindedness to her, which had caused her to bump into Alya more times than she could count.

Now, on the other hand... she was so forebodingly present. She was commanding attention, fully in control, her posture relaxed and confident.

“I'm Lady Wifi,” Not-Marinette informed her viewers with a grin, “Revealer of the Truth! For my first Exposé, your Principal would like to share a tidbit with you.”

The camera zoomed out, revealing an intimidated Damocles behind his desk - alive and moving. This had to be a recording!

“So, Monsieur Damocles”, Lady Wifi addressed her hostage, walking with a grace she hadn’t possessed before. “Is it true that you wrongly suspended a student named Alya today?”

Damocles avoided to meet the piercing glare in her glowing eyes.

“Y-yes, I have.”, he confessed, having the decency to look ashamed.

“So you were biased, unjust, totally unfair?”

He sighed.

“Yes, I was.”

Her phone came into view and Ladybird narrowed her eyes. The rest of Marinette - her clothes, her mannerism, her eyes - had changed, but the lucky charm on her phone still looked the exact same. A lavender little spiral, bought the same day that Alya had gotten her Ladybird-themed one. And if the little charm was the same, then so was her phone.

“That's were the Akuma must be!”

“There you have it!”, Wifi snarled into the camera. “He confessed his crimes! And so will everybody else who harmed Alya, before I give them the punishment they deserve.”

She raised her phone and turned towards her prey, swiping over the display of her phone. A glowing pause button shot out and froze Damocles in place before her could escape.

“Stay connected.”, Lady Wifi dismissed her audience and the screen turned black.

Ladybird let out the breath she had been holding and slumped onto the nearest chair.

“Oh no...”, she groaned and pressed her hands over her mouth. “Not you, girl!”

And it was Ladybird's own fault, too! If she'd just kept quiet about her discovery, or at least talked to Marinette beforehand. But now Chloé knew she was onto her and was targeting the people she loved!

“I'm going to fix this.”, she mumbled into her gloves. “I promise, Mari.”

Fueled by the determination to get her friend back, Ladybird stood up and reached for her Yo-Yo.

“Chat Noir, it’s me.”, she told her partner's voicemail. “Get moving, buddy. We've got a job.”

-

“You have a crush on Chloé, you have a crush on Chloé!~”, the pest that was Adrien's Kwami teased him in his most annoying sing-song. The teenager swatted him aside and pulled the bathroom door closed.

“If you don’t show some compassion for my heartache very soon, I’ll loose my tolerance for your gross Camembert.”

“Not as gross as the idea of kissing Chloé though, is it?”

Adrien groaned and raised his fist in defeat.

“Plagg, Claws out.”

This day couldn’t get any worse. His great love had turned sour, his good friend had turned evil, and his partner had left him a message. That couldn’t be a good sign. A message meant she had a plan. A plan meant she was impatient to start. Impatience meant that his hotheaded partner would barge headfirst into danger, without any backup.

“We've got a job,” she informed him for the pure drama of it. “I have no idea where Lady Wifi went, and I honestly don’t feel like fighting her at all. So here's what we'll do: instead of fighting a girl everybody likes, let’s fight a girl no sane person can stand! Oh, Chloé is Marillion, by the way, meet me at her Hotel; we're kicking butterfly butt tonight.”

The message ended and Chat Noir sighed deeply. There was no time to try and convince her of a different strategy, she was probably already there and ready to fight.

“This is the worst day ever.”, he complained to no one. But alas, the universe was not inclined to have mercy on its favorite black cat. So he sighed once more over his broken heart, kicked the door open and vanished into the night like the ninja he was always meant to be.

-

“There you are, Kitty!”, Ladybird greeted him, already brimming with excitement. “Just in time!”

She pulled him down to take cover behind a chimney and took out her Yo-Yo.

“Look!”

Zooming through a window - a feat impossible for any normal device - the display of her weapon revealed exactly what he had feared: Marillion in all her purple glory, swinging her staff at imaginary opponents. She was so obviously Chloé that he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“This is horrible.”, he mourned his disillusioned crush.

“Right? Her form is so sloppy!”, Ladybird agreed far too enthusiastically, missing his point by the length of her Yo-Yo-cord. “She looks like a toddler!”

He groaned and hid his face behind his hands.

“Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else?”

There were thousands of girls in Paris, but somehow the one behind Marillion's tragically pre-redemption-villainous mask was... Chloé. His oldest yet brattiest friend, the last person he could ever feel attracted to.

“When this is over I'm so going to give the brooch to Marinette.”, he grumbled. He didn’t even have the time to fully process what he had said - let alone imagine how amazing Marinette might look in purple - before Ladybird had grabbed his shoulders and dragged him closer.

“That,” she gasped, “is the best idea you've ever had, Kitty! We'll be a trio with the smartest little bean in Paris, ohmygosh!”

“Wait, you know her too?”

“Dude, I adore her! Let’s get this Miraculous and pay our girl a visit, yes?”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am!”, he eagerly saluted and readied his baton. “Chat Noir, reporting for duty!”

“Then here we go!”

[iam93percentstardust]

I'm bombarding you with those prompts, so I fully understand if you just ignore all those you don't like, lol. Would WinterIronFalcon be an OT3 you're intrested in writing? Some established WinterFalcon with Tony pining helplessly after them, not believeing he could have a chance? With a dash of angst in it? Thank you ♡

There isn’t much angst in this but there is hopeless pining so yay?

Also on ao3 here

~

“Share Bear, it’s not fair,” Tony whines into the phone.

“What isn’t?” his cousin asks, sounding patient but also kind of amused. He takes the phone away from his ear and squints at it. Is she making fun of him? She probably is, Sharon always makes fun of him. She’s mean like that; he’s pretty sure she gets it from Natasha.

“They’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh. Them again. Seriously Tony, didn’t you used to have better taste?”

“Excuse you,” he says, offended. “My taste is perfect.”

“They think arguing is foreplay.”

“It’s bickering! And it’s cute!”

“Gross,” Sharon says cheerfully.

“God hates me,” Tony says dramatically, flinging his hand over his eyes. “That’s why he cursed me to work with two such beautiful humans who are already dating each other.”

“Tony—”

“I know Bucky stays up to date with the fandom,” he continues, going a little quieter. “He’s gotta know that tons of people ship the three of us. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Share Bear, why doesn’t he say anything?”

“Probably because for every person who ships all three of you, there’s twice as many who ship just you and him,” she admits. “I know that if someone were shipping Maria and Nat and ignoring that I even exist, I’d be pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he says glumly.

“What’re you filming today anyway?” she asks.

“True Crime. We were supposed to be doing an episode of Supernatural at the Odinson Mystery House, you know, over in Norway where the son found out he was adopted and then got super into Norse mythology and supposedly disappeared into a rainbow?”

“Oh yeah, that guy was crazy.”

“Wasn’t,” Tony insist stubbornly. “There are three different eyewitnesses and they all saw the same thing.”

“All three eyewitnesses tested positive for meth.”

“It was trace amounts and ruled irrelevant to the case. Anyway, there’s some sort of blizzard so our flight got canceled. We figured we’d get a jump on this season’s True Crime episodes instead.”

“What are you doing this week?”

He scowls into the phone. “Fandom episode. They voted for Captain America.”

He can practically hear Sharon wince. “I’m sorry. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not least because both of them know exactly what happened to Captain America. He was recovered from the Arctic back in the 50s and went on to live a very happy and fulfilling life with Aunt Peggy. But that’s a very closely guarded state secret; the U.S. government can’t let it get out that Steve Rogers survived nearly a decade in the ice. Technically, Tony and Sharon aren’t even supposed to know but Aunt Peggy had insisted she be allowed to tell them after she took custody of Sharon and Tony moved out of Howard’s and into her home. It’s kind of cool actually, knowing that Uncle Steve is really Captain America. He’s a pretty great guy. It just kind of sucks that he can’t tell anyone about it and now he has to do a whole episode about it when everyone knows he’s a shitty liar.

He’d talked it over with Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy when the results of the vote had first come in. Aunt Peggy’s advice had been to act more manic than usual, throw even more outlandish theories into the mix, and really make this episode about the banter between him and Bucky. “Direct their attention away from Steve,” she’d said. “They’re already going to be looking at you. Just make sure they’re doing it for the wrong reason.”

He kind of wants to kiss Bucky. That would definitely draw attention away from the episode. But that’s not fair to either Bucky or Sam, who are very happy with their relationship and don’t need a homewrecker like Tony throwing a spanner into the mix.

“Good luck,” Sharon tells him before they hang up. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters but she’s already gone.

~

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Now they have a fandom and merchandise and actual fanfiction written about them, which is the craziest thing. They both have several often-quoted gifs floating around the Internet and Bucky has somehow become the poster child for being unimpressed by literally everything (he actually makes some of the best faces when something genuinely scary happens but they always end up editing those parts out—he has an image to maintain after all).

They brought Sam on once they started gaining in popularity. Tony, by that point, already had a pretty well-established crush on Bucky. He’d even thought that he had a chance with his co-host, small as it may be, and at first, it hadn’t seemed like Sam was going to change anything. He and Bucky argued all the time so Tony had been absolutely stunned when he’d stumbled upon them making out like it was the end of the world.

They had just finished filming their second season. Sam had suggested going out to a local bar. He’d suggested it for all three of them but Tony had, inexplicably, felt like a third wheel all night as Sam and Bucky bickered. At one point, Sam had disappeared off to the restroom and a couple minutes later, Bucky had followed him. Tony doesn’t know how long he had sat there waiting for them but he’d eventually gone looking for them only to find Sam pressing Bucky up against a wall.

And that had been that.

Three years later, Sam and Bucky are still going strong, Tony is as smitten with Sam as he is with Bucky despite knowing how hopeless both crushes are, and the fandom seems convinced to either write Sam out of Tony and Bucky’s relationship or write Tony into Sam and Bucky’s. He wishes they would stop. He stays pretty up to date with the fandom as well and they have all these meta posts about the way Bucky looks at him or something. It just keeps giving him hope but, well, it’s been three years. If Bucky wanted him, or if Sam did for that matter, they would have done something long ago.

~

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asks him as they’re setting up.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He avoids meeting Sam’s eyes, focusing instead on adding creamer to the coffee. Marvels had presented them with these mugs last year to congratulate them on four years of Unsolved. They’ve got their most iconic quotes printed on them, Bucky’s with “Obviously I killed JFK” and Tony’s with “I’m the dramatic bitch your mom warned you about.” Sam has one too with his one and only line in the entire show printed on it (“Why did I agree to work with you?”) but since he’s always behind the camera, he doesn’t have to use the same mug for each episode.

“You just seem a little off.” The worst part is that Sam genuinely looks concerned. If they didn’t care about him, he thinks his crush might be easier to manage but they do because they’re just nice guys like that. “I know you weren’t too thrilled when we announced this week’s case.”

“Howard worked with him, practically hero-worshipped the damn guy. Of course, I’m not excited.”

Sam winces. They know all about Tony’s shitty relationship with Howard after his dad called Marvels furious that his son was hosting a webseries instead of coming home to grovel at his feet and take over the business. The whole team had been brought in to listen as Fury tried to placate him. By the end, Bucky had been furious on Tony’s behalf and Sam had berated Fury for twenty minutes for making Tony listen to the vitriol his dad had spewed. It had cemented his crush on Sam, then just a passing fancy, into something real and permanent.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine. Might be a little off today but I would have said if I didn’t think I could do it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but he agrees anyway. Tony sits down next to Bucky and passes him his mug. Bucky shoots him a grin and murmurs, “Thanks, doll.”

Tony doesn’t blush but that’s only because he has five years of practice. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sam counting them down and he turns to face the camera, settling his hands in front of him.

“This week on Marvels Unsolved True Crime and in celebration of our 100th episode,” he begins, “we asked you what you’d like us to investigate and you came back—”

“—overwhelmingly,” Bucky interjects.

“Many, many times,” Tony agrees, “with a topic near and dear to my own heart: Captain America.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, sounding surprised though Bucky had been the first to point out that maybe they shouldn’t do this episode because of Tony’s connections to Project Rebirth. “Your dad helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, didn’t he?”

“And he never let me forget it!” Tony says cheerfully.

“One hundred episodes,” Bucky says slowly, enunciating each word. “Can you believe that, doll?”

Sometimes, he wonders why the fans ship them when Sam is right there. Other times, Bucky says things like this and he understands completely.

“Not even a little bit, Bucky Babe.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t help.

“One hundred. The big one zero zero.”

“We tried to do something extra special and get Sam in front of the camera for you guys—”

“—so you could see what a hunk he is—”

“—but Sam said that he didn’t trust anyone else to film us properly—”

“—which makes sense because Tony? If you put him in the wrong light, he’s practically a gremlin—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling the facts.”

“Well, the facts are wrong.”

“They’re facts, sweet thing, they can’t be wrong.”

“Can too. Anyway, since Sam refuses to join us—”

“—and that just breaks my heart because Sam, he’s one of my favorite guys, you know?”

Tony pauses. It’s not like Bucky to say anything nice about Sam. Usually, it’s all good-natured insults and bickering. He must really be fed up with the Starkbucks shippers to say something like this when they’re still this early in the show.

“Only one of?” he asks curiously.

Bucky shoots him one of those filthy grins that their audience loves so much. “Well, it’s hard not to include you on that list,” he drawls.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to—

Damn it.

Whatever. It’s no big deal, that’s what editing is for. So what if Sam has never edited out one of Tony’s blushes yet? Maybe Tony will get lucky and he will this time.

“You know, I was actually named for Captain America’s sidekick?” Bucky asks, getting them back on track.

“Wow, that is deeply unfortunate,” Tony deadpans.

“Yeah, Dad’s a fanboy. His whole troop was pinned down and rescued by the two of them. He tells the story all the time—kind of like your dad.”

“Except my dad goes straight past into fanboy and directly into obsession territory.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky shrugs and takes a sip out of his mug. “I’ve been inside your house. I’ve seen the Steve Rogers shrine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Tony thinks about that for a moment. “It is kind of a shrine, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff for you today. We’re going to crack open this cold case, show you some never-before-seen footage courtesy of my mom sneaking my dad’s old war tapes out of the mansion, and then we’ll talk a little bit about the theories out there.”

“How many of them are going to be ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible?”

Tony glares at him. “None of them. I have never once presented a ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible theory.”

“Right because alien abduction is a valid—”

“Aliens are real!”

“You said that crabs might have eaten Amelia Earheart!” Bucky shouts over him.

“It’s a valid theory!”

“I take it back, you’re not one of my favorite people anymore.”

“That really hurts me, deep inside,” Tony says sarcastically, trying to cover up that maybe that does send a small pang shooting through his chest. He likes the thought of being one of Bucky’s favorite people. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“How deep?” Bucky asks and winks.

“Very deep. Way, way deep down. Practically in my—”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his coffee. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Let’s get into the facts.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

~

“With a missing plane and pilot and so much redaction in the files, we’re lucky to even have a name, let’s get into the theories.”

“Actually, wait, before we do that,” Bucky says, “I want to ask if you’ve ever noticed that your voice changes when you’re doing the voiceovers.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks. He glances at him, to one of the cameras, then back to Bucky. “What do you mean?”

“You know, it gets all deeper like you’re trying to voice movie trailers or something.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.”

Tony shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Told you!” Bucky says triumphantly.

“You’re such a child,” Tony sneers.

“Yeah, that’s why you like working with me so much.”

Behind the camera, Sam silently snickers and Tony glares at him before telling the camera, “If you’re watching, let us know in the comments. Is my apparent movie trailer voice okay or does it need to go like Bucky clearly thinks?”

Bucky goes paler. “Hey, wait, I didn’t say it had to go.”

“It was implied when you brought it up,” he argues.

“No!” Bucky insists. “I was just wondering if it was on purpose.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Aha!” Tony says triumphantly.

“Traitor,” Bucky mutters into his coffee.

Sam signs, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home tonight.”

“And that was more than I ever wanted to learn about Sam and Bucky’s love life,” Tony lies through his teeth. “Let’s get into the theories. I only have two for you today, one of which I think Bucky will particularly like.”

“Oh no.”

“Our first theory is that Steve Rogers died in a plane crash on December 16, 1944. Winter months in the Arctic are known to be particularly stormy. There would have been low visibility due to the high latitude and time of year and with the waters and surrounding land being well below freezing, it’s possible that, even if Captain Rogers survived the impact, he would have frozen to death in the stormy seas.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, that seems plausible.”

“In addition, Howard Stark, a known Captain America aficionado and the father of Marvels Unsolved’s best host—”

“You lie like a rug!” Bucky howls.

Tony snickers and then when Sam signs, “He’s really not,” bursts out into full-out laughter.

Once he’s recovered, he continues, “Howard Stark has spent the first fifty years after the crash of the Valkyrie and the last twenty funding searches in the Arctic in the hopes of recovering Captain Rogers’ body. He has found no evidence that Captain Rogers survived the crash although he did find part of the remains of the Valkyrie and has since stated that, ‘No human could have survived that crash.’”

The expeditions are a scam and have been since Howard first found the Valkyrie crash site and Uncle Steve along with it. He hadn’t been planning on continuing the expeditions—too costly, as he claims—but when Aunt Peggy had told him that Uncle Steve’s survival had to remain a secret, he’d kept them up for pretense’s sake.

Bucky is saying something about how it sucks that the first superhero is gone and when he finishes, Tony grins and says, “Then you’ll like our second theory.”

“Somehow, every time you say that, I end up completely hating it. Wonder why that is.”

“Our second theory is that Steve Rogers survived the crash and is still alive but cryogenically frozen in the ice. There—”

“Bullshit!”

Tony starts laughing but he tries to continue on over Bucky shouting that it’s complete nonsense. It’s hard and he knows that Sam will probably have to do some editing and maybe make Tony do some voiceover work in order to make the theory audible but he thinks he manages to do a pretty good job.

Bucky is pouting by the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. “What fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

“The supersoldier serum—” Tony starts to point out.

“Isn’t a miracle drug.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“No, it just made him big and strong. It doesn’t just magically keep people alive when they should have died.”

And then they’re off into familiar territory, arguing about the merits of either theory. Tony’s actually feeling pretty good about himself, convinced that he’s doing a decent job of steering the conversation away of anything classified, right up until Bucky says, about halfway through the episode, “I’m surprised at you, Tony.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Surprised?”

“Usually, you have some absolutely batshit, off-the-walls crazy theory but these have actually been pretty normal for you.” He pauses and then adds for effect, “And you’re usually much better at your research than this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, even I know that there’s one more theory.”

He starts tapping at his chest nervously, almost wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses. Aunt Peggy always said that his lies are in his eyes, that they’re too expressive to hide the truth. When he was living with Howard, in the spotlight, he always had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes but he hasn’t wanted to use those since he moved out. He wishes he had them now.

“And what’s that?” he asks, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel.

“That Steve Rogers lived and came out of the ice at some point and has been living out his life in anonymity.”

He barks out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mention it because even I know that that theory is completely impossible.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Sam nods agreeably. Bucky nods back at him and adds, “Even Sam agrees with me.”

“He’s your boyfriend, he’s practically required to.”

Both Sam and Bucky laugh at that one and yeah, okay, it was a pretty ridiculous statement. Anyone who knows them knows that being boyfriends is less likely to make them agree with each other.

“Look, Steve Rogers didn’t come out of the ice alive. Howard would have known for one thing and if you think, he could keep something like that quiet, then you don’t know him very well.”

“Maybe the government insisted it be a secret,” Bucky suggests, shrugging. “There have been plenty of people who have claimed over the last couple decades to be Captain America.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh come on, by that logic, anyone could be Captain America.”

“Maybe they could be.”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “It’s like that crazy conspiracy theory guy over on Reddit who’s convinced that Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Maybe Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Ooh do the butts match?” Tony says mockingly. “I mean, really, Bucky Babe, if we’re going off of lookalikes, then my fucking Uncle Steve is secretly really Steve Rogers, which is ridiculous because the guy’s like practically ancient and faints at the sight of blood in PG-13 movies.”

That sets off another round of arguing that lasts the rest of the episode until finally Tony wraps it up with, “Whether Steve Rogers died in 1944 or is still alive today is a mystery that will remain unsolved.”

They both pause for a moment to provide time for Sam to edit in the theme music and closing title. Usually, there would be some lighthearted bantering afterwards, maybe a joke about something they said earlier in the show. This time though, Bucky says thoughtfully, “The thing is, though, I’ve met your Uncle Steve—”

Tony goes cold.

“—and he really does kind of look like—”

Tony panics. That’s the only explanation that he has for declaring, “I’m done waiting,” reaching across the tables and grabbing hold of Bucky’s shirt, and yanking him forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to do anything but then he melts into Tony, mouth opening under his, tongue pushing forward to meet his. Bucky’s arms come around him, pulling him up and out of his chair and settling him into his lap. Tony makes a small greedy sound, swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and then they’re both pulling away. Bucky’s lips are very red; Tony can’t stop staring at them even as he’s filled with dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“You—Sam—” He glances toward the camera but Sam isn’t standing there anymore. His heart drops into his stomach—has he just ruined Bucky and Sam’s relationship? But then he hears someone drop to their knees behind him and when he turns slightly, Sam’s fingers are on his chin, gently turning his head.

“How long?” Sam asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have we been wasting our time when we could have been kissing you instead?”

Three years, two months, and fifteen days. “Too long.”

Sam kisses him then, mouth gentler than Bucky’s but no less consuming. Bucky is a hard, hot line against his front; Sam is warm against his back and Tony? Tony loses himself in the storm that is the two of them, sparks shooting through him as Bucky’s hands find their way to his hips, as Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth, as Bucky whispers into his ear, “We’re not wasting any more time.”

~

Marvels Unsolved’s 100th episode shoots to their most watched, most liked video in less than a day and when asked, maybe the smallest handful of viewers could have said what it was about.

The day after it posts, only a week after it was filmed, Tony’s phone rings.

“Kill it with fire,” Sam says sleepily.

Tony, however, recognizes Aunt Peggy’s ringtone and he rolls over to grab it before Bucky can throw it at the wall. “Hello?” he asks groggily.

“Congratulations on not blowing Steve’s cover,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” Tony mutters. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“One more thing, duck.”

“What’s that?”

“Congratulations on the new boyfriends.”