#as always tumblr gets it first but before the last edit pass

[ziracona]

I return! Intro to The Kid Act II. As always, tumblr gets it first. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, ?)]{Some spoilers for original Grand Order run/through Temple of Time, vague situational spoilers for later arcs}

.

.

The sky is grey.

That’s what I thought, when I got here. I knew there was a sun, because there’s light back behind the clouds, but, I can never quite see it.

That’s not quite right, though.

I’ve been watching it now, for a really long time, and it changes. Sometimes, you can see beyond the clouds that block out the sun, and the sky past them is grey, like a desaturated photograph. But, sometimes, if you’re watching for it, the clouds part, and the sky flickers like a candle, and it’s blue. It’s not a normal change, like weather. It’s a quick one, back, and forth. Like a glitch in the world. Like it can’t decide what it’s meant to be.

I’m trying hard, to think about this, because I don’t want to think about anything else that’s happening.

It’s too much. It’s too big, too awful.

How can a person even think about something like that?

I still don’t get what happened. I don’t get where I am.

I think nobody does.

Well, not nobody, I think, watching the man in white with peach hair, walking nearby, deep in conversation with about six other people. They know what’s going on.

I could ask. A lot of us have. But, what would the point be?

I’m not stupid. I know whatever is going on, it’s really bad. They’re scared, and they’re the ones who managed to snatch us away from…whatever that was, and put us here. If they don’t know how to fix it, no way I could. Maybe it’s better not knowing at all.

So stupid.

I…I keep thinking, “Mom’s at home all alone. I didn’t ask anyone to check up on her. I was supposed to be home two hours ago. She’ll be so confused. What if she wanders out again? What if she thinks we still live Esso and gets lost, wondering where the mountains went? What’ll I do if she gets hurt, without me there to look out for her?”

But that’s so stupid.

She’s gone. She…has to be. There was…everything, is gone. Everything. Everything but the…the fucking 200 people in this weird…thing we’re in. Everything.

And what’s the point, without her?

What does it even matter, if I die? What’s left to go back to? Not just her. …everything. It’s all…

“Hey.”

I didn’t hear anybody get close. I must be losing my senses too, not just my sanity.

I look up, and it’s one of this group of whatever they are. She looks normal, but, I remember, before, when the big walls of nothing were closing in around us, she was one of them, running around screaming for people to get close. I think she’s the one I came to.

“You’re hurt,” she says, worriedly, “What can I do to help?”

I stare at her, and forget to answer.

“I-Is it really bad?” She kneels down, and reaches over for my shoulder.

“I’m not hurt.” I hear my own voice. Empty, confused.

“But you’re bleeding?” she says, puzzled. Her hand touches the left side of my chest, and I feel no pain, like I expect, but I look down, and the front of my jacket is covered in blood.

What the hell?!? I think in, as dissociated as I feel, I believe still a pretty fair amount of alarm.

“What?!” That can’t be. I was fine eighteen seconds ago. Wasn’t I?

“What happened to you?” she asks, fear level rising, and she pulls my jacket off, taking a bag off her shoulder and dropping it on the ground. I see a medical kit inside. No idea where she got a thing like that. She sure didn’t have it earlier. “Doctor Roman!”

The man with peach hair looks over in surprise, but not the kind of surprise I expected, which is strange. I don’t really have time to wonder about it. He stops what he was doing and runs for us though, at the sound of the tone in her voice.

“I’m really fine, I think…” I say, still confused, as bad as this admittedly looks for me. The hell would have hurt me? I wasn’t one of the people getting chucked around like a baseball by those freakishly strong guys. All I did was go stand by the redhead when she started screaming and crying. Hard to argue with the massive amount of wet blood on my chest, though. I…guess at least I don’t feel it. ?

“What? What’s wrong?” asks the Doctor, out of breath as he reaches us.

“I don’t know,” says the redhead, who I finally realize has been trying to get my shirt off so she can tell—damn I’m out of it…–and I comply, helping her, “But he—”

We both stop and stare. The shirt comes off, and I’m fine. I’m looking at my bare chest, and there’s not even a scratch. We look at each other, then at the shirt as one, and I see no red. Kind of worried, we make eye contact, and I turn it right-side-out while she goes for the jacket.

Nothing.

How is that possible? Clean—well—as clean as they were after a day of wearing them. No blood.

What the fuck?

None on my hands either. None on hers.

“…He’s? Concussed?” guesses the Doctor, taking a knee too, at least as confused as we are.

“No…he,” says the redhead, looking about like I feel.

“There was blood,” I say, almost to myself, mystified.

“There was what?” echoes the Doctor, looking to me. I shrug. Maybe I’ve gone completely insane. Maybe we all have.

Honestly, that would be a relief. Maybe Mom would be okay.

“He…When I walked up, his jacket and shirt were covered in blood—like—like Billy, the first time I saw him,” says the redhead, looking like she’s worried he’ll think she made it up, “Like he’d been shot.”

Shot?

There was just blood, not a tear, not a bullet hole in the jacket. Why say ‘shot’? Why…do I…

Weird feeling for a second there. I blink, trying to clear it out of my head, and it goes.

“Huh…” says the Doctor slowly, to her great relief, and my somewhat dulled surprise, completely believing her, “It…could be a lot of things. A temporal fluctuation. An alternate reality, even, bleeding in. There’s a lot happening to time right now.” He’s almost talking to himself, but he turns to look at me then. “Okay look, uh—I know this is a lot, and I know it’s overwhelming, and hard to believe, and I wish I had time to explain, but I can’t—yet—I-I’ll do my best later, just, please. Please take this seriously. If some…” He pauses, grimacing as he thinks about what to say, then he refocuses on me. “If some other version of you. If the version of you meant to exist in time before…that thing that just happened, uh, happened, was going to be shot? It’s possible time trying to rewrite itself—to fix itself to what it’s supposed to be—is affecting you. –Don’t worry, you’ll be alright. Just. Don’t lean into that. You don’t want to be shot. You want to be here, alive, right now, in this place.”

He gestures to the field of swords around us.

“Right? I know everything is overwhelming, and the easiest way to handle that is to try to zone out of it all, but I need you to focus. You not doing that might be having an effect on how…present you are, in a literal sense. And if your other option is shot, you really need to be grounded here. Alright?”

He looks so sincerely worried about me. It’s funny.

“Sure,” I say automatically, “I’ll try.”

He gives a nod, and a worried little smile, then looks at the redhead. “Has this happened to anyone else?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” she replies, “But there’s a lot of people here. I’ll keep looking.”

He gives a nod and starts to stand up, then hesitates and looks at me again, then her, “Take him with you, if—uhm—if you’re alright going.”

“Huh?” I say, having started to zone out again already.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, working to hold my attention, “Go with Ritsuka here, to try and help anyone who was injured. It’ll give you something to focus on, and she can keep an eye, in case that uhm…”

‘Ritsuka’? Why does that…

“Ah,” says the Doctor worriedly. I follow his eyes and look down at my chest, and for an instant, there’s blood, and I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. Then my chest flickers, like the sky does when it gets blue here, and I’m fine. I look back up at the Doctor. “Go with her,” he says with a lot more force now, like a prescription, and pretty scared by that myself, I nod. He turns to Ritsuka. “Please let me know if that keeps happening, or if it’s happening with anyone else.

She nods.

The Doctor stands back up, and turns back to the waiting group of men who followed him here.

“Wait—Doctor Romani!” she calls, and he stops. That same surprise on his face for just a second before his expression goes neutral, and he looks back at her with the sort of reassuring default smile.

Oh. She got his name wrong. Before. That was why…

“Uhm. Can I do anything to help?” she asks.

The smile becomes more genuine. “You already are. I promise,” he replies.

She nods again, and he turns to the others.

“Is that a bad sign?” asks a man with green hair as he joins them.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor says genuinely.

As they move on, I turn back to the redhead and watch her watching them go.

“Why don’t you go with them?” I ask.

She looks to me then, surprised.

“You’re part of the group. I don’t know what you people are, but you were there, calling us to come to…” I gesture at the space around us. “So, you’re one of them.”

“Oh, uhm. I am,” she agrees. She thinks for a second, then looks back. “It’s hard to explain.”

Big surprise.

“But…there’s things it might be dangerous for me to know. For a good reason, but, I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell…other people. I’m sorry.” She does look apologetic.

I pick my shirt back up and pull it on. “Did you people do this?”

“WHAT?” she asks in horror, “No! No, not at all! I would never!”

I come out of the shirt grinning, because it’s such a teenager reaction for her to be having to a situation like this where I can barely think at all. “Okay okay—I believe you,” I say, “But I don’t guess you guys are going to explain any time soon?”

“We’re…trying,” she says, looking around at all the people. Most are sitting down, talking to each other. Some alone, like me, zoned out or thinking. Some trying to help the ones injured by being thrown about. A few more investigating the swords, or walking around, I think trying to see how big this place is. Some were mad, demanding answers and fighting, or scared and hysterical, but that shit died out what must be over an hour ago now.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, too tired to want to fight. I watch her for a few seconds as I pull on my jacket. I wonder how much you really know. “…Can this be fixed?”

She looks back at me, eyes big and worried.

“Everything?” I gesture, emptily, “It…kind of looked like the world was ending.”

“I think it was,” she says, voice shaky and scared. “But. It can be fixed.” She looks over at the Doctor for a few seconds, then back at me. “Doctor Romani says it might not even have exactly happened yet.”

“Come again?” I say.

“Well,” she says, shifting to face me a little more, “It’s like…you know how in a tsunami, the tip of the wave is the part that hits you first, but it’s not the wave itself—not the real wave, just the crest? Or—maybe more like—you know it’s coming, when the water vanishes, but that’s not the danger yet. Not the actual thing. He says something’s gone wrong, and we’re seeing…the effects, before the trigger. Time is messed up. But, that’s good. Because well, I thought about it, and I'm pretty sure that it means, if we can stop it before it happens, then, none of this will ever be. Everything won’t even really get ‘un-done,’ it’ll just…never have to be like this at all.”

“So…whatever…happened, with the world out there. That big whiteness, burning the world away. That hasn’t happened?” I ask.

She nods. “It’s like…getting pulled into a premonition, kind of. He said it shouldn't have happened, or I guess, it won’t 'really' happen, in linear time, for another two months.”

“So, they’re not really dead?” I ask, sitting up, ears perked.

“They?” she asks.

“-People!” I say excitedly, “My Mom—my friends—everyone! They’re not-?”

She’s nodding.

“Oh thank—why didn’t you people say so?!” I ask, overwhelmed with…I think joy? I almost trip over myself standing up, and offer her a hand. “Come on! Two months? That’s no time to lose! Stand up and fight for it! Just tell me what to do!”

She looks surprised, then smiles shakily, and takes the hand and stands with me. “Right! Okay. First thing is to make sure everyone is at their best, so we can work together. They have to think of a plan, fast, so only the people whose skills don’t help with that are available to look after all the people here. That’s not many of us.”

“Then we find some people who can,” I say, and I turn to the people around us and cup my hands. “Okay people! The world hasn’t ended yet—we can still fix it! Working on a plan! So organize already! Get up! Anybody who has medical skills at all—CPR certification, medical school, I don’t give a shit! If you can set a bone or fix up scrapes, over here with me! Anybody hurt bad, raise your hand or get someone near you to so we can find you easy! Let’s go already!”

Ritsuka looks at me and blinks, then turns and watches as around us, people confer, and some start to get up and walk towards us, from all around. Hands go up. Her expression changes, and I see the fear fade, and she starts to smile. A real one. A happy one this time.

“What?” I say, smiling back, “It’s our world too. Did you think we weren’t gonna want to help?

-------------------------------------------------

“Look—I-I don’t have time, to explain all of this.” This is a living nightmare. I am so beyond lost. I know I’m lucky to be alive at all right now, but this entire situation is a wildly unfair twist of luck, or fate, and I do not feel especially lucky right now. I feel emotionally as if I’ve been hit by a bus that then switched to reverse and backed over my mangled body again just for good measure.

“Well, you’re gonna have to explain more,” says Cú Chulainn.

They’re mad. Everyone is mad. Civilians tried to attack us, despite doing our best to explain what’s going on. I thought the Lancer was going to strangle me for a second when we first arrived. I’m pretty sure I’ve made the little girl cry three times. This is my nightmare. I’m living my nightmare, but I still have a shot maybe to fix it, so I can’t give up and die. I’m trapped. In this extended, long, dragged out version, of my nightmare.

Quit complaining. Think hard. You can do this.

Just breathe. And think. And focus. Put all that wisdom to good use, if ever, ever there was a time…

I feel eyes on me—I mean, everyone, has their eyes on me, but, intently. Trying to get me to look back. And I look over and see my father. At least David’s here.

At least I’m not alone. That’s not something I expected, and it’s the only good thing.

He looks so worried about me, and he’s trying to get me to smile at him, and that’s so sad it makes me want to cry, but I can’t, because I have to hold it together. Oh this is hell.

But still. Even as awful as it all is, I appreciate the attempt, and I do feel, minisculely, better.

That’s…something.

I guess all things considered, they’re actually being pretty patient, I think with a sigh, letting some small bit of the tension in me out.

Okay. One task at a time. This can be done.

“Alright. Alright…” I turn to the others. I gave people the bare bones on arrival, but we’ve had so much to do—civilians freaking out, two badly wounded enough that I, as the only doctor on hand, really had no choice but to tend them before doing anything else, and with only so much I could or should say, in front of human strangers. And no one liked that. Me included. But what else could I do? “But I’ll have to give you the short version.”

“Do, then,” says Robin.

“Yes,” prompts Mozart, “How did this happen?”

I run a hand along my face, then look up again and mentally count. “Shouldn’t Emiya be here for this?”

“Emiya isn’t going to be here for anything,” snaps Cú Chulainn, “He’s concentrating on running blade works at maximum efficiency, so we can all stay alive as long as possible. I’ll tell him later. Just go.”

“Okay.” I let out a breath, and after triple checking to make sure we’re far enough now from any humans, turn to face them. “I’m…like you,” I say in defeat.

Cu Chulainn blinks, and looks at Billy, then Robin.

“Like us?” says Billy.

I see something click on Robin’s face, and he looks from David, to me. I nod.

“Yeah. I uh…I a—I was, Solomon.”

There’s silence for a second around the group.

I guess, uh, to my benefit, or, something, the hostility in the air significantly lessens.

“Ohhhhh,” says Cú Chulainn, looking from me to David now too, “This actually explains a lot.”

“Yeah, but not the why he knew about the whole world getting erased bit,” adds Robin with significantly less hostility than before.

“He’s getting to it,” says David with patience he’s clearly trying to will on everyone else.

“Look, the short version is, I won a holy grail war. I got my wish. And…” I shrug, exhausted, “The rumors are true. It’s a monkey’s paw. I wished to get off the throne, live once, and get to move on like a human. It took me off, and for some reason, broke every seal I’d left as Solomon when I did. I knew it the instant I was human again, but, it was too late. I had a lot of demons sealed, from when I was alive. One of them, Goetia, is uh…determined to rewrite history—everything, I guess. I knew he was trying to do…some version of this. But, not enough to know when, or exactly how, or to stop him in time. Especially with…the no magical circuits the grail decided to leave me with, no allies, and no one to believe anything I said. And now, you’ve seen what I was trying to prevent, two months before it should have happened at all.”

There’s silence.

“…Shit,” offers Billy finally. I actually appreciate that so much. There’s about 500 possible reactions to what I just said, and I was afraid of about 402 of them.

“The best I could do, after the Grail dumped me here, was try to find a way to survive it happening, and undo it, because I can beat him, but not until I can find him, and I had no way to find him, until he acted,” I finish, “So. That’s why I know. That’s the short version of my context. As for why this is all happening now? …” I shake my head hopelessly. “It shouldn’t be possible. It isn’t. But…”

Robin waits a second, then turns to David. “That’s all true this time, right? I mean, it clearly is, looking at you two, but, for security’s sake I feel like I have to ask.”

David gives a nod.

“Why can’t we tell Rits?” asks Billy.

“Because she can’t shield her mind,” I say, “I have a way to beat him, if I can get close, but I can onlytry it once, and it will only work if I catch him off guard, and the only advantage I have on him at all right now is that he doesn’t know I’m alive. Given I’ve been playing about 18 steps behind this whole time, I’m not going to tell anyone,” I look at David, “-not even you—what my play is, because if he finds out, it’s all over. You’re just going to have to trust me on that one, single thing. But. Beyond it, I just need to keep me being alive, being ‘Solomon,’ completely off his radar. Please. So, Ritsuka can’t know. She can’t keep herself from being mind read, at her level of mage ability, and I just can’t chance it. Not until I know where he is. Not until I’m sure he doesn’t have a way to use that against us.”

They seem to understand that, thank heaven, and not have a problem with it. The worst I get is Kotarou and Billy looking disappointed.

“Aside from that, I’ll do my best to answer anything I can,” I add tiredly.

“…You said you can’t explain why this is happening now, but, you said before it might be a case of the relativity of simultaneity,” says Salieri, thinking it through for himself, “If you’re right in that hypothesis, and we’re seeing two months into the future…early, essentially, I don’t suppose you have any guess as to why?”

I consider again, just in case something will occur, and shake my head. “It can’t be happening early.” I don’t sound sure in my own ears when the words come out, but…it just. can’t. It can’t. This is the only thing that makes sense. If ‘makes sense’ can even be applied to this state of things at all. “So it’s got to be that. But…no. I don’t know why.”

There’s quiet among us for a second.

“Well…know why or not, ain’t this… ‘simultaneity’ experience…a good thing?” suggests Billy.

I glance at him in surprise.

“Well,” he says again awkwardly, looking to Robin for support, then back at me, “You said you were waitin’ for him to act, b’fore you could stop him. Had to hear the gun go off to aim your own, right? So, if you’re seein’ him make a move, don’t that mean you can find him now?”

I stare at him.

“Right? I mean. Even if it ain’t happened in reality, it happened to us. So, it’s even better than it happening when it’s s’posed to, ‘cause maybe then we stop it ‘fore it happens,” adds Billy.

….

I AM SO STUPID!!! In the midst of all my terrible little panic, THIS hasn’t occurred to me?!?!

“Oh heaven. You’re right,��� I say in the voice of someone not remotely there.

“That’s right?” says David, suddenly excited, “Is he right??”

“YES!” I say, having mentally crunched the numbers at warp speed, and launching forward without thinking at all and grabbing Billy, overjoyed, by the shoulders, “I can’t believe it! You’re right! If I can just get to the right equipment! I could even—none of it ever has to happen at all!—”

I am thinking so fast I want to vomit. This is the best I’ve felt since I was incarnated in this form. Oh, God, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I can’t believe it! This is a real chance. It won’t be easy, not at all, maybe not even doable, but it’s a chance. A real chance, to avoid it all. To keep it from happening. Oh, I thought it was a curse, but it’s a miracle.

“Okay,” says Cú Chulainn, more relaxed and almost pleased, “So then, we got an idea, good, but what’s the immediate plan going forward?”

Okay okay, he’s right—slow down—think.

“You said ‘if I can get to the right equipment’,” adds Kotarou, “Is that from this Chaldea place you talked about?”

….Chaldea…shit.

Mood fluctuations like this cannot possibly be good for the heart.

“How can we get from a reality marble to there?” muses Mozart, turning to Salieri, “I mean, if it’s even still there. It might have gotten wiped like everything else that’s not been destroyed but also been destroyed.”

“Schrodinger’s destroyed,” says Robin helpfully.

Mozart nods.

I’m barely processing this, mind racing. Trying to take a gift and a curse and wrap them together into some kind of horrible, workable reality. Uhg, I’m so close and so far, and… There has to be a way. There has to. So then…

“Well, there should be ways to find out,” says David.

“From inside a reality marble??” says Mozart.

“…There is,” I say unhappily as the numbers I’ve been running fall into place.

They all look at me again.

I return the looks, and let out a tired breath. “You’re not gonna like it.”

I don’t like it, and it’s my terrible plan.

Cu Chulainn gives me a grimace.

“—Wait—I’m sorry—before we switch topics for good, I’m gonna be thinkin’ about this all day if I don’t ask real quick—Why were you at Ur-Shanabi if you were in the middle of a long-con?” asks Billy, raising his hand.

Cu Chulainn, Robin, Salieri, Kotarou, and I point to David, who David points to himself.

“—Oh. Duh. Sorry—carry on,” says Billy, flushing and giving an awkward grin.

“Should we get Ritsuka now?” asks Mozart, “Before the terrible plan we’re all going to hate?”

I sigh and nod. “Yeah. We need her for it.”

I look off into the crowd, trying to spot her again. She wanted to go help people when she was asked to step away, and I see her a ways off, talking to an old man. The young man from before is with her, and they seem to have drawn quite a crowd. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s really something. I feel terrible I’ve dragged her into all this. Why is it always the kindest people who end up being asked to give the most, over and over again? It’s not even fair the first time.

“We need her for it?” I half-hear Cú Chulainn echo behind me. “Oh…shit. You don’t mean…?”

“…I…I think he does,” says Robin in similar disbelieving horror.

“Mean what?” asks Kotarou.

I can only guess from their tone they’ve guessed correctly. I sigh.

“Mozart, any chance you can find something that passes for a leyline?” I ask, turning back to them.

“IN A REALITY MARBLE?” says the Caster, between disgusted and elated at this insane request.

“That passes for one,” I say, exhausted, “It’s a complex inner-scape. The density of magic must be higher somewhere in here than everywhere else.”

“Oh, you’re really going to do it,” he says in horrid fascination. He turns to Salieri. “The man says such terrible things so casually. I love it.”

“Oh, no,” says Kotarou, looking between us, “No no no. That’s never going to work!” He glances desperately over at Ritsuka. “I-I know My Lord has quite the pool of mana, but, she’s already giving Emiya what he needs for Unlimited Blade Works. Even trying to summon another spirit, inside a reality marble? It…”

“It’s crazy,” I agree, turning to face him, “But. We’re out of options.”

That’s the cold, hard, simple truth.

Cu Chulainn has a scowl on his face, deep in thought. “…I hate to say it,” he exhales, glancing up, “But I think he’s right.”

“Will that even work?” asks Billy.

“Maybe, maybe not, “says Robin, “But right now, we’re on a timer. If…nothing changes, then, eventually, even Ritsuka runs out of mana. And, when she does…”

He glances over at the around two-hundred people we managed to save, expression worried, and grim.

“If we try this, and fail, they die. If we do nothing, they die,” says Robin, “If we try and we succeed. Maybe we all live.”

I nod slowly.

“There’s nothing else we can do?” asks Kotarou, “That… the odds of success have to be so slim. Isn’t there anything more careful? If we mess up here. If we’re…all that’s left.”

“Yes,” says David, moving closer and putting a hand on his shoulder, “But the longer we wait to act, the worse it gets too. The simple fact is,” he adds, glancing to me to make sure this is right, “The only place left out there—places, I should say—according to the calculations he made before, will be Chaldea. And wherever Goetia is.”

I nod.

“We can’t get there on our own,” says David, “We need a spirit with clairvoyance, time travel, or some kind of mechanical, technological marvel that can get us from a reality marble, to one of those two places. And…none of us can do that.”

Billy seems to think really hard, like he’s trying to find a way to do it himself, then sighs and nods at David.

“Okay. Well, Mozart, I guess good luck doing what he asked,” says Robin.

Mozart makes a dismal ‘ha-ha’ sound in response.

“Doctor, we’ll bring Ritsuka. You make whatever preparations this insane plan involves on your end,” continues Robin, “You’ve probably got a little time, because the rest of us need to take a minute to talk about long-term plans, because even if we get a spirit, chances are it won’t be on the first try, and like it or not, the biggest draw of her mana after the reality marble—”

“-ah shit,” says Billy with a grimace as he gets where Robin is going.

Robin nods sympathetically.

I consider saying something to try and cheer them up, but what can I say? I know this situation is grim even better than they do. And…they’re right.

“Come along,” says David cheerily, slinging an arm around Robin and Kotarou, since they’re closest to him, “Let’s do it then. We’ll go with Mozart so he can be part of the discussion while praying to trip over a leyline.”

“Your compassion is overwhelming,” jokes Mozart.

They start off, and David flashes me a reassuring smile over his shoulder.

I appreciate it more than he can possibly know.

“Ab,” I say, and he pauses, the others with him. “Everyone. …Thank you.” I really mean that. “I know this situation is terrible. And, intentional or not, I know it’s my fault. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you all got caught up in the middle of it this way.”

Some of them trade glances, then look back at me.

“Ain’t really so bad, for us. This is still a good summons,” says Billy.

“Besides, you didn’t know,” adds Kotarou, lost in thought.

“Yes. I’ve been pretty happy,” adds Mozart, slinging an arm around Salieri, who seems to momentarily be too deeply lost in thought to notice that or what I’m saying to him.

“Well, I know we have to plan, but I wouldn’t give up on your manifestations just yet,” I add, feeling better, and trying to think this angle over too, “I’ve got a few ideas on summoning from in here. We might get lucky. And, uh, I’ll do my best to give us an edge.”

Robin gives a tired smile, and I get a friendly nod from Cú Chulainn too. They’re all taking this really well. There’s…almost something familiar about it, to me. Telling someone to defend a point as long as they can. Well, that’s not exactly what this is, but. I feel strange nostalgia I can’t place anyway. It’s a good feeling though, and I’ll take whatever luck or good omen I can get.

-----------------------------------------

“Rits! Hey!”

I look up at the sound of Billy’s voice and see him easily even in the crowd, because he’s waving a hand above his head. Also, because Cú Chulainn is by him, and that guy’s really tall and has blue hair.

Actually, I think it’s everybody—oh, uhm, except Emiya. Right, I think, getting to my feet and wiping my hands off on my knees, I better go make sure he’s okay too.

I want to bring him some food, because even thought Heroic Spirits don’t need it, it helps them conserve energy, and he must be getting so tired keeping his phantasm going a long time like this, but, the only food we’ve got is the food people brought with them. We’ve got about 200 people here, but even though we were in a shopping district, not a whole lot of them were carrying food or drinks, and most of the ones who were had a snack, or a partially drunk water bottle. We’re going to have to be careful to conserve what we can.

“Can you stay with him?” I ask, indicating the older man we’ve been helping, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

My new friend gives a nod. We’d fixed up the gash in the man’s arm already – all that was left is wrapping it with a bandage, and I’m sure he can do that alone. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t be gone forever. The rest of us would really like some idea what’s going on, at some point?” he replies, taking the roll of bandages I hand him.

“I’ll be back,” I promise, “Uhm. Try to…”

“…Not let my mind wander, and start bleeding to death from a gunshot wound?” he jokes. The old man we’ve been helping gives him a deeply concerned look and he grimaces. “Ah. Uh. Sorry—kind of hard to explain. Uh…”

I give him a smile, then turn to face my friends and start walking, hearing him continue to talk behind me. For just a second, I see him glance over and watch us as I go, but then he goes back to trying to explain things to the old man.

“Hey guys,” I say as I join the others.

“Doing some good work,” observes Robin, surveying the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re a lot calmer than before when they wanted to murder us,” adds Billy casually.

“They’re helping a lot now,” I say, “We just explained that there’s a chance to fix things, and people are pitching in.”

“Glad to hear it,” says Robin, “So, uh. Look.”

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. They all look…kind of nervous too. “W…What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly deeply worried. They aren’t all here but Emiya, either. Mozart isn’t.

“Nothin!” hurries Billy, “Well—nothin’ bad. Or. Nothin’ so bad-“

“—He’s trying to say, we have a plan going now,” says Robin, “And we need you for it.”

“Oh! That’s good, though,” I say, confused, “Why do you all look worried?”

“Well,” offers David, gesturing for me to follow. I go with them, and we start to walk. “Uh. You know the general situation is that we’re in a reality marble, and if it stops…being projected, we, uhm, die.”

“R-Right,” I ask worriedly, “Wait! Am I running out of manna?”

“Are you?” asks Robin, turning to stare.

“No. I mean. I don’t think so. How would I know?” I say.

“How would we know?” says Robin, mystified.

“Can’t ya…tell?” asks Billy, “I mean. How do you feel?”

“Okay, I think,” I reply. Everyone looks relieved.

“Look, the short of it is, Blade Works can’t stop. Or everyone dies,” says Cú Chulainn, on target, “Supposedly, Chaldea is safe out there. If we can get to it, we could stop being in Blade Works. Which is great, because even Archer can’t do it infinitely.”

“That’s good,” I say hopefully.

“Yeah,” agrees Cú Chulainn, “But we have no idea how to get there from a reality marble. Generally, uh, a reality marble stays connected to reality where it was.”

“So, if he stopped…we’d go back to the city,” I say, heart fluttering and making me feel sick. The image of everything turning white and vaporizing around me is still very fresh in my head.

“Yeah, if we did it right now,” says Cú Chulainn.

“But, Doctor Romani has a plan,” says David with enthusiasm. He sounds so sure of himself, it makes me feel more okay too. “We’re going to summon another servant—one who can help us get to Chaldea.”

“Can you do that in a reality marble?” I ask, eyes wide.

“We’re about to find out!” says David with great optimism the same time Robin says, “God I hope so…” with considerably less.

“Yeah, and the Doc needs your help with that, so we’re gonna go over there,” continues Cú Chulainn, “But. We needed to talk to you too.”

“A…bout?” I ask, uncertain about the look on his face.

“About…” Billy pauses. Everyone stops with him, and they trade looks. He turns to face me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Look, uh, Rits. I know you ain’t gonna like this, but we’ve all talked it out.”

I feel very worried about this.

“Summoning a new servant…it’s gonna cost a lot of mana, and, that’s if it works. Or, works the first time,” he continues.

“Even if it does, we don’t know how fast they’ll be able to provide a solution,” says Salieri like an exhale. He’s been quiet, and when I look at him, his expression is very far away. I’m really, really worried now.

“Usually, the smartest thing to do…” Billy pauses, glances at Robin, then Kotarou, then back at me. “…Would be to just dismiss us all but Emiya, right now.”

“No!” I say in horror.

He lets go of my shoulder with one of his hands to hold it up. “But! Uh. We also know with what caused this bein’ so big and scary, keepin’ us, as many of us as we can, around, is gonna help in the long run.”

“R-Right,” I say, heartbeat still racing.

Why don’t they look like that means it’s okay?

“Still,” he says more softly, “We gotta face facts that, unless we get real lucky, we could be stuck here for…days, weeks. And…the longer we’re up, the less energy you got left to keep Blade Works going. The less time all these humans have to live.”

He gestures past me, at them. Trying to make me look at them. I don’t want to. I don’t like this. I hate it.

But, I look. I’ve talked to so many of them the last few hours. Names, faces, fragments of life stories. My newest friend is still only about fifteen feet off, tying off a bandage, trying to make this old man smile. Telling him some kind of story.

My chest aches.

“We’re…spirits.” Billy shrugs, and I turn back to look at him. He’s smiling at me, but he looks sad. They all do. “Worst that can happen, is we go back to the throne. These folks? This is their first life. This is all they got. When it comes down to it, you gotta do things you don’t always like, for the people who need you.”

I shake my head. “There has to be another way.”

“There…isn’t,” says Salieri. He looks calm right now, like when I first met him. Like a teacher. “We’ve talked it out, and, it seems most reasonable to us to be pragmatic.”

“Yes.” David looks sad. He sighs, shuts his eyes, then puts on a smile. “The Caster is almost finished with what he needs to do. After that…”

“After that, he and I will be the biggest drain on resources, because of our class,” says Cú Chulainn. There’s no fear in him, just a little chagrin. Like this is all normal, and okay. “After us, the Assassin, then Salieri. Avengers generate a little of their own mana, so if you cut him off, he can probably hang on for a little while.”

Salieri gives a nod, but there’s a look on his face like he wouldn’t want to.

“Obviously, Archer—Emiya,” says Cú Chulainn like he’s annoyed to call him that, “Can’t go at all, because it’s his phantasm. The rest of the Archers can probably last about a week if they don’t do anything. Gunner might not last quite that long, but several days.”

“You want me to break your contracts now?” I ask in horror.

He looks kind of surprised, glances at the others.

“I mean. If you want to wait and see if we get a miracle at the summoning circle,” suggests Robin Hood like it’s half a joke.

“No,” I say emphatically. I put my foot down—literally, and I’m embarrassed about stomping like a little kid, but I can’t help it! “No way!”

They look at me, look at each other, like they expected this. Like it’s…a problem. But! It’s not – they’re-!

“…Ritsuka,” tries Robin.

“-No!” I cut him off. I can tell some of the normal humans around us are starting to listen, and I’m probably being too loud, but I’m so upset! “Look—I get it!” I say, trying to calm down, and doing a really bad job, “I know this is bad! I saw it—I saw the world getting erased around us. I saw people getting swallowed up! I saw everything bad close around us! I know this is really serious, and really bad! I’m not stupid! But-!”

It's just too much! It’s not fair! It’s not right! It—It’s something more than that that I just can’t…can’t find the words for, but, I’ve got to! So they’ll understand! So this won’t happen! So—

“Look,” I plead, turning to them in turn.

Cu Culainn and Robin look sympathetic, like they’re sorry I’m wrong. Salieri looks sad. David looks pained. Billy looks worried. Kotarou is staring at me, taken aback, so I focus on him first. I think ‘maybe he’ll get it’. Like maybe he can help.

“We’re all trapped here, alone, together. There’s…” I counted, before. I try to remember. “There’s … two-hundred and six people here, including you, and me, and the doctor. Two-hundred, and six. That’s everybody that we know is still alive. If we…hours into being stuck here, start deciding it’s okay to get rid of people, for the greater good…” I shake my head. “No. I won’t do it. –Look, I feel fine. I’ve got energy. Maybe, if…if things get worse, and you’re right, maybe we have to do extreme stuff later. But, that’s not the right way to fight this. We’re protecting everybody, including each other. Everybody we have left. We’re down, to two-hundred and six. I don’t want two-hundred and four, I don’t want two-hundred, I don’t want one-hundred and ninety-nine, when we get to Chaldea. I want everybody.”

They all exchange looks again. Cú Chulainn gets a funny expression on his face.

“We aren’t going to fight a losing battle when we just got here,” I say, calming down a little. Squaring my shoulders and my stance. “Thank you, for offering, but you’re all going to help these people and me a lot better here, and alive. I promise. I can do it. I can keep everybody going.”

Robin laughs, and I’m worried, but, it’s not a mean laugh, and he gives me a tired smile and shakes his head when I look at him, like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Well, I told you that’s what she’d say,” says Billy, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, you did,” sighs Cú Chulainn. He gives me a glance. “You know this is stupid? I can’t make you break a contract I agreed to already, but, if you don’t cut us loose, you’re putting everyone at risk. Idealism can only go so far in reality.”

“Let’s see how far then,” I say hopefully.

He almost chokes on a laugh, lets out a deeper sigh, and grins. “Well, I know when I’m beat. For the moment, anyway.”

“You’re sure…?” asks Kotarou tentatively.

I turn to look at him. He looks confused.

“I mean, he’s right,” he offers.

“I don’t think so,” I say, and I realize when I do that it’s true. That I…I think I’m right. I was upset, and worried, and distressed at first, but, I couldn’t figure out the right thing to say. Now, I think…I think I get it beyond just the feeling it would be wrong, though. “I know…there’s good reasons to suggest that,” I say, turning back to Cú Chulainn, “But…I think, in a situation as bad as this, it’s not just that I don’t want to do it. Or…that I need you, or that it’s wrong, and not fair. I think…it would also be the wrong thing to do, because…because in a situation as bad as this, what matters most is that all of us stick together. All of us—you too. That…we make sure everybody knows, for certain, that everybody is important; them, and the person next to them, and every person here, and…and that we aren’t going to drop them, as soon as they become too hard to carry, or feed, or, take too much energy away from the rest of us. We were…”

I glance back. The people close enough are definitely listening, although some of them are trying to be polite and pretend they’re not, which is nice of them. The old man and my new friend aren’t pretending at all, they’re just watching. My friend has a focus in his expression, and he tilts his head at me when I look his way.

“…All in chaos, before. People were arguing, and fighting. Everyone was scared, and mad, and hurt, and nobody trusted each other.” I turn back to the others. “But look at them now. We’re working together, and everyone is looking out for each other. People with skills to help are helping, and people with food and water are sharing, and people who were alone are meeting the people next to them, so nobody is alone anymore, and, and now we can all believe we’re going to make it. And that makes it so we can. Because we’re not trying to win. We didn’t grab all those people and take them with us so we could forget about them while we try to get to a safer place. We’re trying to save everyone. Every individual. And, that includes you guys. I’d rather be low on resources, with people who know I’m not going to leave them, than have everything I need, and people who know they’re expendable. Because, they’re not.” I smile at them. “Even when they’re trying to be heroic about it.”

“…She makes a good case,” says Salieri. He smiles and turns to gesture to the others. “Morale is more important to the outcome, often, maybe most of the time, than resources.”

“Well, it’s her decision,” decides David graciously, “So I guess we have no choice but to listen to our leader.”

I grin at him.

“Thank you,” says Kotarou.

Surprised, I look at him. He looks overwhelmed and really taken aback, like he might cry. I forgot, this is still like, day one after being kidnapped and tortured for him. No wonder everything is so terrible.

“I…shouldn’t thank you, because I should try to talk you out of it,” he says ruefully, glancing at the ground for a few seconds before looking at me again, “But…Just the same. I….we. …”

I shake my head. “I know you want to protect everyone, even if you have to go. I’m not saying I think that’s wrong. But, I’m not letting anybody get sacrificed because it ‘might’ be better in the long run. I don’t believe that.”

He looks at me and smiles hesitantly, but it’s a real smile.

I’m really glad. I know he’s had a rough time just adjusting to being up and okay again.

“Well, I figure we got told off pretty good,” says Billy, grinning and slinging an arm around me. I grin back at him. “I don’t rightly know what the proper tactical choice is, but I can’t say I got a problem with this one personally, and I think I trust her judgement.”

“Yeah,” sighs Robin.

“Well, she has proved pretty dependable at that,” concedes Cú Chulainn with a distracted little smile like he’s still thinking about a joke someone told a while ago.

“So, since y’ain’t cuttin us loose just yet, guess we better really double down on gettin’ a good spirit to come help,” says Billy.

“Right!” I say, “Let’s go right now, if they’re ready.” I turn to my new friend and the man we were helping. “Will you all be okay alone?”

My friend waves me off. “Yeah, yeah—I can roll some gauze. Go summon a whatever and save the world or something—I mean the second part; seriously. Get us out of here,” he adds, but I think he’s pleased.

I give him a nod and turn to the others.

“Amadeus is this way,” says Salieri, and he leads us.

[jezebelblues]

burning hill | h.s

summary: in which a girl feels too afraid of commitment because of her past, and the boy who knows nothing of it, falls helplessly anyway.

cw: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

word count: approx 17k

| hhmm more coming of these 2 perhaps 🫵

ps: if u see any (!!!) around words or see random things in all caps, its cause that’s what i use to indicate (for myself in editing) italics/bold cause tumblr doesn’t save that i swear

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[sadiestarrs]

Cherry Red

Warnings: swearing, mean ellie, mentions of sex

A/N: i got this idea from another fic umm. it is proofread, but criticism is always accepted!! this one lowkey hurt. also i made edits to this fic but tumblr decided to glitch and delete them all so if this is bad, my apologies 🙏😞

Plot: ellie is a guitarist and the most popular in her group, but the attention has become too much, especially for you

Word count: 1115

Standing in between hundreds of screaming girls was not where you imagined yourself five years ago, especially not when you got with Ellie. Back then, she was practising guitar, doing small gigs at cafés and jazz bars late into the night. You attended everyone, that’s how you met her. Your friends had invited you on a night out, and she immediately caught your eye, playing one of your favourite songs.

From that day on, you’d showed up every night you were free and soon started to get noticed. One thing led to another, going on a few dates, sharing mutual friends, watching them create a band, and finally seeing them achieve their goals, a sold-out stadium. But now was when it set in. You were never claustrophobic, but your position made you think otherwise.

Bodies swarmed around yours, the screaming increasing when Ellie started her solo. You weren’t mad at how many people liked her, not at all – even though you were technically her first fan.

Something wasn’t right about this concert, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. You felt it in your core. A strange, sickening feeling.

Your vision tried to steady on Ellie, who was focused on each chord and strum of her guitar. The guitar you bought her. Despite being a broke college student, you still wanted to show Ellie that you cared and believed in her career, so you bought her the same cherry red guitar she held in her hands at that moment.

It was as if she loved the guitar more than you, funnily enough. It hung on the wall above your shared bed. She would dust it regularly, making sure that the strings were tuned, only using it during concerts. When she practised, it would be her older guitar, the same one she used the night you met her.

Now as you watched her kill the solo, like she did every time, you waited for the end, the moment when she would find you in the crowd during the last chord, almost dedicating the song to you. But it didn’t happen. Her eyes scanned for someone else. Her hand reached for another girl.

Up on stage was someone you had seen before, long jet-black hair, dark eyeliner, ripped jeans and a crop top. Her ex. She had brought her ex on stage. The band knew about you, how could they let this happen? How could they–how could she embarrass you like that?

Her ex takes the guitar and begins her own riff, something they had definitely planned behind your back. Questions rampaged through your mind. You were at almost every practice and rehearsal. Were they meeting up separately? You choke up, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

Ellie whispers something in her ear, holding her by the waist as she nods in response. The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering. It was meant to be you on stage. She was meant to hold you. Her ex takes the neck of the guitar, turning it upside down and smashing it into the floor.

You lose count of the number of times they pass it between them, causing more damage than the last. A strong urge to empty your guts washes over you, pushing through the crowd, not caring who gets elbowed in the face.

The dressing room is filled with buzzing from outside, but it’s 100% better than watching your girlfriend smash a prized possession you bought her. Every answer your mind came up with wasn’t good enough. It didn’t make sense. Why? Why? Why?

Why would she do that to you? Your relationship had been strained for a few days after an argument over rehearsals. You barely spent time together any more, she was always out practising, even missing the dates you had planned.

This started a conversation about whether she cared about her career more than the relationship. You didn’t want to believe it but all your worries seemed to come true. Her added fame and success made things more difficult.

The time when she gave a group of VIP fans a tour backstage and bonded a bit too much with one of them sparked through your brain. It reminded you of what was happening on stage before you left. And now the show was over.

✦

Her bandmates come into the room before her, filling the space with awkwardness when they see you. None of them speak, going through the motions of drinking water, packing away instruments, and checking their phones without so much as an apology.

All of them knew about this but didn’t feel the need to tell you. You blamed them as much as you blamed Ellie. To think that you were the reason they were in that position now. If it wasn’t for you bringing them together, another band would be in their place.

“So no one wanted to tell me what Ellie was planning?”

Your question is met with even more silence, everyone looking awkwardly between themselves.

“We didn’t know—”

The door is pushed, followed by Ellie, now smiling with her ex directly behind her. She senses the tension in the air and motions for the others to leave. The three of you stand in silence for an eternity before Ellie finally says, “I can tell that you’re mad.”

Mad? That was the biggest understatement. Her ex doesn’t make eye contact, still standing behind her, hands folded across her chest.

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Maybe it was harsh, but there was no other way to convey your emotions. “Can I explain myself before we start throwing insults around? It was a prank. That wasn't the actual guitar.”

From a supply closet, she brings out the case and unzips it to reveal the guitar, still in perfect condition. No thought formed properly in your mind. Nothing made sense. It was a sick prank, something that made you physically ill.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Ellie?”

“This conversation won't go anywhere if you keep insulting her.” She had the audacity to speak to you. This was her fault, not just Ellie’s. What sane person would do something like that?

“This conversation is between me and my girlfriend. You know what? You two can have each other.” You push past them, slamming the door in the process.

Why was this happening? Did you piss off God? Were you paying for a mistake you made years ago? Whatever it was, it didn't make sense. What went through Ellie’s head to do that to you?

No one bothers going after you. Fortunately, you're able to grab a cab and go back to the hotel.

Where you were staying with Ellie.

[ratboyy-withtheexistentialdread]

Nevermore Chapter 97

Spoilers ahead, lads. Skedaddle if you don't fast pass. EDIT I guess I’ve said too much in this post and need to pull it back a little. So imma gonna edit it so it doesn’t say too much about this chapter.

Alright, first my reaction cause HOLY HELL those last few panels really got me like

I really had to put my phone down and talk myself through them. Now, lets talk about what I gained from this chapter and the infamous Annabel Lee. I've noticed, at least in the comment section, the fandom really doesn't care for Annabel's character and its difficult to know where the animosity has come from. Tumblr obviously loves her but us heathens support women's rights and wrongs (Don't we gents?) Many call her a sociopath or what’s happens in the last few panels. Annabel is indeed ruthless, calculating and stone cold but she obviously cares. She cares for Lenore above everything. It can be easy to see this as obsession as we really haven't seen her care about much else or even herself. But one comment on the Webtoon brought up a very valid point which I've also picked up on.

Annabel and Lenore in life were very isolated and broken people when they met one another. Annabel, broken and then rebuilt into a prim and proper lady. Lenore, broken physically and mentally and closed off from the world.

Meeting each other saved them. They were no longer alone. There was an understanding between them at least that we know of.

Their differences though is what divides them in death.

Annabel played games, and masked her true self around her father and family connections. She now makes games of situations to retain what little control she had in life over a society she knew she could never break the rules of. A Game that was always rigged against her.

Lenore rebelled against society. She fled the estate to escape a suitor, was bound to the attic and ostracized by her family, she then faked her death and posed as man to court Annabel, the one person who cared for her.

Lenore wants to break the rules of the deans Death Game. Annabel wants to follow them.

It’s all they’ve ever known.

Before it was only them that mattered. Now Lenore has so much more to fight for and Annabel still only has Lenore. Both are right in their own way of playing the game but it pains the other to witness.

Annabel, I’m sure is aware that the Deans are not all they seem to be and won’t simply allow the students to turn the tables on them if they played how Lenore wants to.

And playing Annabel’s way means the callous death of many many people that do deserve another chance at life.

Now. I do have to agree with Annabel in the sense that Lenore forgets

This is a Death Game

Right now the “villainous” characters show their true face with pride and the “hero’s” are charming and true but as we get down to the wire, it’s going to get grey. There are no good or bad at the end of these games, only survival.

Could Annabel show some restraint and more tact when speaking strategy and making plans with Lenore? Absolutely. She’s little too giddy about sweeping some pieces off the board.

Lenore also needs to stop being so naive. She saw first hand what exactly the Deans are capable of in Dreamland, it put the fear of god in her.

In fairness to both characters though they and we are still missing big pieces of what happened between them and what their causes of death were. Which could hold big aspects of their characterization.

Maybe Lenore was originally very callous about others. In life, aside from Theo and Annabel, we’ve never really seen her interact with others. Perhaps this is the Lenore Annabel speaks of.

Anyway, I’m rambling. In conclusion, I’m a bit disappointed in Nevermores comment section. I enjoy Annabel’s character although some parts do worry me a bit but I have hope Red and Flynn have plans to curve this to a satisfying reason and conclusion.

That cliffhanger, boy howdy, what the fuck is Lenore gonna do…

[nerdieforpedro]

I love how you write and it makes me so glad you are here.

can I ask what inspired you to start?

signed - a maybe inspired future fic writer

This is such a wonderful ask! 🥰

I'm glad you enjoy my writing. I have ideas and I write them is my short answer and explains nothing I realize.

The long answer:

I've written fanfic before, off and on for maybe the last 10-15 years. Very different fandoms. Started out with anime, dabbled a bit in Yaoi then transitioned to Marvel and now I'm firmly planted in the Pedro Pascal, Oscar Issac, Benny Miller triangle of hotness.

Fanfic for me is an expression of a story, show, movie, video game or pice of media that I enjoyed so much, I just had to make something. I can't draw, no mixing of hot tracks or beats, I've just started dabbling in photo editing this year and am a beginner at that. It's all purely fun for me. I enjoy it and it's fun to share with other people who create and are like, "Hey! You like that? I like it too. Let me see yours and I'll show you mine. Where'd you get the idea for that?" And then hilarious conversations leap from there.

What inspired me to start specifically in the Pedro Pascal fanfic world was The Mandalorian. It was the first time I realized, "that's the man I've seen before!" And then realized I've seen Pedro Pascal in many of my favorite shows, (The Mentalist was watched for the sake of completion. After season 6 and the first episode of season 7, there wasn't a real reason to continue other than spending time with my mom. She's fine, when I tell people that they think she's passed on but the woman is still lifting 50 lbs mulch bags in her mid seventies. She more than fine.) I then became fixated on this man, reset the password on my AO3 account and found Pedro Pascal character fanfics. I was then led back to Tumblr which before I was on years ago for anime and read fics by @secretelephanttattoo ( I shall always sing about Headshots. It inspired the first fic I posted on Tumblr and is just so damn cute. El is also just a sweetheart.) and @morallyinept whose Tendrils fic only deepened my brain rot for that tall beskar bucket, she's also a dear friend who's made me laugh, cry in a good way, inspired me and very time I turn around she's crafting something new. Fics, banners, self-care, doodles, smut, databases, and all sorts of Pedro interviews and dialogue. Because I'm a fangirl of them both and many others actually, I keep 👀 on them.

What keeps me going is the fandom overall and that despite, recent tribulations let's say politely, we're all still here. Geeking out over a goofy, handsome, I know he gives the best hugs, actor who loves what he does and has been working at it for years and it's finally paying off.

I've met wonderful friends and moots who reach out, give me encouragement, tell me I do well (I'm starting to listen to them I swear. I'm not good at taking compliments in person so it's even worse online FYI.

So I hope this answers your ask and I do encourage you to write that weird, funny, smutty, cute, sweet, dark, twisty, angsty fic that you want to write. I do hope whoever you are, you tag me in it so I can read it. 🤭

Special love to the following and if I left anyone off, I'm sorry. It's after work, I rubbed my eyes, wipes my glasses because I got them wet while writing this and it was a lot:

@maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @for-a-longlongtime @i-own-loki @undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere

@soft-girl-musings @perotovar @julesonrecord @lotusbxtch @604to647

@yorksgirl @pedroshotwifey @fhatbhabiee @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @bitchwitch1981

@jessthebaker @avastrasposts @inept-the-magnificent @lady-bess @grogusmum

@schnarfer @boliv-jenta @iamskyereads @iamasaddie @chaithetics

@tinytinymenace @yourcoolauntie @alltheglitterandtheroar @musings-of-a-rose @rhoorl

@trulybetty @laurfilijames @wannab-urs @legendary-pink-dot @din-cognito

@sin-djarin @beefrobeefcal @spacecowboyhotch

[ikemen-trifecta]

A Date With Death ~ Making Grim Blush

“I’m not gonna write fanfiction or headcanons about him,” I thought to myself last night before going to bed, my head absolutely brimming with ideas. Ahem. Anyway. I took inspiration from HuniCast shenanigans and the CGs from the game. If you’d like to see more of Grim, feel free to submit a request to our Tumblr with more scenarios (not taking NSFW)! Please refrain from using his real name in comments and reblogs, as it is a major spoiler. Thank you for reading! –Edi

Edit: Two and a Half Studios retweets spoilers; it's fine.

⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️

🌻 The quickest way to make him blush is by resting your chin on his shoulder and murmuring “Oh, Grimmy~” 🌻 It’ll irritate him that you're not using his real name, but the close proximity will get him flustered regardless. 🌻 He’ll turn around and say “P-please stop doing that,” trying to obscure his face with the back of one hand.

🌻 Another way to make him blush quickly is to press your face into his chest (or make contact with his torso in any way). It's very sensitive, and he absolutely hates the fact that you use it against him. 🌻 You can run a finger down his back and render him a sputtering, red mess. 🌻 He tries to get you back by biting your neck (gently), but you are either very resistant to tickles or just don't care if you get flustered. It irritates him more.

🌻 Something more tame that you do that makes him blush is starting to grow a garden of sunflowers from the seeds of the bouquet he gave you. 🌻 He won’t say it, but he’ll be very touched that you decided to do that. 🌻 Every time he passes by the garden, his face will automatically become flushed at least a little thinking of you. It may even make him tear up a little.

🌻 Seeing you spend time with your pet will also make him blush. He won’t admit it, but you look very cute like that. When you aren’t talking, that is.

🌻 You also ordered your own axolotl plush to match his. He didn’t like sharing at first, but he couldn’t say anything when he found you in your apartment one night, all snuggled up in bed with Raphael. You had named the plushie after the angel of safe travels in preparation for the journey of your soul (Raphael is also seen as an angel of matchmaking and healing).

🌻 Speaking of sharing, he’ll…eventually…let you touch his hair. You enjoy having him sit against your bed or resting his head on your lap in order to braid his precious locks. If you look into his eyes while you’re at it, he’ll blush and avert them slightly. 🌻 To top it all off, you’ll either make a flower crown out of the blooms from your garden or weave them into the braids. He really is the prettiest grim reaper you’ve ever seen.

🌻 You’ll sometimes correct his typos, to which he’ll mutter the same thing again and again: “I do not type correctly…” 🌻 You always try to phrase it gently, but he’s still hard on himself regardless. He’ll blush and ask you about the proper grammar before disconnecting the call.

🌻 He still blushes when you mention the nonsense that is soul babies. 🌻 “You’re on about that again?” he’ll say. You respond by pushing him onto your bed. 🌻 “You. Me. Soul baby.” 🌻 “E-excuse me?!” 🌻 He’ll barely get those words out before you playfully hug him. 🌻 “You’re so easy to tease, Grimmy.”

🌻 He’ll try various things and finally pin you to the wall as a last resort and growl in your ear. 🌻 “I’ve got you now, Sunshine.” 🌻 You just smirk before stunning him with a quick kiss. He doesn't even know what happened, poor soul. You take this opportunity to taunt him. 🌻 “I’m the one with the most ‘rizz,’ my little reaper.” This mention of his previous cringey word usage will snap him out of it. 🌻 “Cease.” 🌻 “I don't think I will,” you’d respond, giggling. 🌻 This makes him pout— not that he notices. You bury your face in his chest again. He lets out a surprised squeak before just giving up and hugging you. 🌻 …still blushing from his chin to the tips of his ears.

[gruviaweek]

Ten years.

The first ever Gruvia Week was held in 2013. It is now 2023. Meaning, this is the 11th edition/Gruvia Week... but 10 years have passed since the creation of this blog and beloved event that’s been held on the exact same dates since the beginning (April 1st - April 7th). That’s right, the event date has never changed, never held early, nor late. To keep it this consistent and for so long is truly an accomplishment.

Thank you to all the wonderful fans that have kept this event alive for so long. It has been my pleasure to host this celebration for the last 10 years, and it’s because of you that I do so. All the dedicated Gruvia lovers deserve this. The fandom has changed a lot as time went on. People come and go. However, most notably, we have grown in more ways than one. Likewise, Gray and Juvia have gone through a tremendous amount of development in the last decade. They have confirmed mutual romantic love and a son that we have yet to meet in earthland, but still very much canon in the manga and drawn by the author (Hiro Mashima) of his own accord on multiple occasions. Despite this, we are still waiting for the day they “officially” get together. The setup and foreshadowing is there... He wants it, so Gray, confess to Juvia soon!

In the meantime, we celebrate the ship once again. Here are the official Gruvia Week 2023 prompts displayed in the image above. Just like in previous years these prompts are not complicated, but they are broad and meant to make you think. Be creative. Interpret them however you see fit. If you don’t know what a word means, look it up. Specific and basic prompts would result in different versions/entries of the same thing. That’s why Gruvia Week is so successful every year; imagination. Prompts for this event are always different every year. No repeats! See: Previous Gruvia Week editions

Those who are new to the week, unfamiliar, or would like to simply rehash, please click here to learn how to participate. Also be sure to follow the rules and guidelines. Feel free to ask questions, however please check this blog’s previous posts before submitting them. It’s possible your question could have already been answered.

Reminder: All pieces must be new. Old works will not be reblogged/included in the week. Be sure to specify the day/prompt used in your post. If you don’t have a tumblr, you can still participate. Post your work on any social media platform for that target audience. Participate anywhere; the more the merrier! However, if you’d like your work to be posted/featured here as well, be sure to submit it to this blog. Or submit the link to it (if posted on another platform such as twitter, instagram, wattpad, ao3, etc).

Reminders:

Tag your work with #gruvia week (with the space) within the first five tags.

Avoid using links in your post, as there is a chance it will not show up in the tags. Try using only five tags and no links if your post does not appear. If you must use a link, make sure it shows in the tags.

If your work contains an image or gif, make sure it’s within tumblr’s photo dimensions and size limits. Sometimes big images cause posts to not appear in tags.

It is YOUR responsibility to make sure your post shows up in the mobile and/or pc tags, so be sure to check if it does.

Gruvia Week will be held from April 1st - April 7th as always. Get ready and get creative!

Graphic/art by the wonderful and talented @goodnightlover. Thank you! ♡

[mint-yooxgi]

{4} - Written in the Stars - Yandere!Idol!Yeosang X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Soft Yandere AU & Idol AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Slow Burn

Pairing: Yeosang X Reader (ft. future Ateez and Skz ensemble)

Words: 12,502

Warnings: Slow burn. Minor fatshaming, oc gets called a bitch a few times (not by anyone important), minor assault and uncomfortable/inappropriate comments made towards the oc. K-Drama moment. I think that's all This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It's been literally forever since I updated this omg, but I hope you all enjoy this part!! I'll edit it tomorrow after I wake up, so please excuse any mistakes. I'm super tired and not feeling the greatest at the moment because of it. Anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Disclaimer: It's not often this chapter where this applies, but the following is important to note:

"This represents a line spoken in Korean."

"Bolded represents a line spoken in English."

"Bolded and italics represents a line spoken in Japanese."

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Placing the mug onto the table in front of you, you pull out a chair and sit down.

“I’m serious!” Winry laughs. “Rumour on the street is that you and Yuta are dating! After those images of him holding your hand at that award’s show went viral, it was the talk of the town.”

Letting out a puff of air, you run a hand over the top of your head. “It must not be a very popular story. Mark hasn’t said anything about it to me.”

“Maybe he’s jealous.” She shrugs, taking a sip from the mug you’ve already provided for her.

Immediately, you start laughing. “I highly doubt that.”

“Yuta is your biggest wrecker in NCT,” she shrugs casually.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” You reply.

“You told him that Ten is your bias, but not the fact that Yuta is your wrecker?” Winry quirks a brow.

“Essentially,” your shoulder lifts nonchalantly in confirmation. “Also told him that he was my first NCT bias cause he wouldn’t stop complaining about it.”

“Damn,” she breathes. “Boy must have ascended when you told him that.”

“You’re blowing things out of proportion.” You shake your head teasingly. “They’re just my friends.”

“Are you sure they think that?” She quirks a brow. 

Only, before you can respond, her phone rings. 

“I’m so sorry,” she grins sheepishly, checking who the caller is. “It’s Wyatt.”

Understanding passes over your features. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”

“Are you sure?” She looks genuinely hesitant to.

“Of course! He’s your significant other, after all!” You encourage her to answer by motioning towards her phone. “You haven’t talked lately cause of his business trip, right? Please, be my guest!”

A grateful smile tugs onto her lips as she stands from your kitchen table. Not even a moment later, she’s pressing accept on the call as she retreats into your living room for a bit more privacy.

You watch her disappear around the couch, noticing how she tucks herself away in the corner by the balcony. Her voice is low, so you can’t really make out what she says, but from the expression on her face you can tell just how happy she is to be talking with him. You smile.

Shifting your gaze to your hands, you pull your mug in closer to yourself. A moment later, you bring it to your lips, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate you’ve made. At least it’s cool enough for you to drink now.

Pulling your phone out of the side pocket of your leggings, you decide to distract yourself for the time being. You don’t want Winry to feel as if she has to rush her conversation with her significant other. After all, they haven’t spoken in over a week, let alone seen each other recently. With their busy schedules, you can’t even remember the last time she spoke about seeing him.

Scrolling through Tumblr, you check your notifications. 

Despite being a published author, you still maintain some of your blogs from before. The sentiment is far too great for you to give up now, and you enjoy it too much. Besides, it’s fun to post little pieces here and there on your old writing accounts. When inspiration strikes, it strikes hard.

There are only a few select people that know you still do this. Well, more than just a few. Still, it’s quite fun to see new readers message you asking you if you’re really who they think you are, only for you to reply that you are not. It’s like a huge game of detective for your followers that are convinced you are who you say you are not, but don’t have any proof. Of course, you use an alias online now, but regardless, you don’t think you could give up your blogs, even if you tried.

“Sorry about that.” Winry’s voice manages to pull you out of your thoughts.

Locking your phone, you place it beside your mug on the table. "No worries at all; I don’t mind.”

She smiles, but from the way she begins to fidget in her seat, you can tell that she has more to say.

You quirk a brow.

“Wyatt came back a few days early. He said he wanted to surprise me, but when he got back to our apartment, I wasn’t at home.” She begins.

You hum in acknowledgement.

“He said he had a surprise he wanted to give me, and that he wanted to take me out for the day.” She continues. “I told him I was spending time with you.”

You take another sip of your drink.

“Of course, he seemed a little disappointed, but he understood-“

“Winry, if you want to go spend the day with your significant other, don’t worry about me.” You reply.

“But we planned for us to spend the day together…” She counters, shoulders twitching as she fiddles with her hands beneath the table.

“I know you want to see him.” You smile assuringly. “It’s been, what? Two months?”

“Almost three.” She breathes out, whole body stilling as she stares at the top of your kitchen table almost absentmindedly.

“Then, by all means! Go! Spend the day with him!” You motion for her to stand. “We can always reschedule. Who knows when you’ll get to see him like this again.”

“Are you sure?” Hopeful eyes meet your own.

“Positive.” You nod, quite enthusiastically. “Go have fun with Wyatt! We saw each other last week, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

It’s as if a tension lifts from her entire body. “You’re the best!”

You laugh, watching as she scrambles to her feet and towards the front door. “I know.”

“I owe you. Big time for this.” She says as you follow her to the front. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“I need to run a few errands, anyways.” You wave her off, holding your mug delicately in your one hand. “Gives me an excuse to go do some things I’ve been putting off before tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, your signing is tomorrow, right?” She finishes slipping on her shoes.

You nod.

“We’ll be there.” She states, rather firmly.

“You don’t have to-“

“Nonsense!” She shakes her head. “I’m coming to support you, and I’m dragging his ass along with me, too. Payback for this little ‘surprise’.”

The two of you share a small laugh.

“Okay, well, say ‘hi’ for me, and have fun!” You smile, holding the door open for her as she exits your apartment.

“Will do!” She calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hallway. “See you later!”

Waving your final goodbye, you shut the door softly. As soon as the lock clicks into place, a small sigh is escaping your lips. Well, there go your plans of spending your day with your friend.

Oh, well. It happens.

Stopping off in the kitchen on your way back to the table, you’re quick to place your now empty mug in the sink. A few steps later, you’ve moved over to grab your phone off of the top of the table, shifting to put Winry’s glass into the sink as well. 

Leaning against the counter, you scroll through your phone. You do have a few things you could get done today, but you weren’t really planning on doing them until later. Perhaps you can find a café or something when you’re finished, and get some writing done.

A sudden message from Jongho in the group chat catches your attention. It appears that they’re all at the dance studio for practice, as he’s sent a selfie to go along with it. Only, you can tell he was really sneaking a picture of the two males doing… whatever it is that they’re doing in the background.

You:Please tell me that’s some kind of elaborate stretch I’ve never heard about and not choreo for your next comeback.

You: And if it’s neither… Damn, you guys really get it on in the studio? I heard some of you were freaky, but I didn’t think you were that bad

Mingi: BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

You honestly laugh at how many emojis this man uses.

Seonghwa: Why? Are you interested in what goes on during practice?

Yunho: Wanna watch?

The side eyes Yunho sends you have you quirking a brow.

Jongho: Uh-oh, now the hot Cheeto is mad.

Another picture is sent, this time of Wooyoung angrily storming towards where you believe Jongho to be sitting. You can see both Mingi and San laughing in the background of this one while Hongjoong just looks exasperated.

Wooyoung: If you’re gonna sneak pictures of me in compromising positions to send to our sexy author friend, at least make sure to get my good side.

Jongho: What ‘good side’?

Wooyoung:Do you see? Do you see the harsh words I have to put up with from my junior everyday?

Yeosang: To be fair, he’s not the only one wondering

At the pondering emoji Yeosang uses, you cannot help but send a few laughing ones of your own.

Wooyoung: NOT YOU, TOO!

Wooyoung: First, you break my heart by giving me false hope that I’m your bias. Then, you won’t even tell me that I’m your wrecker. And now, you LAUGH at my MISERY?

Wooyoung: You are a meanie >:(

You:Wait wait wait

You: I knew that, but how did YOU know that? :0

A slew of laughing emojis are sent from a bunch of the guys, you smiling down at your phone. This short interaction has really served to boost your mood, and you cannot help the way a few chuckles escape you as you read their continued banter back and forth.

Hongjoong: You should come hang out with us sometime during practice. At least that way I know Wooyo will behave.

You can practically hear the whine Wooyoung is sure to let out in response as you read this message, and you cannot prevent the way your lips quirk upwards.

Seonghwa: Yeah! The staff seem to like you, and our manager already said it was okay.

A moment where you see a few of them typing their responses.

Wooyoung: Besides… you’d get to watch us dance~

You: Be honest, is this another one of your attempts to figure out my bias?

Hongjoong: No! 

Hongjoong: Most definitely not! 

Hongjoong: Why would you think that? 

Hongjoong: I would never!

You receive a photo from Yeosang of Hongjoong intensely staring down at his phone, his ears clearly bright red as he pouts.

Yunho:Betrayal…

You shake your head in amusement.

You: As long as you can guarantee I won’t be in the way, or be too much of a distraction… I’ll think about it.

Several various cheering emojis are sent to you by some clearly overexcited males (Wooyoung, Mingi, and Jongho), while the others are able to type out their excitement with small phrases.

San: Since we’re now all apparently taking a break… what are you up to currently?

You: Me? Well, I was supposed to spend the day with a friend, but something came up, so now I’m going to go run some errands. Might find a café of something and do some writing.

Hongjoong: Did you even get any sleep last night?

You: Hey! Of course I did! Besides, you’re one to talk. I woke up to five messages all an hour apart. You were up WAY later than I was. You need more sleep than I do!

Hongjoong: It’s not my fault I do my best work at night.

A meme is sent from you of a man in a purple shirt pointing his finger in the air while saying ‘you got me there’.

You: I swear, one of these days I’m going to knock you unconscious and FORCE you to sleep

Hongjoong: That’s rich, considering YOU are practically always awake when I am

Another meme is sent from you of a stuffed bear wrapped in a blanket burrito while laying on a bed. A knife peeks out from the blanket. The caption reads something along the lines of, ‘I will sneak into your house and replace all your drinks with sleepy time tea. You will be forced to breathe in comforting scents which soothe the mind, and as you fall unconscious, the last image you will have is of me smiling over you with a nice warm blanket tucking you in. This is a THREAT.’

Wooyoung: If this is how you threaten people, then I want IN

Mingi: Oh, oh! Threaten ME next!

You: You would not BELIEVE how many times my one friend sends me this, especially when it’s like, five am my time, and they’re just sitting down for dinner in their time zone.

Hongjoong: You drive a hard bargain…

Yunho: My god, I think he’s actually listening for once…

Seonghwa: I have been trying for YEARS-

Hongjoong: It only works if she’s the one to do it.

Wooyoung: I’d listen, too, if I had a pretty lady always telling me what to do.

San: Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re an obedient sub.

Wooyoung: LIKE YOU WERE THINKING ANY DIFFERENT!

The cackle that escapes you nearly causes you to drop your phone.

Mingi: Wooyo’s got a point…

You: Am I suddenly in the wrong group chat?

Yunho: Nope, same one. You should see how mad Jongho looks right now.

A photo is provided by Wooyoung this time of the youngest sitting against the mirrors with a frown on his face. He hugs his knees to his chest as he stares down at his phone.

Your own brows furrow in confusion, but before you can respond, Yeosang beats you to it.

Yeosang: Will you all stop fucking flirting with each other?

You nearly drop your phone.

San: Oop- we’ve gone and made Yeo mad

Wooyoung: Just cause YOU’RE not her favourite doesn’t mean you have to spoil OUR fun, Sangie.

You: Woah, woah, woah, who said he’s not my favourite?

This seems to shut all of them up for a good few minutes.

Seonghwa: Yeosang’s your bias?

Another minute of silence.

Yunho: You seem to have incited a war.

Another picture is sent. A pile consisting of Yeosang, Jongho, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong all seemingly rolling around on the floor is shown. San stands to the side with Mingi, the former attempting to pull the pile of males on the floor apart while the latter laughs.

You send some side eye emojis along with a few laughing faces.

You: You guys are really THAT desperate to know who my bias is?

Mingi: Does that mean Yeosang ISN’T your bias?

A shrugging emoji is all he receives from you in response. For now.

You: Any one of you could or couldn’t be my main bias. 

You: Like I said, you have to buy me a drink first ;)

Wooyoung: Why can’t you just tell us? :(

A sigh escapes you, thumbs hovering in the air over the keyboard as multiple of them seem to agree with Wooyoung’s inquiry.

You: It’s just a personal thing I have. 

You: I don’t mind telling other people, but when it comes to the actual people it involves, it’s a different story. I don’t know how much my opinion of each of you matters, but I’ve never really enjoyed picking favourites when that choice is told to said people. I don’t like the connotations of multiple people getting their hopes up that I’ll pick them as my favourite, only to choose someone else. I don’t like disappointing people, and I also am all too familiar with the feeling of not even being someone’s last choice. If I tell you who I bias, it will most likely be at some point when we’re one on one. If you’re still interested at that point.

You:I just-

You: Did that make sense? I can try and explain it better if you need me to.

Yeosang: We understand. Don’t force yourself to do something that makes you uncomfortable.

Wooyoung: Don’t worry! We’ll stop bothering you about it.

Yunho: Wooyoung… just agreed to stop pestering someone…

San: It’s a Christmas miracle!

Jongho: He’s still pouting about it in the corner…

A photo is received showing both Hongjoong, Mingi, and Wooyoung all standing dejectedly in the corner.

You: Damn, are you guys going to start growing mushrooms like Tamaki from Ouran now, too? I didn’t realize my opinion of you mattered so much.

You: If it makes you all feel any better, I think you’re all wonderful people. I thought that before I met you, and getting to know you all has only solidified that fact.

Quite a few typing bubbles appear onscreen. A moment later, you’re flooded by emoticons either blushing, screaming, and, or crying happily with hearts surrounding them.

Seonghwa: You’re a great friend

A soft smile caresses your features as you read his comment, a subtle heat rising up your neck. At the way the others all emphasize Seonghwa’s message, you cannot help the way your heart begins to flutter inside your chest. Truly, his words mean the world to you, and the fact the others agree with him is simply icing on the cake.

After sending a quick response to them, you decide to actually get out of your apartment for the day. It takes you no time at all to grab your one notebook, some writing tools, and your laptop, just in case. Packing everything into your one small cream coloured tote with the Skz Zoo characters on it that you got from their one concert, you head towards the door.

Slipping your shoes on, you grab your purse, slinging that over your opposite shoulder. You do a quick check in the mirror to make sure you still look okay before slipping out of the door. The faint clicking sound of the lock sliding into place is starting to become a familiar comfort to you every time you leave your apartment, walking down the hallway towards the elevators in the next second.

The ride down to the main floor is a bit slow, you focussing on your phone the whole time. Naver Maps rests open on the screen, doing a quick search of the area to find the best stores for what you’re looking for. Already, you have a mental list of what you need to get, and you figure doing that before settling down in a café to write will do you some good. That way, if you get on a roll, you don’t have to worry about cutting your time short to pick up what you need.

Stepping into the lobby, you send a polite greeting to the security guard behind the front desk before exiting the building.

The moment you step outside, you head over to the bus stop. Sitting on the bench, you wait for the respective bus to come, plugging in your headphones all the while. At least you can take your time now, and maybe explore the area a bit more when you get back. If you’re up for that, that is.

Half an hour later, you find yourself at a small shopping centre. You don’t need much, but you do need to get a few new replacement pieces of makeup. Then, you figure you can check out the bookstore before finding a place to work on your novel.

The night of the award’s show, you managed to finish off both your favourite shade of red lipstick, as well as your liquid eyeliner. Normally, you don’t wear makeup very often, but since you have a bunch of events coming up, and no personal stylist, you figure you should at least look somewhat put together. Not that that ideal will last long.

Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Entering a few different cosmetic stores, you search around for the best deal. The first one you went into was sold out of the liquid liner you like to use, anyways. You swear by it, as it’s application is the easiest to deal with. At least, in your opinion. That, and it dries quickly, and isn’t prone to smudging.

Perhaps you should also get a pencil liner while you’re at it…

Standing in front of the display with your favourite shade of red lipstick already held in your one hand, you look over all of the options. It appears as if this store is having a sale on their eyeliner, the words ‘buy one, get one half off’ practically glaring back at you from the sign.

Your eyes light up as you spot your favourite liquid liner. Almost instantly, your hands reach out to grab one of the last two on the shelf. Then, comes the hard part. Picking a pencil liner to go with it.

That’s when you notice another person shifting closer to you almost timidly.

Turning your head, you see a person somewhat hesitantly standing a few feet away. Their appearance is slightly androgynous, their black hair falling to their shoulders in a semi-wolf cut. Every now and then, you see their gaze darting to you almost nervously, their eyes lined with black liner.

“I like your hair,” you hum, purposely focussing on the display in front of you as you pull one of the two options you’ve been looking at off of the shelf. “I think it suits you nicely.”

Almost instantly, the person’s eyes light up despite them averting their gaze, “Thank you.”

You blink, as if realizing something.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m completely blocking the display.” You step to the side, smiling politely at the person beside you.

Timidly, they smile back, taking a step in closer to the display.

Reaching your one hand forward, you pull the other pencil liner you’ve been considering off of the shelf to compare it to the other one in your opposite hand. Your brow furrows, looking over each one of them carefully and attempting to find out what the difference is between the two brands.

“I personally like this one better.” A voice from your right draws your attention, and you notice the person beside you glancing down at the liner in your right hand. “It last longer, and if you want to go for a smokey eye, it blends really nicely.”

“Really?” Your voice sounds hopeful.

“Yeah!” They smile somewhat shyly. “Though, if you don’t want it to smudge, then I would go with the other one you’re holding. It’s more of a gel pencil, if that makes sense.”

Softly, you nod your head. “I don’t usually wear a lot of makeup, but I never fuck around with my eyeliner.”

“Oh, yeah. Eyeliner can practically smell fear.” They joke.

A small laugh escapes you, and you notice them chuckling along, too.

“To be honest, I’ve never really been into makeup, but I don’t mind it every now and then.” You admit, sparing a glance down at the products held in your hand.

“I love it.” They say, only for their whole body to stiffen in the next second. It’s almost as if they said something wrong, for they glance towards you in what you can only assume is fear in the next moment.

“That’s so cool!” You grin, eyes crinkling at the sides. “I really love the way you’ve done your eyes today. It really makes them pop.”

Instantly, their shoulders relax and they shuffle a bit from foot to foot. “Thank you.”

“When I was younger, I was always obsessed with different coloured eyeliner.” You say, putting the one pencil liner back onto the shelf since you’ve decided to go with the other one for now. “Never used them, but I would always beg my mom to buy them for me.”

“I think my mom nearly had a stroke the first time I asked her to buy lipstick for me.” They voice lowly, as if sharing a precious secret. “She was a little hesitant at first, but when she saw how much I loved it, she couldn’t resist getting me more. Now, it’s like a recurring joke between us for her to get me a new shade every year for my birthday.”

“I love this for you!” You grin widely. “That’s honestly the best.”

“I’ve always wanted to work in the film industry for a few years now, but it’s quite competitive even getting a foot in the door.” They tell you.

“I can imagine.” You nod sympathetically before your eyes are widening as if you’ve just realized something. Then, quickly, you’re introducing yourself, seeing as you haven’t bothered to yet.

“I’m still working on that name stuff, but for now you can call me Zed.” They say, bowing slightly to you.

You bow back.

Ten more minutes are spent talking with Zed in front of that display. You even manage to go on your brief makeup is gender neutral rant after they express the same ideals.

“Everything is gender neutral if you’re brave enough.” You comment lowly, adjusting the strap of your purse over your one shoulder.

“Here, here.” They mock toast you with the few products held in their one hand.

“By the way, you mentioned being a makeup artist, correct?” You meet their gaze.

“Yeah, you’re correct.” They nod once in confirmation.

“This may be really weird considering we just met, but if you’re free tomorrow morning, I have an event I need to attend, and I would love someone to do my makeup for me. I’m not the greatest artist myself, and I would definitely pay you for your work!” You begin, somewhat shyly.

“Sure! What time would you need me to be at the place?” They ask.

Five minutes later, and you’ve exchanged contact information with them after explaining the details.

“I thought you looked familiar.” They mumble, almost to themselves. “I heard about that speech you gave two weeks ago, it was all over the news. I just didn’t realize that that was you.”

“Yep!” You chuckle, grinning widely from ear to ear. “That’s me!”

“Is that why you’re picking up products today?” They quirk a brow.

“One of the reasons.” You confirm. “I have the rest at home, but you’re more than welcome to bring whatever you think you may need tomorrow. I know it’s super short notice, and we just met, but I really appreciate you agreeing to do this for me.”

“Hey,” they shrug, “work is work. As long as you’re serious about it, that is.”

“Of course!” Comes your immediate reply. “You’re also welcome to message me anytime! I really enjoyed talking with you today.”

“Me too,” they smile.

“Thanks for the recommendation, by the way.” You wiggle the pencil liner held in your hand.

“No worries at all.” They chuckle. “You looked like you were struggling, and I’m always happy to help.”

You begin to make your way towards the cash line with Zed in tow. Except, you notice them holding only one liner in their hand, as opposed to the two they had earlier.

“Are you not going to get the other one, too?” You tilt your head curiously. “It’s buy one, get one fifty percent off.”

“I don’t think two is in the budget for me right now,” they chuckle, somewhat embarrassedly. “Money’s a little tight between jobs.”

You pause momentarily, turning right back around and pulling the other product they had been looking at off the shelf before grabbing the other one that’s still held in their hand.

“What are you doing?” Their voice is a little frantic as they follow closely behind you.

“Buying something for my friend.” You reply, somewhat matter-of-factly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You don’t have to!” Immediately, they begin to protest.

“Think of it as a small ‘thank you’ from me to you in advance of tomorrow.” You reply, stepping into line with them beside you. “Besides, I want to.”

They purse their lips slightly, shuffling from foot to foot before muttering out a low thanks.

“Don’t even worry about it!” You smile at Zed. “It’s my pleasure.”

Idly, you continue to chat with them as you wait to be cashed out. As soon as you’re done, you hand them their items while standing just outside the store.

“Thank you so much.” They breathe, almost in relief.

“Really, it’s no problem.” You smile, tucking your own items into your tote bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Just text me the details as soon as you can, and I’ll be there!” They reply eagerly, tucking their own products into their back pocket.

“Of course!” You wave as they begin to take their leave. “Talk to you later!”

The moment they’re out of sight, you cannot help but smile more to yourself. They were so nice, and you honestly loved every second of that interaction with them. If only more people were like them.

Adjusting the strap of your tote, you turn back to face the other shops lining the space. There’s really only one other store you’d like to check out before leaving to find a café soon.

On the way to the bookstore, you quickly text all of the information Zed will need for tomorrow to them. They reply quickly with a ‘thanks!’ And some excited emoticons.

Again, you grin to yourself, happy to have made a new friend.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, you spot the bookstore at the end of the row. The sign is bright, and you can see a bunch of people milling about the one section near the front. Despite this not being the store you’ll be having your signing in, there seems to be a large display of your books in the middle of the store. Luckily, your picture doesn’t seem to be anywhere near the table like the last bookstore you had visited.

Shuffling passed a few people, you’re quick to head over to the manga section. There’s a volume of Tokyo Ghoul in Korean that continues to elude you no matter how hard you try and find it. You really just want it to complete your collection at this point, and it has one of your favourite characters on the front.

Crouching down to look on the bottom shelf where you see the different volumes of the manga you’re looking for residing, you’re quick to scan them all. Your eyes practically light up as you see the one you’re looking for, only a sharp gasp coming from down the row draws your attention.

The sound of quick feet approaching you causes you to look up to see a girl and two guys rushing over to you.

“Hi, oh my gosh, are you the author of this book series?” The girl excitedly holds out a copy of the second novel in your first published series.

You blink up at her owlishly, “Uh…”

“You’re so cool! I really admire your work!” She squeals, drawing even more attention to yourself from the people around you.

“Thank you,” you smile politely.

“Anyways, I’m so sorry for interrupting you.” Her face immediately goes bright red as she averts her gaze. “Do you think I could get a quick picture before I leave?”

“Sure!” Slowly, you stand back to your feet.

Handing her phone to one of the guys behind her, the girl steps into your side. A wide smile is on her face as she throws up a peace sign, holding your book proudly on display. You immediately mirror her enthusiastic expression, heart warming at how happy she looks.

After a few pictures are taken, she’s turning to you once again.

“Thank you so much!” She bows lowly, nearly hitting her head on the table beside you with a full display of One Piece on it. “Again, sorry for bothering you!”

You have just enough time to mutter a ‘not at all’, before she’s giddily hopping away with the two other males in tow.

Turning back to the shelves of manga, you go to crouch down once more to pull the volume of Tokyo Ghoul off of the bottom.

“Hello, My Love.” A voice says from above you.

Figuring the person is talking to someone else, you opt to ignore them for now. Instead, you reach out to finally pull the volume off of the shelf.

A harsh clearing of someone’s throat is heard as a shadow looms above you.

“I said,”they say, much more firmly this time as they nudge you, not very gently, with their foot, “Hello, My Love.”

The sudden push causes you to stumble slightly, steadying yourself on the bookcase in front of you.

Turning your head, you peer up at the person, a slight frown tugging at your features. Quickly, you stand back to your feet as you see a male staring at you quite expectantly. He appears irritated, the corner of his lips tugging downwards, standing slightly shorter than you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My bad, I didn’t realize you were speaking to me.” You incline your head in apology. “But please, don’t call me that.”

His brow quirks, clearly amused by your response. “Aren’t you into that shit, though?”

“Excuse me?”To say you’re caught off guard by his sudden attitude would be an understatement.

“You write about all that sappy romance stuff.” He replies.

“That doesn’t give you a right as a stranger to invade my personal space, or say something like that. I don’t know you.” You blink at him.

A puff of air escapes his nose in annoyance. “But you’re that author chick.”

“And?” Your brow furrows even further, taking a small step away from him.

“Come on, Baby, don’t be like that.” He sighs, his jaw twitching.

“You’re the one that approached me.” You counter. “And, please, don’t call me that.”

“You’re different than I thought you’d be.” He states, giving you a once over. “Bigger.”

“I’m sorry?” You recoil slightly, appalled by the sudden disgust on his features.

“I said you’re beautiful.”A sly grin pulls onto his features as he takes a step closer to you. “You’re not like other girls.”

You blink at him, quite rapidly at that in your state of shock. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, I think you know, Petal.” His eyes are suddenly hooded as he takes another step into you.

“Don’t call me that. Please.” You manage to slip around the corner of the table you’re standing beside.

“Why are you being so difficult?”The man mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

A call of someone’s name from the side draws both of your attention, and you see two more males staring intently at the one standing closest to you. The way they wear smug grins on their faces as they give you pointed once overs says it all.

“I’m getting there.” The man before you snaps at the two others.

“Did you want something?” It’s your own voice that seems to draw his attention back to you.

“Oh, look at you! You can speak a bit of Korean!” His tone is nothing short of condescending. “That’s wonderful!”

“I have nothing to say to you.” You state, rather bluntly before move to turn away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Where are you going, My Dear?” The way he drawls out that nickname has a shiver of disgust running down your spine. The fact that he snatches your wrist in his hand has panic seizing your entire body.

“Please, stop calling me those names.” You yank your wrist out of his hold. “Don’t touch me, either.”

“Come on, Darling,” his eyes flash, “don’t be like that. I only want to please you. To show you my devotion-“

“Get away from me!” You begin to scramble away from him, noticing you’ve started to draw some attention from a few of the staff members working in the store.

The two other males suddenly turn and begin to head towards the exits while two staff members approach you.

“What’s wrong with you?” There is nothing but ire on his features as he spits out these words at you. “All I’m offering is a chance for you to recreate those sex scenes from your books with me. A once in a lifetime opportunity, if you ask me. It’s not like people are lining up to be with you, anyways. You should be grateful I’m even giving a fat bitch like you attention.”

“Is everything okay here?” An older gentleman with a name tag interrupts, looking between both you and the male before you.

“I’m sorry to cause a commotion, Sir.” The way you immediately incline your head in respect to the elder male clearly catches him off guard. That, and the fact that you actually answer him in proper Korean. “This man won’t leave me alone, and is making me extremely uncomfortable. He’s making rude and inappropriate comments towards me, and thinks he’s entitled to assault me.”

The woman standing beside the male gasps, recognition flashing in her eyes. Her one hand comes up to point at you, “You’re that author from the award’s show!”

This draws the attention of a few more people standing around you, whispers being heard as a few more people recognize you from the display of your books a few tables over.

Politely, you smile at the woman, nerves skyrocketing as more and more attention is brought upon you. Again, you incline your head in respect as she looks slightly younger than the man, but still older than you.

“You said this man was bothering you?” She immediately turns a sharp gaze to the person standing closest to you.

“I was just leaving.” He huffs, purposely brushing past you and bumping quite harshly into your side. “Fucking bitch.”

Eyes follow him all of the way out of the store as he rejoins his two friends in the hallway.

“Are you alright?” The older gentleman turns to look at you.

“Yes, thank you.” You once again bow to him. “I’m sorry, again, for causing a disruption.”

“It’s not your fault.” The lady shakes her head, immediately wrapping you gently in her arms and guiding you towards the back of the store. “Come with us, we’ll call security and have them escort you in case that man comes back.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You smile lightly, seeing as she sends a kind one back.

Looks like you’re not getting that volume of Tokyo Ghoul today, either.

Sitting in the staff room at the back of the store, you let out a long sigh. You clutch your tote close to yourself, purse resting between your feet on the floor. Your phone resides in your hands, and you scroll aimlessly through Tumblr while you wait for security to reach the bookstore.

Opening your messages, you’re quick to type one out.

You: Why do people feel entitled to another person?

Placing your phone upside-down on the table before you, you let out another sigh. Not even a moment later, you pick your phone back up.

Jongho: Did something happen?

Mingi:Is everything alright?

Hongjoong: Are you okay?

Your eyes widen at how quickly you’ve gotten responses, but that’s when you realize: you texted the wrong chat.

You: Shit, sorry! Wrong chat! Just forget I said anything.

Wooyoung: You message something as ominous as that and expect us NOT to be worried?

Yunho: Jongho’s already putting his shoes on.

You: Wait, does that mean you guys are done with practice for today?

Seonghwa: NO, we are NOT!

You:… you guys don’t wear shoes when you practice?

Yunho: We do, it was just a figure of speech.

San: He meant that Mingi and Yeosang are holding Jongho back from racing out the door as we speak.

You: Damn, this reminds me of my wondrous ‘protection squad’ days.

Seonghwa: Protection squad days?

You: Nevermind. Like I said, just forgot I said anything.

The door opens and in walks security. You take a few minutes to describe what happened and what the man that assaulted you looks like before the two guards are escorting you out of the store. One walks in front while the other walks behind you.

“We’ll lead you to your car, or the bus stop, and stay with you until you leave.” The one says to you.

“Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.” You bow slightly while walking.

The guard simply smiles at you from over his shoulder in response.

Once you’re on the correct bus on your way back to your apartment, you finally allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. Pulling out your phone, you check your notifications.

Immediately, you’re greeted by tons of worried messages from the boys, and even a few from some Stray Kids members. Looks like Wooyoung told Changbin, who in turn told Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin.

You: I promise I’m fine, just an uncomfortable encounter at a store.

Another round of messages are sent to you by the Ateez members, and you reassure them yet again.

You: Well, I could go for some boba now as a pick me up. Any of you know a good place in the area? The one by my house just closed for renos.

You notice a few of them typing a response before the first one comes in.

Yeosang: There’s one in the back alleys near Sinsa that’s really good. I’ll send you the address.

A moment later, a link to the Naver page is uploaded to the chat by Yeosang.

You: Thank you!!

Wooyoung: Daaaaaaamn Yeosang, you had that ready and LOADED

San: Don’t hate the man just cause he was prepared.

Yunho: Well, WE may have to prepare HIS funeral now

A photo of Yeosang being held in a headlock by Jongho is sent to you almost immediately after that message gets sent.

You laugh, a smile pulling at your features as you shake your head at your phone.

You: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

A few more messages are sent between all of you, ending with you wishing them luck with the rest of practice. They eagerly tell you to come visit them soon, to which you reply that you will.

Twenty minutes later, and after switching buses once, you find yourself standing outside of the little boba shop Yeosang recommended to you. It has a cute little awning over the door, a soft pink in colour, while large windows line the front of the shop. It doesn’t look too busy, from what you can see, but the menu has a variety of options and you are more than eager to try them.

A small bell jingles as you enter the shop, the worker behind the counter smiling politely at you as you approach. Luckily, you already know what you want to order from looking at the sign outside, so you manage to do that fairly quickly. 

Five minutes later, you have your glass in hand as you seclude yourself in a corner seat. There’s a half-wall with plants resting on top of it to your left, while an open view of the store sits to your right. You’re directly across from the entranceway, but you cannot see the order counter, nor the worker anymore. Two more tables sit to your right, a small hallway stretching down after that towards where you’re sure the bathrooms reside.

Your tote rests on your left between your body and the wall, while your purse is on the booth beside you to your right. Considering you have a wall behind you, and there aren’t very many people in the shop, you feel comfortable enough to pull your laptop out. Once you’ve set everything up, you’re taking a sip of your drink while staring at the document you had been working on last night.

Scrolling back up to the top of the chapter, you begin.

Editing what you wrote the previous night takes some time, but by the time an hour has passed, you’ve start to write more for the chapter you’re currently on. It took a little bit of time, but you finally know how you want to end this particular scene, and you’re challenging yourself to see if you can finish it before you finish your drink.

Unfortunately for you, you’ve always been a fast drinker. Especially when you haven’t had much to drink all day.

The sound of another glass being placed onto the table before you draws your attention from your screen.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” it’s the worker you ordered your drink from before. “I saw your speech from the awards show when it aired, and I just wanted to say I really admire you. Thank you for everything you do! I didn’t want to say anything before since I was on the clock, but my shift just ended and I noticed you hadn’t left yet, so I wanted to say something before I went home.” They smile shyly, “and give you a refill of your drink. Work hard, and have a lovely day!”

“Oh, thank you so much!” You smile back at them as they clear your empty glass from the table. “That’s so kind of you!”

A nod is all you get in response as a soft blush begins to dust their features. Not even a moment later, they turn away, leaving you on your own once more.

Another hour and a half passes by with you furiously typing away at your laptop. You’d like to say that you hardly get distracted, but there seems to be this one person who has been constantly walking passed your table in hopes for you to notice them. The first few times, you glanced up, eyes being drawn to the movement given how close they were to your table, but by the fifth time, you started to ignore them.

That is, until they decided to actually approach your table.

The conversation was short, and awkward. They kept stuttering over their words, not to mention they kept interrupting you while you’re trying to work.

That’s the one thing that irritates you no matter what. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of writing a scene, deep in the flow of words, only to be interrupted or distracted by someone. Really, you know it’s not their fault, but you still cannot help your annoyance at the situation. Once or twice, you can brush it off, but the third time they do it, you’re a little blunt with them when you respond. You don’t mean to be, but alas, it happens.

Approximately fifteen minutes go by without another interruption, and you manage to finish the scene you’re working on. You’re almost done with the current chapter, and all that’s really left to do is round it out, and edit the final product. To say you’re happy with what you’ve done would be an understatement.

This time, when you notice someone approaching your table, you don’t even bother to glance up. You figure it’s that person coming to bother you again, so you opt to continue typing away at your laptop, staring intently at your screen.

The sound of two glasses being placed onto the table has your ears quirking, even more so when you hear the chair across from you scraping against the floor.

A tremendous sigh escapes you, “Look-“

Your words die in your throat as you see the person now sitting across from you. They wear a black bucket hat, strands of what appears to be newly bleached hair sticking out from beneath the material. They blink at you with somewhat wide eyes, freezing in their movement of pushing a brand new cup of boba towards you.

“Yeosang?” You keep your voice low, blinking at him in mild shock. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles faintly, resuming his motion of pushing that one drink towards you. “Practice ended early.”

It is then that you glance at the time, seeing that it’s starting to become late into the afternoon. You honestly haven’t been keeping a close track of time while you’ve been here, only truly registering how long you’ve actually been writing for.

Softly, you close your laptop. “Aren’t you worried about being spotted?”

“Not here.” He shakes his head. “It’s actually a really common spot for a lot of us. The staff are discreet, and not many people know about it.”

Briefly, that interaction with that one worker earlier who brought you your second drink flashes through your mind. You smile in understanding, “I see.”

“Are you okay, though?” He blinks a few times, innocently. “You seemed irritated when I got here.”

Your eyes quickly scan the shop, not seeing that person who kept bothering you earlier in their spot by the windows.

“Better now,” you reply, honestly. “Just kept getting distracted, is all.”

“I thought you didn’t like using your laptop in public?” He quirks a brow, taking a sip of his own drink.

“When I’m up against the wall, anything goes.” You shrug, and almost immediately, he starts choking on his drink. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

He waves you off, hitting his chest with a fist lightly. 

Soon after, he clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Good.” You chuckle faintly. “Last thing I need is your fans coming after me for choking out their favourite member.”

“I think you should be more worried about Wooyoung.” He comments, a hint of irritation on his face.

Your brow furrows, “Why?”

“He’d be next in line.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

“I-“ you blink rapidly a few times, swallowing the sudden dryness in your throat. “Are you implying Wooyoung wants me to choke him?”

“He’s not the only one.” Yeosang replies, a slight bitterness lingering in his tone. “Mingi has spent many a night ranting about how he wants to be suffocated between your-“

Yeosang seemingly catches himself in the last second as he spares a glance at you.

Your mouth hangs open in pure disbelief, blinking at him in shock. You hands rest on the table before you, a vibrant heat rising to your cheeks. Of course, you can most certainly incur where Yeosang was going when he was speaking just now, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“Sorry.” He averts his gaze, somewhat embarrassed.

In the next moment, you’re shaking your head.

“No, no,” you manage to organize your thoughts, clearing your throat, “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“What? Surprised that some idols have horny fantasies, too?” He quirks a brow, slight amusement shining in his eyes.

“Oh, no.” Your nose scrunches as you shake your head mildly. “If they read my books and thoroughly enjoy them, that fact doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Then, why do you look so shocked?” He tilts his head slightly in inquiry.

Your lips pull back in a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m curious, though.” He blinks, taking another sip of his drink.

You reach out to grab the full glass, noticing how the drink appears to be the same one you’ve been drinking since you got here: matcha milk tea with pearls.

“You’re aware I am a fan of Ateez, correct?” You look at him somewhat expectantly.

“Believe me, I’m well aware.” He nods along with your words.

From the way he still stares at you, with those wide eyes, has you exhaling lowly.

“Let me put it this way,” you take a sip of your drink, noticing how the label said it had been made with soy milk. In the back of your head, you wonder if he knows you’re lactose intolerant, or if it was just a personal choice on his part. “How would you feel if you suddenly found out Emma Watson admitted to having sexual fantasies about you?”

Yeosang freezes right before your very eyes, nodding slowly as realization crosses his features. Then, as if making another connection, his brow furrows.

“You find Mingi attractive.” The statement is a bit blunt as he says this, grip tightening over his drink.

“I thought I told you that I find all of you attractive?” You quirk a brow playfully at him in response.

“Right.” He nods, seemingly in recollection before halting all movement once more. “But you desire Mingi.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that hint of bitterness is back in his voice again.

“I desire many things, Yeosang,” you begin. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to indulge in them.”

“But you would if he offered?” He places his glass a bit firmly back onto the top of the table.

“Probably not.” Your face scrunches slightly as you consider his words. “I don’t know him like that. I don’t know any of you like that, and it takes a lot for me to be intimate with another person in such a way.” You meet his gaze. “Are you familiar with the term demisexual?”

The way he blinks at you blankly is answer enough.

“It means a person has to have a strong emotional connection with someone before experiencing sexual attraction.” You explain.

He shakes his head, still not quite understanding.

“It means I don’t do hookups.” You add. “Hookup culture is not for me.”

Understanding crosses his features as his lips part slightly, a soft ‘oh’ falling from him in the next second.

“On top of that, I am also demiromantic.” You continue. “Meaning the same thing, only this time it’s considering romantic attraction. It takes a lot for me to fall in love, and it takes a lot for me to be intimate with someone.”

“So, you wouldn’t-“

“No.” You shake your head, cutting him off. “I may have desires, Yeosang, but there is a huge difference between reality and fiction.”

His eyes narrow slightly at you in response, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You’ve fantasized before? About your bias?”

You nearly spit out your drink as you go to take a sip. Coughing a few times, you rub at your chest, noticing how he hasn’t torn his eyes off of you for a single second.

“I’ve fantasied more about my own characters.” You admit once you finally manage to get your breathing back under control.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he hums, brow quirks slightly in amusement.

“Why? Suddenly curious about whether or not I’ve fantasized about you?” You turn the question back on him, noticing how he begins to splutter almost immediately.

The way red begins to slowly creep up his neck has you laughing.

“I’m just kidding.” You reach across the table to pat his hand gently. “Though, I could have sworn you were about to ask me about my Ateez bias again.”

He averts his eyes only briefly, “no.”

“I mean, if you want to know, I don’t mind telling you.” You shrug. “We are alone, and you did buy me a drink.”

You can see the sudden eager gleam in his eyes as he leans the slightest bit forward in his seat. His lips part, and you hear the breath he takes before his shoulders seemingly deflate. 

You quirk a brow.

He shakes his head, somewhat dejected. “I’d rather not.”

The way he suddenly looks tense before you has you cautiously trailing your gaze over him in response. You’re about to ask if he’s sure of not, but at the way he shakes his head, almost absentmindedly as his hand tightens around his drink once more is all the answer you need.

So, you decide to change the subject.

“How was practice?” Your soft inquiry seems to manage to pull him out of your thoughts.

You take another sip of your drink as he responds, a gentle tug of his lips upwards as he recounts the way Hongjoong had to chase Wooyoung at one point to continue learning the new choreography.

“You should have seen the way Jongho practically lunged at his phone each time it pinged.” Yeosang half rolls his eyes. “He thought it was you every time.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement, swirling the contents of your drink around in your hand. Honestly, your heart warms at the thought of Jongho being so excited to message you that he literally jumps at his phone every time.

“I thought you guys said I wouldn’t be a distraction?” You tease. “Just imagine what it would be like if I was actually there.”

“You think Mingi’s bad for using his pelvis during concerts?” Yeosang shakes his head, almost exasperatedly.

You laugh, tossing your head back as your eyes crinkle at the sides.

Again, once you manage to calm down, you notice Yeosang staring at you exactly like he did that first day you met him on the plane. Though, again, you brush it off.

“Well, I know for a fact the Mingi Stans are not complaining.” You grin. “You should see the amount of videos my friends who bias him send me of him when he does those things. It’s fun watching them freak out over it.”

“But you don’t?” He quirks a brow.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” You shrug casually. “I have my own selection of videos and pictures of my biases that ruin me in the best ways.”

“Ah, so you’re not immune.” He nods in understanding.

“Oh, most definitely not.” You snort. “I am just as…” you hum, searching for the right word, “feral as some of my friends. You just haven’t seen it, yet.”

“Are you offering to show me?” He quirks a brow.

“Depends.” The corner of your lips quirk upwards deviously. “When’s your next comeback, again?”

Yeosang leans back in his chair, observing you carefully. “You know, now that we’re friends, I think you should hype us all up more.”

“I can do that.” You readily agree. “Next comeback, I’ll give you all my live reactions. Well… within reason.”

“I look forward to it.” He grins.

“If the other guys get weirded out by it, then I’m blaming you.” You point an accusatory finger at him playfully.

“I’ll take full responsibility.” He raises his own hands in front of himself, almost as if in mock self-defence.

“You better,” you joke. “I don’t wanna lose my new friends that quickly. I really enjoy talking with you guys.”

Yeosang’s lips twitch upwards faintly in the corners, almost involuntarily. “I enjoy talking with you, too.”

“Oh?” You quirk a teasing brow. “Even when we flirt in front of you? Which we weren’t, by the way.”

Yeosang’s lips part, mouth opening and closing in protest despite no words escaping him.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” you playfully pat his hand that he still has resting on top of the table. “If I ever make you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to tell me. Boundaries are important, especially when they’re your own.”

“I will.” He smiles faintly.

“Same goes for if I start rambling too much, or if I’m being annoying, or if-“

“You’re not annoying.” The suddenness that Yeosang cuts you off with surprises you. “Why would you think you’re annoying?”

“I, uh-“

“Who told you that you’re annoying?” His brow furrows, clear confusion on his face. There’s something else there, you can see it shining behind his eyes, but you’re unsure of what it could be.

“Just a general comment,” you smile, somewhat tightly at him in response.

“Oh.” He seems to calm down, if only slightly. “Well, don’t think that you’re annoying. You’re not. I enjoy talking with you, and I enjoy listening to you speak.”

You blink in mild shock, a shy smile pulling at your lips as you avert your gaze.

“Thank you, Yeosang. That really means a lot to me.”

“Don’t be afraid to be yourself around me.” He swirls the content of his drink around slightly. “I quite like the real, unfiltered you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you cannot help the way your back straightens. However, before you can so much as thank him again, he’s clearing his throat.

“So,” he stares intently at the contents of his drink. “What’s your favourite colour?”

You think this is probably the most talkative you’ve ever witnessed Yeosang to be, and to say you’re caught off guard is an understatement. You both continue to ask each other questions, laughing and getting to know each other better as the time continues to pass around you.

Before you know it, another hour and a half has passed, and you notice that the sun is beginning to set in the distance. Though, that’s not the only thing you’ve started to notice.

For the past twenty minutes or so, you’ve spotted two girls sitting a little ways away from your own table. They constantly peer over towards you, whispering quite loudly to each other while staring between both you and Yeosang. 

You’re starting to get worried. The last thing you know he needs is word to get out that he’s been seen out with a girl. The setting could heavily imply a date, and that fact alone is enough to have you swallowing nervously. He doesn’t need a scandal, and you would hate for that to happen, especially since you consider all of Ateez to be your friends now.

“I’ll be right back.” Yeosang whispers lowly as he pushes his chair out from the table.

You find you can only nod in response, watching as he disappears down the hallway to your right for the moment.

Carefully, you observe the girls after pulling out your phone. Resting it on the table, you begin to put your laptop away, cleaning up your mess to appear as if you’re getting ready to leave. Every now and then, you glance to them, straining your ears to attempt to overhear their conversation.

“No, I’m positive that’s him.” The one says. “I saw this online forum post about how this place is common ground for a lot of idols, especially him.”

“It’s hard to tell since he’s wearing a hat, and not looking in our direction.” The other replies, not as lowly as the first girl who spoke. “Besides, why would he be out with someone like her?”

The first girl shrugs. “Maybe it was a dare, or a private contest.”

“He seems to be having a good time.” The second one bitterly mutters.

“He could be pretending.”

“He’s not that great of an actor.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Some fans they seem to be, considering how they seem to be acting right now. Still, their conversation worries you.

“We should follow them when they leave. It looks like she’s packing up, anyways.” The first one whispers again to her friend.

Your heart drops, and you find yourself grabbing your phone. You do your best to appear casual as you open your messages to send one to Yeosang privately.

You: Bad news. It looks like those two girls sitting behind us might have recognized you. They think we’re on a date, but they’re not 100% convinced you are who they think you are.

You just hope he sees your message before he comes back out.

A moment later, you see he’s replied.

Yeosang: We should leave then.

You:Great plan!!

You: Except that I overheard them saying they’re going to follow us to find out if you are who they think you are. You’re lucky you’re wearing that hat.

You: Wait, I have an idea.

You: Call me crazy, but I think we might be able to fool them into thinking that they’re wrong about who you really are.

Yeosang: What do you have in mind?

You: Keep your head down when you come back out, and then just follow my lead.

Yeosang: That sounds ominous.

You: I know. You’re going to have to trust me, though. Can you do that, Yeo?

It takes a moment for him to respond, and you cannot help the way your one finger taps at the side of your phone nervously as you wait.

Yeosang: I trust you.

You: Heads up: I’m about to get up close and personal with you real quick. I won’t purposely do anything to make you uncomfortable, I promise you that, but if we want to make this believable, we’re going to have to act like a couple.

Again, it takes a moment for him to respond, and you can feel your heart positively thundering inside of your chest. Anxiety floods your veins, and already you can feel your palms beginning to sweat. You just hope you look calmer than you feel.

Yeosang: I trust you.

You: Alright. Wait another minute and a half or so, and then come back out. Make sure all of your hair is tucked beneath your hat, too.

Placing your phone onto the top of the table, you’re quick to reach into your purse. Digging around beneath your wallet, you manage to pull out the case you’re looking for.

You place it onto the table, right next to your phone.

Turning to your opposite side, you rummage around in your tote bag. A small black box is pulled out, and you’re quick to open it. A small tube of lipstick falls into your open palm, and you toss the now empty container back into your tote.

Grabbing your phone, you make a show of using your reflection to apply the shade to your lips, making sure it’s evenly applied before you’re standing back to your feet. Then, you’re reaching over to grab your bags, slinging your purse over your one shoulder while you hold onto the tote in your hand. Once your other hand is free, you grab your phone and slide it into your back pocket before grabbing that case from on top of the table. 

Luckily, as you had been talking with Yeosang, he had already managed to finish his drink. He also took the liberty to return the empty glasses to the front, so all you have left is to give your final glass back to the worker behind the counter.

A few steps later, and you do just that, your tote hanging off of your arm lightly. You can just feel the gazes of those two girls following you the whole time, and just as you cross the small space of the boba shop, you see Yeosang appear from the back hallway. His head is angled downwards, pretending to look at something on his phone, and you notice how his hair is now completely tucked beneath that hat of his.

Purposefully, you make a show of skipping the rest of the way over to him eagerly.

“Kyungmin!” You giggle, pulling him closer to you by his wrist. A gentle kiss is placed onto the side of his exposed cheek, a red lipstick stain now painting his skin. “Let’s go get tteokbokki! I’m hungry!”

Quickly, you begin dragging him out of the shop, handing him both your tote bag to carry, and that small case held in your hands.

“Don’t forget to put your glasses back on. I know you hate them, but I think they make you look so handsome!” You purposely stand on his right side, blocking him as much as you can from the two girl’s view. Luckily, your height practically swamps him, his figure hidden quite easily behind your frame.

Yeosang is quiet, nodding faintly to your words as he walks beside you. He’s already tucked his phone into his pocket, opening up the case with your glasses inside seamlessly. He’s quick to slip them on as you step outside, wrapping your one arm around his shoulders as you walk down the deserted back alleys.

Unfortunately, you can practically hear the two girls scrambling after you once you get a certain distance down the street.

Subtly, you lean into Yeosang’s side.

“They’re still intent on following us.” You whisper lowly as you pick up your pace.

“What are we going to do?” There’s a slight panic to his voice that you notice almost immediately.

“Do you trust me?” Your eyes dart to another, more secluded alleyway you can see up ahead.

Yeosang swallows thickly before nodding his head.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve pulled him into that side alley. Your left hand rests beside his head, blocking his view from the entranceway, but also ensuring his face is covered should the two girls come rushing around the corner.

“We don’t have much time, but we have to make it convincing that we’ve just been making out.” You say, quite bluntly as you lean into him.

You swear Yeosang’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“We can’t slip up now, and the staging is important.” You bring your right hand up and lick your thumb, moving to smear some of your lipstick in the next second. “I’m really sorry it’s come to this, but I think it will work.”

Yeosang’s eyes briefly dart downward, and you assume he’s now staring at the stain of red on your thumb. He swallows thickly. “I trust you.”

Moving as precisely as you can, you begin to smear some of that red on your thumb on the corner of his mouth.

“I’m really sorry for doing this, I swear to you I’m not just making you do this for the adrenaline kick.” Your words are rushed, and you swallow the dryness in your throat. “Luckily with my height I can cover you, but you’re going to have to make it look like you’re grabbing onto me. Most people are startled and embarrassed if they catch a pretty heated pda session. I’m going to bet they won’t stick around to find out afterwards.”

He nods his understanding.

“I’m going to put my knee slightly between your legs, okay?” You keep your voice low.

“Okay.” Yeosang replies, somewhat breathlessly.

Any second now.

“Grab the back of my neck with your left hand, and angle your face towards mine. Put your right on the back of my waist. Slip it lower if you think it’ll be more believable.” You instruct, giving him an impromptu lesson on stage kissing and angles. You may not actually be pressed against him, but it most certainly will look like you are, and that’s the most important part.

Instantly, his hands are on you, and you feel him pull you closer. Whether it’s subconscious or not, you don’t know. All you do know is that his right hand rests just above the curve of your ass, and your breath hitches slightly from his touch.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your blood rushing through your veins as your anxiety continues to skyrocket. You just hope beyond everything that this works.

You hear the sound of feet hitting the pavement, and a sharp gasp followed by a loud exclamation of ‘oh my god!’.

Slowly, you turn your head to face the opening of the alleyway, seeing the two girls standing there. Red is clear on both of their faces as they splutter in their spots, shifting their gazes everywhere around the alleyway but at you.

Your eyes narrow, irritation shining on your features as you glare at the two girls for ‘interrupting’ you.

“What?” Your voice is nothing short of sharp as you finally speak.

The two girls remain silent, attempting to stutter out an answer.

“Do you mind? I haven’t seen him in two months, and I’d really love to spend some time with my boyfriend.” You snap, a prominent frown on your features.

“We’re so sorry!” The one girl immediately bows to you, quite clumsily. “We just thought-“

“What? You thought what?” You cut her off, shifting slightly so your head is turned more towards her while your body still covers the majority of Yeosang’s.

You can feel his grip tighten over you, but you choose to ignore it for now.

“We thought he was Kang Yeosang from Ateez.” The other girl replies, somewhat ashamedly.

“And that gives you the right to stalk us?” Your gaze narrows once more. You scoff. “Why would Kang Yeosang from Ateez be out at this time of day? Here, of all places? He’s probably at a schedule or something. He is an idol, after all.”

That’s when you realize: these girls don’t recognize you. For that, you’re grateful.

They remain quiet.

“You hear that, babe?” You purposely turn back to Yeosang. “These girls think you look like an idol! I told you you were handsome! I don’t want to hear another doubt about yourself come out of your mouth again.”

The way you’re leaning into him makes it look like you’ve placed another kiss onto his cheek. Yet, only you and he know that your lips never grace his skin.

“We’re sorry for interrupting.” The first girl bows clumsily to you again, shoving her friend back the way they came.

“I told you it wasn’t Yeosang!” You can hear the one friend harshly whisper to the other.

“You were right.” You hear the other sigh. “Besides, he wouldn’t be caught dead with an ugly bitch like that, anyways.”

The moment you hear their voices fade away into the distance, their footsteps no longer resounding against the pavement, you’re breathing a sigh of relief. A light smile paints your features as you turn back to face Yeosang, immediately moving to step away from him.

Only, the feeling of his hands tightening around you has you clearing your throat, seemingly snapping him out of whatever daze he seems to be in.

“You can let go now.” You mumble lowly.

“Oh.” Immediately, his hands retract, as if burned. “Right. Sorry.”

You notice Yeosang shifting slightly back and forth on his feet, a frown soon marring his brow as he looks down at the ground.

“Thanks for trusting me,” you smile at him, rummaging around in your purse for that pack of tissues he gave you that one day at rehearsal. “I’m so sorry for invading your space like that and subjecting you to be my fake boyfriend just now. I swear to you I wasn’t just doing that to cop a feel, or say you’re my boyfriend, or anything weird or creepy like that.”

“It’s alright.” He smiles assuringly at you. “I didn’t mind at all.”

Heat immediately rises to your cheeks from his words, handing him a few tissues so he can wipe the lipstick from his face.

“I’m just glad it worked.” You breathe a low sigh of relief.

“Me too.” He smiles, rubbing at his cheek with a tissue.

Still, he swears that he can feel the tips of his fingers tingling from where they had just been pressed against your skin. His heart absolutely pounds in his chest, and he can’t seem to erase the feeling of your body barely pressed against his. Really, he wouldn’t have minded if you actually touched him, but then again, he thinks he probably wouldn’t be able to stand right now if that had been the case.

“So,” your voice catches his attention, a light smile painting your face as you adjust the strap of your purse over your shoulder, “You hungry?”

[wolfjackle-creates]

The Two Ghost Motel

So, as I mentioned, I joined the DP Ecto-Implosion Event this past month and it's Posting Week now! So I get to finally share with you the first chapter of my fic. Still working on editing the second half of the fic, but it's fully written as of this time.

For those who don't know, for the Ecto-Implosion event, artists drew/animated/composed some piece of art and writers then went in and wrote fics based off their art.

I was lucky enough to be paired with the super talented @i-think-in-metaphors who made this gorgeous artwork:

You can read on AO3 here (this fic is not locked to AO3 users only).

And for those of you who prefer to read on Tumblr:

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Minor Original Character Death (not in this chapter)

Fandom: DPxDC (though no knowledge of DC is necessary for this fic. I use a single character and he has amnesia, it takes place in an original setting or Amity)

Summary:

Danny is tired. Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over. “I’m fine, Ember.” Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really. But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel. He checks in. “Welcome.”

-----

Danny wasn’t sure when he first saw the neon sign. Honestly, he didn’t even realize it was something ghostly when he did. He just thought it was one more ghost-themed business that had come to Amity since the portal opened.

But when he mentioned the motel to Sam and Tucker, they looked at him like he was crazy.

“I’ve never heard of any Two Ghost Motel,” said Sam. “Where’d you see it?”

Tucker was typing into his PDA. “Nothing’s coming up online, either.”

“Oh come on, you’re pulling my leg. We’ve passed it at least a half dozen times. Last night when we were leaving Nasty Burger for one! And I think, what, three nights before that? On patrol? Where were we?”

“Dude, that night we were near the library. No where near Nasty Burger. No way you could’ve seen the same place both nights,” said Tucker.

“Danny, when was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” Sam’s brow was knit in concern.

Danny waved off her concern. “Whatever. I know I’ve seen it. The sign is bright pink and orange with blue ghosts on it.”

Sam just shrugged and shook her head. “Point it out next time you see it.”

Before Danny could reply, his ghost sense went off and he groaned. “Ugh, looks like someone’s around. I’m too tired for this.” Danny glanced around. They were in the park and no humans were nearby so he let his transformation wash over him.

He flew into the air and tried to listen past the sound of his breaths echoing through his mask. Even though he didn’t breathe when transformed, something about the hazmat suit remembered and the sound was inescapable.

A guitar chord played behind him and Danny instinctively threw up a shield and fell ten feet right as a blast from Ember’s instrument headed his way.

“Hey there, baby-pop!” she called. “I was sitting around, bored out of my mind, when I remembered I could just come here to have some fun!”

Danny turned to face her. “Come on, Ember.” His voice always sounded so robotic when filtered through the mask. “I’m tired.”

“Too bad. I’m not.” She grinned at him and strummed a few notes, sending more attacks his way.

Danny dodged, only to have to watch one of the blasts hit a bench and destroy it. He flew higher, hoping her next attacks wouldn’t cause more collateral that would be blamed on him.

“What, you just gonna dance around like that? Come on, attack back!”

“My moves not good enough for you?”

“You need to step it up if you want to be my back up dancer.”

Danny couldn’t help but laugh and when she sent her next blast his way, he avoided it by doing a backwards dive towards the ground only to circle back up until he was facing her. “How’s that?”

“Better, but you’re still not there. Your moves have to match the music!” She played a tune with a fast beat and Danny dodged and spun. And if he added some flair to his movements, well, he deserved the chance to have a little fun.

Another blast his way, and he twisted his hips. Matching Ember’s beat, he sent a few ectoblasts back at her.

Ember laughed. “Now you’re catching on!”

Danny allowed himself a quick glance down where he saw Sam and Tucker not even trying to hide. Tucker was filming them.

Which, of course, is when it all had to be ruined by the unmistakable sounds of the GAV driving cross-country.

“Through the park?” he moaned. “Seriously?”

“Shit, that’s your folks, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“You’ve got it, babypop. I came here for fun, not to mess with them.”

The GAV came to a stop and Danny saw his mom rush out of the passenger side with one of their new, long-distance guns. He tacked Ember, only just getting her out of the way of the blast.

Without any discussion, both turned invisible and flew out of the park. Danny didn’t let them stop until they were in a forest out of range of his parents’ trackers. Exhaustion set back in as soon as he realized they were safe, and he just plopped down on the ground and leaned against a tree.

“Ready to resume your dancing lessons?” asked Ember.

Danny groaned and rested his head against the rough bark. It was probably stupid, but he let his eyes close. “Maybe next time. I meant it when I said I’m tired.”

She didn’t say anything as one, two, three breaths sounded from his mask. And then he heard some leaves rustle. He cracked open an eye to see Ember making herself comfortable on the ground a few feet away.

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah. Finals are coming up and if I don’t do well, I’m going to fail sophomore year.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard of a place…”

Danny waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, he hummed. “A place?”

“Yeah. Haven’t been there myself. But, there’s this place. It’s for ghosts who aren’t ready to move on from Earth just yet. Ghosts who live only on Earth without ever going the Zone get tired and weak. There’s just not enough ectoplasm around. Except for here, of course.”

“So what’s this place do?”

“Gives you somewhere to rest. And recharge. It’s not really on Earth. It’s a sort of in between place. Called the Two Ghost Motel. Might be worth checking in for a night if you ever don’t want to be at home for one reason or another.”

Danny hummed. “I’ve seen it around. Thought it was just a regular motel, but Sam and Tucker didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Ember picked out a tune on her guitar, but this time no attacks emanated from it. “It’s not a place for the living from what I’ve heard. Just the dead.”

Danny looked up at the stars through the tree branches, but he shook his head. “I’m fine, Ember. Just need to get some sleep.”

“Whatever you say, baby-pop.”

---

After that conversation with Ember, the motel began basically haunting him. Every night, as soon as dusk started to fall, he’d see it. Always a few streets away, just sitting there calling to him; it’s sign bright in the dark.

Sam and Tucker couldn’t see it, no matter how often he pointed it out to him. Jazz could sometimes see something out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked on more directly, it was never there.

Danny never approached. He was fine. He had a home and friends. There was no reason to go to some random motel.

Finals came and went. He managed to scrape by with at least Cs in everything. His parents, especially his mom, had not been happy with those grades, but Danny was just glad to have passed.

Didn’t stop him from being grounded and forced to help out more in the lab. One afternoon, he was in his room playing Doomed with Sam and Tucker when he got a message from his parents calling him back down to help them out.

“Ugh, I’ve got to go down to the lab.”

“Seriously?” complained Tucker. “Again?”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “Seems you’re always off helping them lately. Can’t you say no?”

“It’s this or having my phone and computer taken away. I’ll take the lab work.” He saved his progress. “Will you guys be on later?”

“Can’t,” said Sam. “My parents are forcing me to go to a fancy dinner somewhere. And they’re not giving me any more information than that to keep me from planning anything disruptive.”

“And mine have declared we’re having a tech-free family bonding night,” said Tucker, rolling his eyes. “With board games! Who plays board games in this day and age?”

Danny laughed. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then. Later.”

Danny signed off and went downstairs. The hazmat suits were kept in a closet right next to the door to the lab, and Danny went through the process of pulling it all on. The mask that came with it was even more annoying in human form than ghost. The filtered air always tasted strange, but he’d given up complaining about that years ago.

He unlocked the lab door and went down to the lab.

“Dan-o!” called his dad as soon as he saw him. “Come here! You’re job will be to control the current!”

“Uh, current?” asked Danny.

“We’re trying to figure out how to disrupt the electrical signal in ectoplasm that gives ghosts their shape,” explained his mom. She had a bowl of ectoplasm in a glass terrarium and was arranging two metal probes so they dipped into it.

“Exactly!” agreed his dad. “So you’re going to sit at this computer”—he pulled out a chair before one of the lab computers and gestured for Danny to sit—“and adjust the frequency and voltage.”

Danny took a seat and stared at the program that was loaded on the screen. At least he wouldn’t be anywhere near the probes? A glance at the puddle of ectoplasm had him holding back a shudder.

“First we’re going to try and force the ectoplasm to form a shape,” continued his mom. “We’re going to do that with probe A. You’re going to start with a low frequency and voltage and slowly increase it while your father and I mark down how it affects the ectoplasm. We have some hypotheses about when it’ll start to form a shape.”

“And once it forms a shape,” said his dad, “you’ll use probe B to send a contrary electrical signal to destabilize it!”

“And then no more ghost!”

Suddenly Danny was glad his suit had a face mask. His parents were going to do what? Figure out how to use electricity to destabilize ghosts? It wasn’t possible. There was no way it could work. Right? He had to stay and prove to himself they were talking crazy.

“What—” His mouth was dry and he had to try again. “How should I start?”

“The settings are already loaded,” said his mom. She grabbed a tablet and sat down in front of the terrarium.

Dad sat next to her, grinning widely. “Go ahead, Dan-o!”

Danny’s hand shook as he placed it on the mouse. He sat on the other to hide it. Then he turned on the probe.

At first, nothing happened. The ectoplasm stayed a puddle and there was no visible change in it. But as he adjusted the current, it began to ripple. His parents loudly exclaimed over every change as they shouted instructions back to him.

Each change had Danny’s heart beating harder in his chest.

Two hours in is when it happened. The ectoplasm started to form a ball that rose up out of the bowl. Danny could feel something cold in the back of his throat. Not his ghost sense, but something close.

“This is it!” yelled his dad. “Danny, what’re the settings?”

Once more, Danny was glad for the way the mask muffled his voice just enough to mask how horrified he was by the thing that was forming. His parents’ theories about electrical currents couldn’t be true. They couldn’t.

“Now for us to try disrupting the current!” The glee in his mom’s voice made bile rise in Danny’s throat. But when she told him to turn on probe B, he did.

It only took twenty minutes to find the settings that made the ectoplasm fall apart back into a puddle.

Danny was up on his feet, chair toppled, in an instant. He held a gloved hand to his masked face as if he could keep from throwing up with the motion alone. It had looked so much like Ellie when she was destabilizing.

“Danny?” asked his mom, tablet forgotten on her chair as she rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I… I’m feeling a bit sick. Can I, can I go? Bathroom?”

His mom reached out to brush a hand over his covered forehead as if to check his temperature. “Oh sweetie, of course you can. You should’ve told us you weren’t feeling well. There’s some soup in the fridge if you think you can eat that.”

“I— yeah. Thanks.” He didn’t wait to hear anything else she had to say and just ran up the stairs. He shed his gear in record time and ran all the way up to his room. He slammed the door shut and grabbed his backpack from where it hung on his desk chair.

With shaking hands, he took out everything in the main compartment. Then he ran to his dresser and grabbed a change of clothes and something to sleep in. He couldn’t stay here right now. He just couldn’t.

From the bathroom, he grabbed some toiletries and added those.

Less than fifteen minutes after leaving the lab, he was out the front door and walking down the street. It was late, dusk starting to fall.

He considered going to Nasty Burger to get some dinner, but then he remembered the way the ball of ectoplasm had melted and he changed directions. Eventually his wandering brought him to the park where he found a bench in an empty area and sat down, dropping his backpack at his feet.

Danny buried his face in his hands as he forced himself to just breathe. He and Tucker could mess with the results from these experiments just like they had so many times in the past. It was going to be fine.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

Jazz: Hey, Danny. Mom said you weren’t feeling well? Jazz: Where’d you go? You’re not in your room. Danny: Sorry, Jazz. I had to get out of the house. Danny: Ask mom and dad about today’s experiments. Danny: You’ll understand why. I’m gonna spend the night at Tuck’s. Jazz: Okay. See you tomorrow? Danny: Yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow. Jazz: Love you.

Of course, Tucker was having a family night. He couldn’t crash that. And Sam’s parents had banned him from their house. Where would he spend the night?

And then he noticed it. Right outside the park glowed the sign: Two Ghost Motel.

He was on his feet and walking there before he’d even consciously made the decision to go. A glance around showed he was alone, that night had fully fallen on Amity so he let his transformation wash over him.

He reached the street and, for the first time, was staring directly at the motel rather than catching glimpses from a block or two away. The parking lot had a few cars in it, the oldest looking like it might’ve been from the twenties with the newest looking like it was ten or fifteen years old.

A glance in either direction showed no cars coming, so Danny crossed the street.

As soon as he stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, Danny could feel a change in the air. It was nothing obvious, but something integral was different. The sounds of the city were muffled, the sense of life dulled. The air felt lighter and the door seemed to call to him. Most importantly, it was easier to push away the memories from his afternoon in the lab.

The sign, when he reached it, buzzed softly in the night. He held a hand up towards it and felt an echoing buzz under his skin.

He stared at the lights for a moment more before continuing towards the building at the other end of the lot. It hadn’t been repaved in ages and was riddled with cracks. But the plants that grew up through them weren’t the normal grasses and dandelions. He wished Sam were with him to help him identify them.

Instead he knelt down and pulled out his phone to take a picture. They glowed slightly in the night, their stems ectoplasm-green with blue leaves and red bulbs. Danny reached out to touch one, only for the bulb to open and snap at his finger.

Danny laughed in surprise as he pulled his hand away. Something inside him relaxed. A night away would do him good and maybe he’d see other cool things besides the flowers.

The motel itself was a long, two-story building. The main entrance was smack in the middle of the building with rows of rooms extending to either side. Next to the office, a passageway through the building led to the back side of the building and had stairs leading up to the second level. It was clearly old, worn in the way only time could do.

The office door wasn’t automatic and the handle stuck slightly under his hand when he tried to turn it. But just a little bit of force had it opening.

Inside, the carpet was worn, beaten down and dull in the middle. The walls were covered in floral wallpaper rather than paint. Against one wall buzzed an ice machine and against the other sat a vending machine. A man with slicked back hair and a cane stared at the vending machine without moving. A two-seater couch was next to the vending machine with a wooden coffee table in front of it. Two women sat side-by-side on it: one in modern jeans and a windbreaker, the other in an old-fashioned dress that looked like it may have come from the sixties. They were holding magazines, but in the time it took Danny to look around, neither had flipped a page.

Cutting off the back of the room was a long desk, behind which sat a closed door. A woman sat behind the desk. Her blonde hair was cut shoulder length and curled inward. She wore bright red lipstick and heavy eye shadow. But strangest of all, she wasn’t moving. Her chest didn’t raise with her breathing, she didn’t shift in her seat. The women on the couch, at least, made the little movements people make when they’re engrossed in their reading. And the man at the vending machine was tapping his fingers on his cane as he tried to decide what to get.

But the woman at the counter was utterly still.

“Evening.” Danny’s voice was loud in the small room.

The woman in modern clothes cocked her head slightly as if trying to hear a distant noise.

“What are you reading?” Danny asked her.

She just shook her head slightly and looked back at her magazine. Slowly, she turned a page.

“Oh-kay,” said Danny to himself. He walked past them as he made his way to the desk.

As soon as he reached it, the woman came to life. She turned and smiled broadly at him and her finger started tapping on a paper log book that sat in front of her. “Well hello there. Welcome to the Two Ghost Motel!” She had a slight southern accent. “What can I do you for?”

“Uh, well. I heard you might have a room I could rent for the night.”

“Sure do,” she agreed with a nod. “Can certainly set you up with one of those.” She looked him up and down then nodded to herself. “Ah, yes. We knew you might need a place soon so we made sure you’d be able to find us. Glad to see you finally stopped in.”

“What, uh, what do you know about me?”

“Same as we know about any of our potential patrons, sweetie. That you’re a restless spirit that isn’t ready to pass on yet. Two Ghost was set up to give you a place to rest while you’re still on Earth.”

“How much would it cost for one night?”

The receptionist threw back her head and laughed. Her teeth were sharper than a normal human’s. Behind him, another voice joined in the laughter. Danny turned to see the modern-dressed woman was finally looking at him, though it was only to laugh at him.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck and smiled self-consciously. “I take it that was a stupid question?”

“Honey, there’s no charge for spending the night. Wouldn’t be much of a place to rest if we forced y’all to pay when no dead has money.”

“Right. So do you want anything in exchange? I’m pretty good at fixing things up.”

“All we want is for you to have a good night’s rest.” She turned the log book around. “I’ll just need you to put down your name here and I’ll give you your key.” She waved her hand to indicate a pen that was chained to the desk.

Danny grabbed it and hesitated just a moment before signing “Phantom” on the page. The ink was ectoplasm-green.

She took the book back and made her own marks before smiling at him. “Well that’s all in order. Now just to get you your room key.” She opened a drawer which was filled with a number of small envelopes, each with a handwritten number on them. She flipped through a few before stopping on one, seemingly at random, and pulling it out. “You’ll be in room 214. Leave the office, take a right. You can’t miss the stairs. Climb ‘em, continue to the back side of the motel, and take a right.”

Danny took the envelope from her. On it, the numbers 214 were written, with Two Ghost Motel in cursive below it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enjoy your stay at Two Ghost,” she smiled one more time at him, then looked down at her logbook and froze exactly as she had been when he’d first entered.

“I appreciate your help. You sure there’s nothing I can do in exchange for the room?”

But the woman didn’t stir again. Danny shifted from foot to foot. Should he try and wake her? Was she hurt? Was this a normal ghost thing? He tapped on the desk again.

“Ma’am?”

No response.

Danny looked down at his key and back at the woman. Hesitantly, he turned towards the door, but he couldn’t help looking back frequently. He paused by the women on the couch, but neither looked up from their magazines. At the vending machine, he peered around the man.

“Do they have anything that looks good?” he asked.

The man didn’t move, so Danny shifted until he was standing right next to him and could look inside the machine.

The bottom two rows were filled with drinks, water and Gatorade took up space right next to shots of ectoplasm. And were those beers? What? Above those were a few types of nuts and candy bars and chips. Danny only recognized half the brands.

Then he noticed the package of bottle caps. “Oh man, been ages since I’ve had some bottle caps. Mind if I grab those if you haven’t decided yet?”

The man hummed and moved to the side so Danny could get to the bill input and number pad.

“Thanks, sir! Appreciate it.” He pressed the numbers for the candy to see the price, but the machine whirled to life and it was dropped down without requiring Danny to put in a single cent. “Oh, shit, did I just use your money? What do you like? I’ll get it for you as an apology.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” said the man. His voice was very quiet, but clear. Danny couldn’t place his accent.

“Are you looking for a snack or a drink? Sweet or savory?”

“My son always pretended he didn’t like sweets. I was going back to him. How did I end up here?”

“Dunno, sir. But if you like candy, I’d recommend the skittles if you want chewy, m&m’s if you want basic chocolate.” He opened his own package. “Hold out your hand, I’ll give you a few of these so you can see if you like them.”

The man did and looked at his own hand as if he’d never seen it before. Danny turned his package so a few bottlecaps fell out. “Thank you,” said the man.

“Sure thing. Hope you enjoy!”

The man stared at his hand a moment longer before bringing one to his mouth and chewing the candy with a pensive look on his face. “I think I remember these, but it’s been so long. Thank you.”

“Anytime. My name’s Phantom; I’m in room 214 if you need anything.”

“Phantom. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Tom.”

“Well, Mr. Tom, hope you find something to eat that you like.”

Tom hummed and turned back to look at the vending machine. Danny took one last look at the receptionist, still entirely frozen, before slipping out the door. He slipped the package of bottlecaps into his pocket; he’d eat them in his room when he could take his mask off. In the passageway to the back of the motel, two boys played jacks under a flood light.

Danny couldn’t help but pause to watch them. He’d tried playing a few times when he was younger, but Tucker wasn’t into the game and none of the other kids had been willing to spend enough time with the weird ghost-hunter’s kid to teach him.

He waited until the kid who’d been picking up the jacks tossed them back on the ground before asking, “So, who’s winning?”

Both boys looked up at him with the same blank expression. The one on the right was a red-head while the one on the left was brown haired. They were about the same age, maybe ten years old and Danny wondered what happened to bring them here.

“I never learned to play,” Danny admitted, waving a hand to indicate their game. “So I don’t know how to tell. Or, is there even a winner in jacks? I might be completely off the mark.”

The red-head raised his hand. “I’m wining. I’m on the foursies round. Alan is only on twosies.”

“Matt cheated and made me drop my jacks.”

“It wasn’t cheating, just strategy,” protested Matt.

“Cheating,” repeated Alan.

“Prove it by beating your threesies round perfectly this time.”

Danny smiled to himself as the boys returned to their game and ignored his presence entirely.

“How’d you do that?” asked someone behind him.

Danny spun around to see a boy around his own age on the stairs leaning over the railing. He had dark hair and light eyes and was dressed in modern jeans and a t-shirt.

“Do what?” asked Danny.

“Get them to talk to you. Everyone ignores me entirely.”

Danny glanced back at the two boys who were entirely absorbed in their game and not paying Danny or the stranger any attention. “They’re mostly ignoring me, too.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “But they still talked to you. I haven’t even gotten that much.”

Danny shrugged. “I just asked them about their game.”

He groaned and kicked at the railing. “I’ve tried that. Who’re you, anyway?”

“I’m Phantom. Staying here for the night because, well, just because. Who’re you?”

“Jay.”

Danny cocked his head. “Like the bird?”

Jay’s eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned back. “That’s it! I knew I was forgetting something. I’m a bird. Thanks, Phantom.”

Danny laughed. “Sure thing, birdie.” He adjusted his backpack. “Let me put this down. I’m in room 214. What’s there to do in this motel?”

Jay shrugged. “More if you can get the other people to talk to us. But the TV always has your favorite show or movie on and the vending machine in the office always has your favorite snacks.”

As Danny made his way up the stairs, Jay fell in step besides him. “What’s your favorite movie?” he asked.

Jay shrugged again. “Dunno. But every time I turn on the TV it’s playing.”

“What did you watch last, then?”

Jay hesitated a moment and when Danny looked at him, he was frowning. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t forget things. My d— Someone made sure I could give accurate reports. But I don’t remember.” He looked at Danny with his brow furrowed. “Why don’t I remember?”

Danny shrugged. “Well, when we get to my room, we can turn on the TV and see what comes on.”

Jay brightened immediately at the suggestion. “Duh! That’ll remind me. Thanks, Phantom! Come on, your room’s this way. We’re neighbors; I’m in 215.” He jogged the rest of the way up the stairs so Danny had to speed up, too.

At the top of the stairs, Jay took a right and Danny’s door was several down.

“Home sweet home,” he said, gesturing to the door.

Danny laughed as he unlocked it. “So how long have you been here?” He pushed open his door and took in the space. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been upgraded since the seventies. A double bed sat against one wall covered by a faded, green paisley quilt. A low dresser and box TV against the opposite wall. Most of the wall facing the walkway was taken up with a large window, though the closed blinds kept it private.

It wasn’t until Danny stepped in and dropped his bags on the bed that he realized Jay had neither responded nor followed him in.

“Birdie? Jay? You okay?”

Jay was frozen outside the door staring out into the distance away from the motel. The back of the motel had very few lights, and the night made it seem like there was nothing out there but endless black. When Danny called out, Jay shook himself and grinned as he entered the room and sat down on Danny’s bed with enough force to bounce. “Course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You spaced out there for a minute.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t. Where’s your remote?” Before Danny could do anything, Jay was already standing and picking it up from the dresser. He turned on the TV. “Oooh, the Godfather! Told you it always has your favorite movie.”

“So The Godfather is your favorite?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen it all the way through.”

“Then you’re in for a treat! Come on, sit next to me. I’ll make sure you notice all the good parts.”

Danny did as told. Which is when he remembered he still had the candy. Wordlessly, he held it out to Jay who grinned as he took a few to snack on.

-----

Chapter 2

Hope you enjoyed chapter 1! This was so much fun to write. I loved taking part in the event so much. Please consider checking out the rest of the art and fics from this event because there are so many talented people who took part. (My reading list is gonna be filled for at least the rest of the year, no lie.)

Just search the tag #ectoimplosion2023 to see what I mean.

[razorblade180]

Jealous Knight Shade

For context, some of yall might remember this story. It’s really old and I just found out a tumblr update completely ruined the format and wouldn’t let me fix the og post. So I had to completely re structure, add, and edit it as a new post.

[Jaune’s Dorm]

Radio:Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! It’s a beautiful sunny day completely with a slight breeze and temperatures in the mid seventies. Perfect for the Vale concert!!! *clicked off*

Jaune:*jean shorts and a muscle shirt* I am sooooo pumped for this concert. The lights, the food, but most importantly….

Blake:*in the bathroom getting ready* The one….the only…….Jaune and

Blake: Casey Lee Williams!!!

Jaune:Gods I can’t wait any longer! Blake, how much longer are you gonna take? We’re gonna end up looking wasted anyways.

Blake:I at least want to start the day off looking somewhat presentable. I never been to a concert before; honestly never expected to go to one.

Jaune:Really? I guess it’s a good thing you met someone who always gets tickets with the best view possible!

Blake:I still can’t believe you’ve met her before! I hope I get the chance to as well.

Jaune:That won’t happen as long as you’re in the bathroom. We still gotta catch the flight! (Actually we’re ahead of schedule, but Yang and Sun don’t need to know I’m hanging with Blake alone. A blonde war is the last thing I need.)

Blake:I’m ready! *walking out* how do I look?

Jaune:It’s about ti-*Blake in a purple crop top and black high waisted ripped shorts. Black ankle high converse and some wristbands*

Blake:*nervous* Well..? I knew it was gonna be a little hot out all day; plus I never get the chance just to dress casual.

Jaune:*red* You look good! Like really good; wait that sounded weird. I mean you know…you……it’s nice.

Blake:*giggles* Thanks. I’m guessing you’re ready?

Jaune:Uhh Yeah! *hands her a water bottle* concerts can get exhausting for her. *puts on a string bag* I got a few other things in here since it’s an all day thing.

Blake:Well isn’t someone prepared?

Jaune:I’m a veteran at these sorts of things.

Blake:Then I guess I’m in your hands then; let’s go. *starts walking away*

Jaune:*watching her walk away* …….. *sips water* I am not ready for today…

[Airship]

Jaune:*leaning forward* If I die right now Blake, tell my ghost about the concert.

Blake:Why would you get Airship tickets if you get air sick?

Jaune:It’s the fastest way. Too much traffic on the road and I’m sure you want to get there as soon as possible.

Blake:You don’t have to go that far for me. *leans in a bit* you look like you’re turning green.

Jaune:You say that and get closer to me?

Blake:*leans back* that could’ve been bad. Last thing I need is vomit on me; especially my hair.

Jaune:About that…*points to her bow* you can take that off since we’re off campus. Honestly I doubt anyone at our school is even gonna show up.

Blake:Yeah but….I just want to have a normal day.

Jaune:You’re more normal with it off to me.

Blake:*red* That’s nice to know. Besides my team you’re the first to say that. Thanks…

Jaune:That’s what friends are for. *leaning back* Phew, I think the worst has passed.

Blake:That’s good… *takes off bow and leans on him* glad you’re feeling normal too.

Jaune:*redish* Yep, things are just…. normal between us. Completely…..normal.

[A long airship ride later]

Jaune:*stretching legs* I’ll never get used to how long this trip is. My legs still feel *Blake runs passed him* asleep…..

Blake:*Looking at the venue* Wow….*it's basically like Coachella*

Blake:There’s so much of it, we'll do everything! It’s almost a little overwhelming. *ears wiggling*

Jaune:*Smiles don’t take it all in at once; you’ll go mad. First things first *pats her stomach* food.

Blake:I had half a mind to claw you just now. *stomach rumbles* but you’re right…

Jaune:Let’s go then, pizza is always a safe bet. *starts walking* I’m pretty sure it’s to our right.

Blake:Uhhh you might want to try left.

Jaune:Huh, really?

Blake:*points to her ears* I can hear essentially everything around here. I here grills to our right, and oven timers to the left.

Jaune:Blake….you’re amazing. Do you know how much of a maze this place can be!?

Blake:It’s no big deal. Still, there’s a lot of people here. I bet there’s a line for food.

Jaune:I can deal with that as long as I know where I am going.*grabs her hand* Let’s go!

Blake:Wait just a- *gets pulled onlookers staring at them*

Blake:Uh, I think people are staring at us.

Jaune:*looking around* I…think you’re right.

Blake:*folds her ears* I thought you said people wouldn’t care about my ears?

Jaune:*pulls out his hoodie and puts it on Blake. It goes down to her hips* Believe me, it’s not your ears. *starts walking behind her.

Blake:? *realization* Ohhhhh *red*

Jaune:Just ignore them and you’ll be fine.

Blake:I’ll try.

Stranger:*whistles* I think this is the first time I cat called a pretty kitty. What do you say about being with a dog?

Blake:Sorry, I’m not a fan of mutts.

Everyone:Ooooooohhhhh!

Stranger:What was that you little-

Jaune:*wraps arm around her waist* Walk away while you can dude. She may be the Faunus but I’m the one who bites.

Blake:*red* (That’s hot; why did it sound so hot!?)

Stranger:…..*stomps off embarrassed*

Jaune:I swear this place is awesome. Some people are just hot heads.

Blake:It’s alright! (He smells nice) Uhh maybe you should keep your arm around me. Just to be safe.

Jaune:Sure *starts walking happily*

Blake:(How did he do that!? Intense one second and happy the next!?)

Jaune:Wanna get some drinks?

Blake:We can’t buy any.

Jaune:*pulls out two fake IDs* I mean....Blake:......Have you always been this much of a rebel?

Jaune:I like to have fun when I can and I want to show you a good time.

Blake:*pondering* You know this is illegal.

Jaune:So is terrorism

Blake:Can’t argue with that; let’s get wasted!

Jaune:Yeah!!!!!*12 hours later*

Blake:*wakes up in a random bed* Ugh my head. Where am I? *sees she’s not wearing a shirt* What did I do!? Who did I do!?

Jaune:*laying on a couch* Look whose awake. *throws her aspirin* btw you slept with no one and this is Casey’s tour RV.

Blake:I met Casey!?

Jaune:You don’t remember?

Blake:.....No!

Jaune:We drank, the show started and we started singing your favorite song…

Blake:From Shadows is underrated.

Jaune:Yes it is. After that some more people started flirting with you and one grabbed your butt. After that I hit him and Casey had her roadies kick him out. She then proceeded to buy everyone drinks....

Blake:God she is a national treasure.

Jaune:After that we got to go back stage where I introduced you two and you turned into a total fangirl. You wanted an autograph but then you passed out and now we’re here.

Blake:That’s it?Jaune......[Last night backstage]

Jaune:*slightly buzzed* Blake, this is my good friend Casey.

Casey:Hello! Nice to meet a fan; also an old friend. *goes to hug Jaune*

Blake:*thoroughly drunk* Excuse me miss Williams! *grabs his arm* But he is taken!

Jaune:Uhhh what?

Casey:*snorts* What?

Blake:This man *hic* right here....is mine! He spent the whole day showing me an absolute great time! *rubs his chest* I intend on repaying the favor tonight.

Jaune:*bright red* You’re drunk Blake....

Blake:Drunk off of your love hehehe *almost falls over*

Jaune:*lifts her over his shoulder* I’m sorry for her. She’s usually super chill.

Casey:I believe it. Maybe I’ll get to meet her with less fireball in her system.

Blake:.....You have a cute butt Jaune. Not as cute as mine but still pretty nice.

Casey:*laughing*

Jaune:Oh boy....do you mind if we crash in your RV? I don’t think she’s quite travel ready.

Casey:No problem, *autographs an album and puts it in his bag* I figure she would want a souvenir.

Jaune:Thanks *turns around and walks away*

Casey:*waves* Bye Blake!Blake:I will fight you for him. You may be amazing but I call dibs! He’s getting laid tonight!

Jaune:You are going to bed!

Casey:*hysterical laughter*

Jaune:*puts Blake on the bed* Sleep!

Blake:Awww but I’m not tired. *takes off her shirt* Maybe you can fix that for me.

Jaune:(Why can’t this happen when we’re sober?) Blake go to sl- *pulled into her arms*

Blake:Come oooooon! I promise it’ll be fun.

Jaune:You’re drunk Blake, that makes it wrong.

Blake:Terrorism and Fake ID’s are wrong.

Jaune:I mean you’re not wr- no! *pulks himself free* Bed, now!

Blake:Fine, we’ll just do it in the morning. *passes out immediately*

Jaune:*flops onto the couch* Sigh, it’s always the quiet ones.

[later]

Jaune:....That’s it. *you got an album by the way.

Blake:Sweet! Thanks for the good time Jaune. Even if it’s a bit hazy *hugs him*

Jaune:Uhhh Blake *red* your shirt.

Blake:Eh, I don’t care. You probably saw them last night.

Jaune:Don’t worry, that’s the only thing I saw.

Blake:Too bad, you could’ve had an amazing night. *whispers in his ear* By the way, Faunus have high alcohol tolerance.

Jaune:*red* Huh!?

Blake:*walking towards the restroom* Well what do you know, this place has its own shower. Can you think of a more perfect way to start a morning?

Jaune:Depends, you remember what you said last night.

Blake:*playfully* Who knows? Maybe you should join me in here and jog my memory Mr. Cute Butt

Jaune:Now that is the best cat calling I’ve heard this entire trip.

[sweetmariihs2]

🪄Cedric The Sorcerer headcanons 🔮💫

*it's a big post and the headcanons are pretty diverse*

I lost half of this post because Tumblr didn't save it, then I rewrote it and even continued to write a little more, but again Tumblr deleted everything and returned to the first version of the post. I spent from midnight until 5:40 am writing this and I simply lost the text. I rewrote everything again :) I literally cried out of frustration, the post was almost done

I found some parts in my cell phone "área the transferência" (that thing when you copy a text and the last things you copied remain there), I tried to organize it and rewrite everything that I lost, but I still feel like there's something missing.

Edit: I fixed some grammar errors. I know there's more, but I couldn't find it. English is not my main language!!

Cedric's unhealthy habits (before Sofia entering the castle and after) and how he deals with his insomnia

I don't know if this counts as headcanon since it's practically canon, but I believe that Cedric is not very healthy, he has a very unbalanced sleep schedule, he doesn't eat well and he doesn't exercise. The things he does most all day are preparing spells and potions, and reading.

I think a lot about what pre-Sofia Cedric was like. I think his habits were even worse, and he was even more bitter and antisocial. He had a terrible posture and was always tired and moody, had dark circles due to lack of sleep. I also believe that there moments quite constantly where his vision would go dark and he would suddenly become weak. He always seemed sick and pale, quiet, and when he interacted he made mistakes in front of everyone and everyone saw him as an idiot, weird-looking guy. Sofia brought him some motivation (getting the amulet of Avalor) and that's why he seemed more active and minimally healthier after she arrived. Maybe before he was just very tired and was hopeless of gaining the recognition of the people in the castle, but after finding a chance in the amulet, he became more motivated and active.

He stays up all night reading and making potions (even Wormwood sleeps more than him), only to leave his tower in the morning to get breakfast trying to act invisible, so that no one sees his presence there, and so they don't ask him to do anything he doesn't want to do.

For context: I believe that breakfasts at the castle are like hotel breakfasts, a room full of food where everyone can take what they want and leave without having to pay anything at all. This goes for all meals and the royal family has their own dining room, because of course, they are the royal family.

I imagine both pre-sofia and during-sofia Cedric staying up all night reading and passing his time, only to go get his breakfast early in the morning (he hasn't eaten since about 10 hours ago, and his last snack was a jam sandwich) and having to face everyone in the castle together in the same hall walking everywhere, trying to act as unremarkable as possible, to prevent anyone from bothering him (it's very easy to notice him, he's the only one who wears a black robe and walks like that. no one just cares enough to notice him there). And then Baileywick appears full of information and orders sent directly by the king, while Cedric rolls his eyes and replies exhausted that he will do it (his attempt to hide failed).

I can imagine him (mostly pre-Sofia Cedric) going to the kitchen at night to get some snacks, and he knows he won't go to breakfast in the morning because something humiliating happened to him at his last meal and he refuses to face all those people publicly again.

Pre-Sofia Cedric constantly forgot to eat because of his work and when he did eat, it was never healthy food. He was hungry and starting to feel weird because his last meal was 10 hours ago? He's gonna get just a piece of apple pie.

Pre-Sofia Cedric didn't had the energy to do his own tasks, let alone useless favors for James and Amber or entertain the king's parties. Today he can do this easily, as he is a little healthier (and more motivated) but before it was a sacrifice. What always kept him busy were the tasks he set out to do himself, such as reading magic books he hadn't yet specialized in, making potions he hadn't yet made to add them to his collection (if he ever needs them). As I said, today he does that easily, because his health is a lot better, and he can balance it with his other tasks and practicing his hobbies or taking care of himself, even spending time with Sofia.

Pre-Sofia Cedric definitely deals with insomnia (till this day) and the vast majority of the time he doesn't sleep through the night, to the extent that many in the castle are already aware that Cedric is a night owl and is always awake, no matter how late it is. This is why he sometimes takes naps in the afternoon, but this only happens when he is so exhausted that his eyes can barely stay open, sleeping for 1h30 only to stay awake for another 22h without breaks. Now that his habits are a little less unhealthy than before (they're still bad) he sleeps maybe 3-4 hours per night. But he still need to take naps during the day and yes some nights he doesn't sleep at all, it's just not as often as before.

I think that during the nights when he can't sleep he stares at the moon from his window, or goes out of his tower to take a walk in the garden, or even in the castle. There's something so comforting in staying up late. During the day there's people everywhere, conversations happening, events where someone needs his help. During the night everything is silent and he can have his own moment, there's no people to disapprove him or order him to do something he doesn't want to do. Cedric is definitely a night person.

There's a book that I like that I won't give too many details about, but there's a character who simply doesn't sleep at night and the entire staff from the establishment is used to it. She is a patient in a mental hospital, all the patients are sleeping, and she just stays in the living room, because everyone has already accepted that she doesn't sleep, that's a fact. She spends her time reading, smoking, painting her nails, sometimes talking to the nurses. I imagine the dynamic is similar, but the difference is that Cedric is a little more antisocial. Everyone knows that he doesn't sleep and they couldn't care less about it.

(Cedric fanfiction dating a maid he met during the nights he was walking through the castle because he couldn't sleep???? Hell yes. Late night talks in that giant castle, everything is silent besides the echo of their voices in the halls and their footsteps, knowing that unlike the day, the night is very calm and they can rest in peace, without worrying about obligations. Talking in whispers 👀 silent kisses omg)

I can totally imagine him encountering Sofia at late night just walking in the castle, and he's just like "Sofia? Why are you awake?" Because he's usually the only person who stays up that late (except for some guards and maids). And then she tells him she can't sleep so that's why she's not in her room. They spend some time talking to eachother about how everything is being so overwhelming recently.

He doesn't know how to deal with his new life, now that everyone seems to praise him as a good sorcerer and that he saved Sofia's life. He loves the fact that he's finally being recognized, but it's just something he's not used to. Sometimes when people are telling him about how amazing his spells are, or the King tells someone about how good is his royal sorcerer, or his new fame on the kingdom. He was treated badly so many times that everything seems so unreal. It makes him wonder if he really deserves everything that is happening, or if people are really telling the truth. (And I say this based in my own experience, that feeling is so real)

What if some citizen girls are screaming his name in royal parades or when he goes to the village? He has a fanclub now???? People want to date HIM??? And he just smiles and waves because he just doesn't know how to react to all of this, and the girls starts to scream out of happiness or some of them pass out and he goes "Oh no... my bad.. i'm sorry :(". Even younger girls that are really too young for him, that's certanly something he wasn't expecting to happen. Baileywick makes fun of him saying that he's such a heartbraker now, Cedric rolls his eyes.

Hey that looks like a good one shot prompt (after his redemption arc), a witch who admires him a lot because of what she heard about him finally gets the chance to live in the castle (because of other circunstances), and now she has the chance to meet Cedric. And Cedric is surprised by how she treats him like he was some kind of hero, because only he knows the humiliations he went through.

Pre-Sofia Cedric usually watched the balls from the window of his tower instead of participating with them. He didn't felt welcomed, and even if he was indeed there, people would just stare at him like he's some kind of ghost or a disgrace and his night would be terrible. He was invited, obviously, all the castle's employees are, but he would never fit in there. He felt sad, excluded at some point, alone- but all his sadness turned into bitterness as he watched all those royals, riches and other employees of the castle having fun and partying, like he was supposed to do. Cedric would only make a fool out of himself if he ever thought about stepping there, and he didn't needed to! He didn't wanted to go anyways! Or at least that's what he told himself...

Cedric's love life (+how he views love and his past experiences)

I actually made a headcanons post about who his first love may be: Queen Lorelei. That's not a really popular headcanon but I'm not the first person to talk about it, and once you read about the subject you'll see that it's actually a pretty nice headcanon, so give it a try.

Cedric doesn't believe in "true love", "love at first sight", "true love kiss" (until it's his turn to experience that). Well he does, because there's magic about it, there are many stories of princesses that just had their happy ending because of a true love kiss and everything, there are many spells and curses where love is involved. But he thinks romantic people are so naive, they live for love like there's nothing else in their lives that it's better to do. He has work to be done, you know? People say "mimimi true love" and he just slightly rolls his eyes and huffs (when deep inside he wish he was one of these people. Oh to have someone to love). But when he's in love he's lovesick and can't think about anything else just like those he found irritating. Such hypocrite.

But when he suffers a love frustration (like that one with Sasha) he realizes again that love is irritating and his previous thoughts return. But deep inside he knows that they're not true, he's just bitter because he's single.

HE'S BISEXUAL !!1!1!1!!1!111!1!1!!!!1!!!!1!1

But he doesn't know that this actually has a name so it's more like, he just experiences his feelings and just know that they're feelings, that's all

I believe that during most of his life he only had girl crushes, and it didn't happened that often because he wasn't used to be really focused on anyone. These girls crushes happened when he was a kid to when he was a teenager. But during his young-adult years he started to notice that sometimes he found some masculine traits atractive. At first he was really confused by that, because he thought he liked only woman, but apparently no. Nowadays he already understands how he feels and just treats it normally.

He doesn't like to talk about his love life (he gets nervous sharing such intimate information about himself with people)(and he is single which makes the situation even worse, being in his 30s without someone) and then everyone assumes that he only likes women, and that he's naturally a bachelor because it is what it is. No one is interested in a weird old guy like him. (I am)

Imagine a group of maids talking to eachother in the kitchen while doing their tasks and mentioning "what about that royal sorcerer? he's always lonely. I don't think he has a lover or something, or else we would know" and the other one mentions "he's too scary to get along with anyone. not exactly scary, but he's weird, very slender, always crawling around. I highly doubt any lady would want to have anything to do with him."

(Bonus points if someone put a similar scene in that Cedric x maid character fic, and our protagonist is just silently infiltrated among them knowing that she was kissing him last night, and she responds to them "don't be so hard on him, he's not that bad. he is actually very polite." And the rest of the maids just react like "hmmmm very polite sure girl what else do you have to tell us? Are you hiding something? Do you know something that we don't?")

Cedric doesn't talk much about his romantic interests, implying to everyone else that he doesn't care (which is true), but it's also because he gets nervous about sharing this information. That's why the few people who silently wonder about it just assume that he just likes woman, because he never tells anyone about being interested neither in woman neither in man. And he also avoids talking about it because needs to admit out loud that he is a 3_ year old man and that he's single, and he doesn't want to put himself through this humiliation. The best thing to do is worry about his spells, he's too busy to talk or to think about that. (Deep inside wishing he had someone)

He's like that single uncle for Sofia. You know, a variation from the "cats aunt" and instead he's the "spells uncle". Absolutely no bitches, but his shelf is full of potions and books. Single uncle Cedric!!!!!!!!! (He hates it)

I think he had many crushes in his life but never really had the oportunity to date someone, or this person wasn't interested, or he was too dedicated in his studies. Imagine a younger him in his teenage days (or even in his childhood) really liking someone but too embarassed to say anything. Or when he goes to the person he tries to start a conversation but then his mentor just goes like "no we don't have time for this, you need to train now" and pulls him to practice his spells again. He never had the chance to date anyone, and even if he said something to the person, this person probably would make fun of him because of his reputation in the school.

That makes me wonder if he ever had any past lovers or if he didn't even had the oportunity because everyone saw him as a loser. Teenage Cedric occupies my mind longer than I'd like to admit

I think that the idea of him having past lovers is nice, but at the same time it doesn't fit very well for some reason? Imagine him talking to Sofia "Oh... ___.... she was my first love... I wonder how her life is going today" after she asked "Mr Cedric have you ever loved someone?"

Actually I think he would say first "Sofia, what kind of question is that? Um.. I don't know, I mean... there was a person, but it was a long time ago... her name was ___...."

I never told you guys but I write fanfiction too (top 10 useless facts) and I never wrote for Cedric

I have a big question for you rn: do you guys think he's a virgin? 👀 I think it makes sense actually

His way of flirting is compliments and acts of service. He would never, in the first option at least, directly show interest with phrases like "are you single?", "you're really cute." He would be extremely gentlemanly, he would offer the way for his romantic interest to pass, he would open doors, pull out chairs, offer his arm for his "lover" to hold. Everything would be very subtle, as he wouldn't hit on their romantic interest, but instead would be extremely polite, interested in their company, things that would make them say "Oh, thank you so much, you're such a gentleman" and he would just blush and smile. And he would absolutely say "We are courting", rather than any other word. He would ask their permission to start treating it like this, something like "Can I court you from now on? I understand if you don't want to."

It's easy to make him flustered since he has no romantic experience. Even a simple question about his love life can make him nervous. And if it's a crush who's responding to his light flirtations he becomes very giggly. Even a small crush can have him in their hands.

He certainly has a thing for confident woman (they can make him stutter and feel nervous pretty easily). You know those woman who have that strong feminine energy? His legs get all wobbly.

But he likes delicate girls too. He just needs to assume a different role in the supposed relationship they would have, and his treatment would be more responsible and more chivalrous.

In my opinion, his tastes are the exact opposites. He likes feminine woman, the most confident and mature ones (like Sascha) and the most delicate and sweet ones. But for men he likes very masculine men, who are more than himself, like strong guys, or even, in not so extreme cases, just someone who's similar to him but who has a more confident and mature attitude, that knows what he's doing. Because Cedric constantly feels like he doesn't know, that he's very insecure, so when he sees someone attractive and confident, he gets all nervous and giggly, and offers his services.

I think he would like chancellor Esteban from Elena Of Avalor tbh. Guys like him

Oh my god

Cedric's academic life and his young years

What reputation you may ask? I think he always was like this, being nervous and making mistakes. During that episode where him and Sofia go to Hexley Hall, nobody seems surprised by his failures. Not even in "The Day Of The Sorcerers" episode. Everyone is too familiarized with him being a failure and I think he was bullied in school because of that (most specifically when he was a teenager)

Was he always shy and insecure in front of everyone, or he was dedicated to his studies and when people said "hey let's do something together?" He responded with "I can't, I need to study" and this person just said "omg you're always studying, you have no life don't you?"

"I need to study so I can get better and better everyday", just like he said in his song during the episode "Substitute Cedric"

He can't concentrate if there's too much noise. Imagine him doing a test and he just can't read the paper because there's someone behind him banging their wand on the table and this makes him fail the test. "Ok class, we're going to have a practice test this time, Cedric please turn this feather into glass" and when he was about to make it someone made a bad comment about expecting him not being able to do the spell and because of that he turns the feather into mud, and everybody laughs. People in the school know him as a failure too because this kind of thing always happened.

I found this on pinterest:

That's why if one day he confess his feelings for someone at school this person would laugh at him, and maybe that's why he never did. Or he did and that exact thing happened, so he never did it again.

He was a bookworm. Loved to sneak out of the dorm at night to read books in the library, whether they were magic books to complement his studies, or just story books. He has spent whole nights and evenings there. He does this till this day, like I said before.

Cedric's teenage years in Hexley Hall with the rest of the sorcerers (Greylock, Grimtrix,+) just makes me think about Dead Poets Society. Same vibes 🫶

Let's pretend that Hexley Hall is an institute for a moment. Maybe they also sneak out in the middle of the night to do meetings or studying and walking through the dark halls of the school in the middle of the night all alone. Idk going to the library. Maybe the school staff was really strict with studies during the day and during the night they were strict with bedtime. Maybe some popular students such as Grimtrix and other ppl (also girls) spread the secret news during the whole day saying that there would be a party at night in some specific place on the school grounds where everyone (or just some selected people) should secretly escape from the dormitories. Maybe Greylock leaned on Cedric's shoulders asking if he was going to the party and Cedric complained saying he had more important things to do like studying and sleeping, but when Cedric was alone in the dormitory at night and realized he was lonely he decided to give it a chance. There is something interesting about stories of students at institutes sneaking out of their dormitories at night to escape the strictness of school and have some fun. It would be something interesting to see.

Random Cedric Headcanons

He likes wine, but he doesn't drink it too often. I have a post about his relationship with alcohol here.

I think he doesn't like to be drunk. He doesn't like to think that he can do something that embarrasses him or that he's out of his mind, he prefers to have everything under control. It doesn't happen very often either.

He hate the smell of smoke and cigarettes. He finds cigarrettes disgusting.

He likes tea.

His favorite fruits are berries and he likes them better in sweets.

He doesn't know how to cook.

Cedric has a sweet tooth, he loves chocolate, cake, everything that's sweet.

Cedric enjoys gardening. He just doesn't do it because of his busy schedule, but he has a good knowledge of plants so that he can make his potions, and he goes out with Wormwood to get ingredients to make them. This happens in one episode, actually. Wormwood also needs to know about plants so that he can help him find the ones he want. Maybe he knows because of all the years he's been by Cedric's side.

I believe Cedric got Wormwood while studying at Hexley Hall. I'm not sure how their bond happened, but I believe they've been together since Cedric was around 11-14 years old. Wormwood has been alive all these years because he is a raven especially for wizards/mages/sorcerers, or a spell was placed on him when Cedric was young so that he would stay by Cedric's side while he was still alive. But I think that makes an exception for unnatural causes like accidents for example, he can still die. I believe that this "conditional immortality" spell must have been done by one of Cedric's mentors or superiors at Hexley Hall, and I believe that all of the sorcerers' animals that pass through there need to go through the same spell. I also believe that it may be mandatory for each student to have their own animal, a little similar to the owl system in HP.

This would explain all those animals on the Hexley Hall episode, and why they are making a meeting after "long years of not seeing eachother". How would they be alive since Cedric's school years?They all speak in a tone that implies they have been with their owners since their school days, and the fact that each one belongs to a sorcerer makes me believe that it is obligatory to have an animal. Maybe they're important for specific spells? Studies? Assistants?

He wouldn't feel remorse for killing someone evil. If that person was absolutely disgusting and was a threat to his loved ones, he's not going to spend his whole life blaming himself for having killed someone. Even though he never really intended to kill and tried to resolve things as peacefully as possible, and that this person gave him no choice. He would never kill someone as a first option, though. He prefers to avoid doing it so.

He can takes things personally pretty easily, and because he's used to people saying harsh things to him, even the smallest comment can make him offended, because he's always expecting people to view him badly.

I believe the royal sorcerer is swapped at the same time the king is swapped as well. When the throne is passed to the next generation, the sorcerer also needs to be replaced by the next one. When Cedric's exchange came he was in his 20s, and Goodwyn was so worried because his son was a disaster. He panicked because Cedric would only put his family through an embarrassment with the royal family and the next king (Roland). Goodwyn kept citing to Cedric all the rules he had to know, telling his son to be careful, avoid doing as many spells as possible, and generally panicking. Cedric would just roll his eyes and respond "I know", "okay, dad", "I know". Winifred however brushed aside his bangs and kissed his forehead, saying "you'll make a great royal sorcerer, Ceddykins, I believe in you", which made him more confident and happy.

The sorcerer exchange ceremony takes place after the king's coronation. He also had to wear a ceremonial outfit, which involved a cape and a wizard hat.

He embarrassed himself in front of everyone because it was his first public appearance and it made him very nervous, so he took on the role of royal sorcerer with everyone in the castle and village already seeing him as an idiot. Perhaps during the ceremony it was necessary for him to cast a spell, maybe to follow some specific tradition or just to demonstrate his skills to the people, and Goodwyn covered his eyes and turned away, saying "for Merlin's sake, I don't even want to see this" while Winifred stroked his arm and tried to convince him to watch Cedric's spell. Cedric noticed this and that made his confidence get even worse. Goodwyn has spent every week since the sorcerer switch was announced in pure terror and anxiety, always expecting the worst at every moment.

Roland never saw Cedric as a very powerful sorcerer, so he never believed in his potential since the beginning, and that didn't change after Cedric became the royal sorcerer.

Cedric's hair is stained because of the spell that damaged Cordelia's hair. "Ah but that's obvious", yes, I know, but I believe this happened specifically because he accidentally spilled a few drops of the potion on himself. I actually have a post where I talk about this in more detail.

He absolutely never swears. But instead he says funny words, like the classic "Merlin's mushrooms" or this long and wonderful list I found on the internet.

He was born premature and was so small, everyone thought he wouldn't survive, but here he is now

I believe that they have "bath houses" in the castle for the employees (not the royal family, each one of them has their own bathroom) but Cedric is not a big fan of being naked in front of everyone, mostly because he's not comfortable with the people in the castle, in general. So he has his own "bathtub" (it looks like a wooden barrel but bigger and shorter) and he takes his bath alone in his tower. Well, him and Wormwood. Wormwood is absolutely disgusted by the sight but he's used to it since they grew up together. It's like "okay" for him to be in Cedric's side when he's inside the bathtub, but when he gets out, Wormwood avoids interacting or looking at him because "blerrggrg" (it's funny)

Goodwyn's parents were always treating him as the prodigy he was, so when Cordelia was born she also happened to be a prodigy and he treats her as such. But Cedric wasn't, he was a slow learner (or, using better words, a normal person) and Goodwyn didn't understand how to deal with children like that. He always demanded more from Cedric than he could do, as his sister learned quickly and was generally more praised by the family.

Cedric told Sofia EVERYTHING he did to her after his redemption. They had a long conversation, he said everything, about the sea monster being him, about the sleep spell, trying to take her amulet, literally everything. He cried in the process but he said that he wanted to tell her anyway, because he was truly sorry. Sofia felt sad and betrayed during the whole conversation but Cedric assured her that he was telling her because he didn't want to keep secrets and to prove that he was truly sorry. He promised that she was his best friend and that he could never do anything like that to her again. She understood him, respected him, and said everything was fine, but she would need a moment to digest. After that, Cedric continued to treat her well and prove himself so that there would be no more doubts.

Sometimes, in some situations when there is a bad person, Cedric gets angry with that person and plans revenge, or makes a plan against the person, to teach them a lesson. Sofia interrupts him, calling his name and saying that they already had a conversation about this, and he promised he would stop. Cedric grumbles and says it won't be anything too cruel.

He has medium size nails, squared oval shape because his nails are too detailed in the show and it makes sense. They didn't needed to detail his damn nails but they did, and they are actually a little longer than his finger, you can see that his nail doesn't exactly follow the shape of his finger. THEY PURPOSELY DETAILED HIS NAILS ON THE 3D MODEL I CAN'T (but unfortunately they are nowhere to be seen during "my evil dreams" which makes me kinda sad)

He definitely has gray/white hair mixed in his dark brown hair due to stress, age and unhealthy habits. His bangs were pure white when he got them, but after some time it started to turn gray. Some of his natural gray hair that comes with his age/stress are mixed in the white, so overall the color got a little darker (greyish) as he got older. We love a gray-haired man.

Tall, skinny and has a long nose- has big feet idgaf about beauty standards slay king

Cedric absolutely loves to be praised. At any circunstance, any place, he will give 100% of his attention to someone who's praising him, and he will keep trying to do more impressive stuff so that he can get more praises. Poor guy it's too underappreciated. At this point it's not even a headcanon anymore

Cedric shaves his beard every week. His a 39 year old guy, he has facial hair c'mon. I believe he has a patchy beard which is another reason for him to never let it grow. And like my friend @majoresca said, he probably never lets his beard grow because he doesn't want to look like his father, not even the tiniest bit

Not me accidentaly posting this before I finished

I'm sure I'll want to add more headcanons over time, but when I edit a post after it's been reblogged by someone, that edit doesn't appear on the person's profile, but the previous version does. So I'm going to make a link to the post available on my blog, who knows, maybe the updates will appear on the link! (I've never done this before, I want to prove my theory. If it works, pls tell me).

[yunalinwrites]

kids on christmas eve | gojo satoru x reader

available on wattpad

cover by me

summary: you learn about what happened with geto suguru and make him talk to you about it

about reader: gender neutral, relationship to gojo is unclear but they're close, on a first name basis + implied to be romantic

warnings: sad (if i did my job right), mild cursing, spoilers for jjk 0 + gojo's past/hidden inventory/star plasma vessel arc

notes: i know this is really out of season bc christmas has long passed but its for the plot lol as u prob know dec 24th is an important date

anyways i prob could've edited more but tbh i just wanted to post it already lmao hope its not cringe cuz i didn't shower to finish it (avg jjk degenerate) also im angry this was correctly formatted in google docs but tumblr ruined it and i cant b bothered to reread it under the new formatting so srry if theres smth wrong

"Gojo-sensei, that's not fair!"

Itadori had his bottom lip stuck out, his arms crossed tightly and his feet stomping against the snow.

"Yeah, come on!" Kugisaki agreed, mitten-clad hands full of the cold ammunition. "Turn it off, will you?"

You looked over to where Satoru stood. The snowballs that floated around him made it a little hard to see, but you could still tell his face was like it always was: smiling, the only deviation from its usual state being the pink on his pale nose. The rosy shade was just like his tongue when he stuck it out. 

"Come and make me," he taunted.

"Why, you little..." Kugisaki grumbled. "Okay, Itadori, Formation B!"

"Roger!" Itadori yelled back.

The pair performed a number of flashy poses--as if they were trying to imitate something they'd seen in a cartoon--and before you knew it, they were charging at Satoru from two sides, arms fully loaded and wound back with mounds of snow. But it seemed Satoru knew it before you, because he just tsked--didn't even bother catching the snowballs, just let them fall apart against his forcefield.

"Gojo-sensei!" the two groaned in unison.

"You're no fun!" Itadori complained.

"It's not supposed to be fun," Satoru countered with a playful shrug. "Just because it's a snow day doesn't mean you can stop training."

"But... but... But what about...!" Kugisaki sputtered, a vein popping out of her forehead as she struggled to come up with an argument. You could almost see the lightbulb pop up above her head as she pounded her fist in her palm. "But what about global warming?"

"Yeah!" Itadori followed, not thinking. "What about--Wait, what?" Scratching his head, he tilted his head at Kugisaki.

"It could totally be the last day it ever snows, you know," she claimed matter-of-factly, her hands on her hips. "And I would so hate you forever."

Itadori's mouth formed a silent "Oh!" as Kugisaki elaborated. Nodding his head in accord, he added on: "Yeah, Gojo-sensei. I don't think I could respect you after that."

Satoru put on a dramatic pout at that last sentence, but he soon returned to a smile and gave in with a sigh. "Alright, just this once."

You could see the two students loudly jumping for joy from behind him as he made his way towards where you were sitting. You smiled warmly at the sight.

"They really are something," you commented.

"Tell me about it," Fushiguro grumbled, leaning boredly against the wooden armrest of the park bench. He observed quietly as his friends built a snowman in the distance until Satoru's towering shadow prompted him to look up.

"Megumi!" Satoru called, his voice high-pitched and sing-song. "Go play with the others."

The boy scowled in response. "I'm too old for that stuff."

"You think you're old?" Satoru challenged. He pointed at his hair, at the white color it's always been. "What does that make me?" He hunched over and put his hand on his lower spine, feigning back pain. "C'mon, listen to your teacher. Let me sit next to Y/N."

Fushiguro squinted at him for a moment before finally getting up."Gross."

You chuckled, watching the boy begrudgingly drag his feet through the snow towards his classmates, but your laughter hitched as you felt something push against you. Turning to your right, you saw his lanky teacher. At first the sensation didn’t make sense, considering that there was a considerable amount of distance between the two of you, but you soon recalled his defense measures and the complaints they had garnered. 

Not noticing your discomfort, he stared up at the cloudy sky for a moment before turning to you. 

"Are you cold?" he asked.

You shook your head. "I should be asking you," you replied, referencing his lack of winter wear. "Why didn't you wear a coat?"

"Well, it would ruin my outfit, of course," he stated perkily. He wore a confident smirk on his face, but looking closer you could tell he was shivering beneath the thin fabric of his uniform.

Taking a deep breath in disapproval, you reached for your scarf. "Here," you offered, unraveling the knot you’d made earlier. But when you reached to wrap it around his neck, you felt the resistance of his invisible force.

His smile eased. "It's okay," he obliged, sniffling. "Thank you, though."

You hesitated before tying your scarf back around yourself, the garment's chunky knit giving it enough volume to nearly cover your mouth and even your ears, but you could still hear his teeth chatter. You searched your surroundings, looking past the dead snow-adorned trees and following the wet pavement until you spotted something in the distance: a cafe, just down the street from where you were.

"I'll get you some hot chocolate," you decided, standing up and brushing the snowflakes off your coat.

"You don't--"

"Shh!" You pointed your finger threateningly at him before turning around to begin your walk. "Somehow you've bent logic so far that you'll end up sick if you don't drink it. So just take this as an excuse to have more sweets, alright?"

You were just about to make your first step away from the bench, but then you felt a firm grip wrap around your arm. "Wait, Y/N--"

Before he could finish his protest, he was cut off by a particularly firmly packed snowball striking him right in the middle of his face, highlighting his nose with the sparkling white powder and dislodging his blindfold. With his cerulean eyes now exposed, he turned his head and saw the three of them: Itadori pointing and cackling on the left, Kugisaki doing the same keeled over in the middle, and even Fushiguro, on the right, had the ends of his mouth perked up as he shook his head hopelessly.

You saw Satoru grin at the picture, but it was contradictory to what you were feeling. He had let go of your arm, but not by relaxing his hand--you felt him, as if brick by brick, build that invisible wall right back up between you, seemingly stronger than ever. You could still feel it, even as he walked away towards the trio, tying his blindfold back on. Sighing, you sat back down and watched him make snow angels with the others, his head blending right in with the scene as he drowned himself in the blinding whiteness. With his blindfold now fully on, you could only imagine what it was like when he smiled with his eyes.

***

"I can't feel my toes."

Twirling her brown hair between her fingers, Shoko spun around in her chair to face the doorway.

She darted her eyes between you and Satoru for a second before a calm, amused expression painted her face. Despite knowing it was his voice she heard--though it was more nasal than usual--she directed her question at you: "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I told him to wear thicker socks!" you exclaimed, your arms crossed in frustration. "But look! Show her."

Rolling his eyes behind his blindfold, Satoru pulled the fabric on his thighs, lifting the hems of his pants so that they revealed his ankles. They were barely covered by the cheap red and green striped polyester; it was the kind of thing you'd spot on sale in packs at the checkouts during Christmas season.

“So I forgot… Big deal!”

“I could fill a library with all the things you forgot,’” you complained. “I mean, what are you, a fish?”

Unfazed, Shoko chuckled. "You're telling me the strongest--the one powerful enough to rival the King of Curses--was defeated by a case of frostbite?"

The both of you responded simultaneously: "Exactly." "No!"

"I was not defeated," he insisted, earning a glare from you. "Barely a scratch. She's just being dramatic."

"I am not--"

"Is there a reason you can't heal yourself?" Shoko interrupted, now turned to Satoru.

He pointed his thumb in your direction accusingly. "She wanted to come here, not me."

"Wait," you interjected. "You can heal yourself?”

“Of course, duh.”

“Since when?"

"High school," he answered dismissively, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "See, look!"

He pointed down to his shoes--through the leather of his dress boots, you could see the movement of his wriggling toes. 

You held your hands up to hide his feet from your sight. “Ew, stop that--" you grimaced. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, smirking smugly. "My talent should go without saying."

You sighed. “Your talent to bewilder me?”

"You know it,” he asserted proudly. "But anyways–Can I go now?"

Before you could even answer, you could sense him already moving in your peripheral vision.

"Satoru, wait--"

"If you don't believe I'm fine, I'll show you my toes," he threatened, halfway out the door.

"Satoru--!"

"Go on, catch me if you can!"

You listened, trying to grab onto him but, once again, his Infinity blocked you, making you stumble into Shoko's arms as it pushed you backwards. By the time you regained your balance and rushed into the hallway, his long strides and newly healed feet had already carried him beyond your sight.

You sighed and re-entered the room, brushing yourself off. "Do you have anything for a cold?" you asked.

"I should," Shoko replied, opening up one of her medicine cabinets. "Why, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, no, it's for him," you explained. "He's had a runny nose all week. I told him not to go out in the snow with the kids, but... You know how he is."

She hummed in acknowledgement with an understated smile, picking out a bottle of Acetaminophen capsules. Making her way over to you, she held up the container.

"I have these," she told you, but she didn't hand them to you; she just kept holding it up as she continued, "but, in my professional opinion, I don't think he has a cold."

"What do you mean?" you asked, your brow raised.

"Y/N, do you know what tomorrow is?"

"It's... the 24th."

"Mhm."

"So... Christmas Eve?"

She looked down at the floor, placing the bottle on a nearby counter and leaning back against it, getting comfortable. She stayed quiet for a moment, biting her lip in deep thought as she continued to stare at the floor with her arms crossed. But then, finally, she sighed, and reached into her coat pocket for a cigarette.

"Would you like one?" she offered, flicking the lighter at the end of the stick

"Um... No thank you..."

"Have a seat." She gestured to the metal seat against the wall.

Still thoroughly confused, you did as you were told. You felt as if your parents were about to have a stern "talk" with you--as if you had broken a vase or--arguably worse--it was time for you to understand the birds and the bees. That thought, along with the cold steel beneath you, sent chills up your body.

In an attempt to quell your anxiety, you beat her to the punch and spoke up: "You went to high school together, didn't you?"

She blew out a lengthy tangle of smoke strings. "That's right," she answered.

You shifted in your seat. "Has he always been... like this?"

"No,” she chuckled, bringing the cigarette back to her lips. "He used to wear glasses."

Your eyebrows shot up as you leaned forward in shock. "Seriously?"

She reached into her coat pocket again, this time producing a small print of a photo. 

You took the glossy sheet from her hands and studied it, your mouth agape. Sure enough, there he was, on Shoko's right, smiling widely with his hair down and a pair of round sunglasses, both of them holding up peace signs. But, while Shoko's arm was clearly holding up the camera for the selfie, one of Satoru’s arms appeared to be wrapped around the shoulders of a black-haired man you didn't recognize.

Your brows furrowed at the sight. "Who's the one on the left?"

The scent of the nicotine got stronger as she took her time to ponder her answer, staring blankly into the back of the photo beneath your thumbs.

"That's Geto Suguru,” she finally told you.

You scanned his portrait meticulously. The man wore a grumpy expression with dark bags under his eyes and, contrary to the cheerful pose of the other two, he was flipping off the camera.

“Was he an upperclassman?” you asked.

She shook her head. “He was our classmate.” She gestured towards the photo with her cigarette. “We were all second-years there.”

“No way…” Holding the photo closer, you could have sworn you saw the outline of ear gauges behind Shoko’s head. “He looks so much older.”

You returned the photo to her and she slipped it back in her pocket, not taking even a glance at it as she did. She just spoke plainly: “He’s Satoru’s best friend.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Really? I wonder why I haven’t heard of him, then."

She took another puff, turning her face away from you as she let it out. “Tomorrow is his death anniversary.”

Your eyes widened before falling to the floor. “Oh… I see…”

You fell into a solemn trance, not knowing what you should or shouldn’t say and, consequently, opting to stay quiet out of respect. But, suddenly, you were interrupted by the sound of light laughter. 

“Even if he were still with us, I doubt you would’ve been able to tell. They bickered so much you’d think they hated each other.”

She walked around to the other side of the counter, leaning forward on it as she rested her hand on her palm.

“Who could get to class faster… Who could shoot more hoops in a minute… Who could make a bigger crater in the courtyard…”

You tried to imagine the pair wreaking havoc on an older version of the Jujutsu Tech Campus, but while it was easy to fit Satoru’s cheeky grin into all of these scenarios, it was hard to see such a mature-looking person as Geto doing these childish things.

“Ah, but you know, Y/N,” she started, looking up at you with a smile. “I think you would have been able to tell that Suguru was actually younger.”

“What?” you gasped, surprised at both the fact that he was younger and that Shoko thought that would be clear to you. “There’s no way…”

“Well, for starters, Suguru is shorter, if you put them side-by-side,” she argued. “And… Hm…”

She stopped to contemplate how to put together her next sentence–or if she should even do so at all. But in the end, she brought her cigarette back to her lips and exhaled: “I think you would have agreed with me that he’s the more immature one.”

Your brows furrowed as you scoffed in disbelief. “That's impossible… Satoru could be ten-feet tall and not a single thing on this planet could make him seem more mature than another person.”

She chuckled, though you could sense a sadness behind the sound, and you realized that your comment might’ve come off as insensitive. Clearing your throat, awkwardly, you granted her the floor: “What makes you say that?”

She took another inhale and sighed out a long cloud. Looking out the window of her office, she saw the faint glow of the multicolored lights that decorated it on the outside. She took in the sight for a quiet moment before sinking into her swivel chair, puffing once more.

“I still don’t know much about his childhood,” she began. “I never asked, and I never got to meet his parents. But I can tell you for certain that Suguru was the sort of kid who threw a tantrum when he didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas.

“I’m sure he had wishlists a mile long, but he wouldn’t be the kind to write even a single letter about it to Santa. Of course, that’d make it difficult for his family, and maybe they could've tried harder to figure it out–but he just wouldn't understand why what he wanted wasn't obvious to everyone.

“I can imagine one day someone told him the truth about Santa, and he was probably absolutely devastated. But, to him, it wouldn't be about the presents. It would be about the people around him: his mom, his dad, his teachers, his neighbors, everyone–the people who had been deceiving him his whole life.

“I don't think he ever forgave anyone for that, all the way up until he found himself as a seventeen-year-old at Jujutsu High.”

The air became thick–suffocatingly so–and your spine no longer fit right against the back of the bench.

“What exactly… did he do?” 

She rolled her chair towards her desk and put out her cigarette, pushing and twisting it into the ashtray by her desk calendar.

“In a single night, he killed one hundred and twelve civilians–non-sorcerers–including his parents. He wanted to create a world where only sorcerers exist.”

“O-oh my God…” Your hand rose up to cover your gaping mouth. “Wh.. Why?!”

“By killing non-sorcerers, you stop curses from the source.”

“But you can't just–” You cut yourself off, thousands of words rushing and racing to your mouth. “Didn't anyone try to stop him?”

“Maybe Satoru could've. If Suguru decided to tell him, that is.”

Your face was wound up in concern. “That's horrible…”

“I know, right?” she casually agreed.  “To want to be understood, but never willing to understand… Isn't it childish?” She even laughed. “Though, I suppose he was just a kid.”

“Just a kid?!” You stuck your head out in disbelief. “No, no… Satoru is childish. But that–that’s… inhumane!

You pointed to the door. “Satoru was a kid.”

You pointed to her. “You were a kid.”

Lowering your hand, you scrunched the hem of your shirt. “I might not have known you then, but I know you never would have done that.”

“To be fair, I'm not the strongest,” she defended plainly. “I'm just a doctor.”

The crease between your eyebrows deepened as you threw your arms up. “Okay–then Satoru! Satoru would never do something like that! And he… he's still a kid!”

“Satoru killed his best friend–his one and only.” She clasped her hands together on her desk. “A kid wouldn't do that, would they?”

You froze at the edge of your seat, blinking rapidly as you pieced together the puzzle.

“He… killed…?” you trailed off.

Shoko stared grimly at her hands as she tightened her grip on herself. “A kid wouldn’t have understood.”

You bore your eyes into her, waiting, begging for her to continue, to elaborate, to make it make sense, but she just stayed quiet, kept to herself.

You directed your eyes to the freshly polished floor tiles. As you stared into the blurry reflection of yourself, you tried imagining it again: Satoru, tall and white haired, and this kid grumpy little kid he called Suguru, wreaking havoc on the old campus of Jujutsu High: walking to class together, dribbling a basketball between each other, meeting up in the courtyard with one another.

 “That…” you began hesitantly. “That still doesn't excuse what happened.”

Shoko looked up at you, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, and though she wasn’t as contented as she had been before your conversation, her expression was no longer grave; she seemed satisfied. Slowly, she put her palms on her desk and pushed herself up from her seat.

“To answer your question from earlier–properly,” she started, making her way over to you. “I think that Satoru has always been that way–the way Gojo Satoru has to be.”

“But if there were ever a time that he weren’t,” she interjected, sliding her hand into her coat pocket.

“It would have been thanks to him.”

***

Your footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, stopping every once in a while to slide open one of the stiff doors only to struggle to shut it a moment later. You increased the reach of your steps, and the thump of your shoes against the wood planks competed with the hooting owl perched on the snow covered roof.

Suddenly, you heard a new noise: a honking, like that of a goose, coming from the end of the hall and slightly to the left. Now picking up to a jog, you made a beeline for the door and jerked it open.

“Well, if it isn’t my long-awaited Christmas present!” he exclaimed. “Looks like Santa’s early this year.”

He rested against the corner of one of the student’s desks, already facing you with his hands in his pocket. From behind him, you could just barely see the white crumpled-up balls of tissue that scattered the surface.

“I guess some people do gifts on Christmas Eve though, right?” he considered, putting a finger to his chin. “But, ah… choosing gifts is so hard. I need all the time I can get.”

He didn’t acknowledge your entrance at all; his Six Eyes had seen it coming miles away, allowing him enough time to get into position to pick up wherever you’d last left off. You didn’t acknowledge him either, keeping a stone face as you stepped into the room.

“What’s with the face, hm? Did you not like your presents?”

“Satoru,” you said sternly.

“Did you ask Santa for anything this year?” he went on, continuing to pay you no mind.

You sighed. You couldn’t help but let the ends of your lips pick up, but you kept your eyes down at the dirtied pattern of the floor.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” you admit.

“What? Why not?” he questioned astonishedly, forming a pout. “Does that mean you didn’t get me a present?”

You shook your head lightly, making your way over to him. “I’ve always thought it was sort of weird. To celebrate the birth of a martyr.”

“Hm,” he sounded. “Well that’s no fun.”

Planting his hands on the surface, he hoisted himself up onto his desk. “Santa probably wouldn’t give anything other than coal to a non-believer,” he noted. “But since I’m so nice, I’ll get you something. Just tell me–what is it that you want for Christmas?”

His smile stayed in place as you darted your pupils around his visage, your own face beginning to fall. You took slow steps towards the desk next to him, getting as close as you could before you felt his Infinity push back

“Satoru, can you do me a favor?” you requested gently.

“Depends on what the favor is,” he chirped back.

Reaching your hand out, you traced your forefinger on the edge of the invisible barrier before applying pressure into it, testing the shield’s strength. You pushed with all your might, but all it did was whiten your finger tip and make your knuckles concave.

You retracted, looking back into his eyes. “Can you take it down?”

You could see the movement of his eyebrows raising beneath his blindfold. “You tryna kill me?”

Again, you shook your head, still solemn. 

He crossed his arms and squinted at you, biting his cheek. Leaning back, he put his weight onto his hands behind him, loosely grabbing the edge of his desk, his expression becoming relaxed. “Alright. Here you go.”

You took another small step into the newfound space until you were only inches apart. Slowly, you extended both your hands towards his face, but then suddenly reeled them back into a hesitant fist in disbelief, the lack of resistance uncomfortably foreign.

You inhaled deeply through your nose and exhaled the air shakily through your mouth, trying hard to slow the rapid beating in your chest. Ignoring the smirk on his face, you tried to reach out to him, one final time.

Letting your arms wrap around his head, your hands searched his silky hair for the knot that held up his eye covering. When you finally felt the bump, you took your time digging your nails into where the fabric held onto itself, carefully pulling apart its loops.

As the blindfold fell to his neckline, his signature grin stayed plastered on his face, but just about every other feature of his seemed to change completely when the white wisps came down to frame them. His azure eyes, for example, glimmered under the faint moonlight coming through the window, but not in the way that they usually did. They were shining like lacquer, but it was as if, from underneath that, their batteries had been taken out. In their dullness, you could see the reflection of the long white lashes resting on the eyelids above, forming sharp, unnatural shapes as they clumped together unevenly. Pink waterlines painted the bottom of his irises, and a faint red was seemingly airbrushed around the surrounding puffy skin.

You trailed your hands down the back of his head until they cupped his jawline, holding his face as you explored its entirety. Moving from his eyes to his flushed, leaking nose, his smirk grew when your gaze landed on his lips.

“Are you sure you want to use your gift on this?” he teased. “Kind of a waste, in my opinion–you could’ve just found a mistletoe.”

“Satoru.”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to stop smiling.”

For a moment, he listened to you: his mouth fell open, but then it fell back into its previous position as he flashed his teeth at you. “My bad. I didn’t mean to blind you.”

“Please?”

He kept still while your thumb gently stroked his powder-smooth cheek. He jolted slightly as his lungs forced out a nervous chuckle, but he trailed off as your touch continued on him. Realizing your relentlessness, he sucked in his lips and clamped them together with his teeth as if he was trying to stop any further laughter.

He stayed like this for a moment, waiting for you to let go, but your tender movements showed no signs of stopping–you only slowed down when your eyes flitted up to meet his. He tried his best to return your stare, but eventually, he accepted defeat in the contest. And so, little by little, he let his lips roll out and the muscles to dispose into a resting state.

His voice became low, a near whisper. “Is… everything okay?”

Finally removing your hands from him, you nodded. Returning them to yourself, you glided one into the back pocket of your pants.

Taking a step back, you held up the sheet of glossy photo paper side-by-side with his face. You could name a number of differences: the neckline of the teacher’s uniform was looser and higher, his bangs now were longer and a bit thicker, and, of course, he wasn’t wearing glasses, and he wasn’t smiling. But, somehow, now more than ever, you could see the resemblance.

“What have you got there?”

Moving towards him again, you handed him the photo. It felt strange, witnessing the rare sight of his pupils’ every rapid move. And in addition to that, ever so slightly, you could see his swollen under eyes rise as the softest of smiles pushed up his cheeks. It was nothing like the sickeningly-sweet beamings you were used to seeing from him, though; it was subdued, raw like the cacao in dark chocolate, undiluted by sugar or milk.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, incredulous.

“Like you said, Santa came early,” you joked mildly.

“No, really,” he persisted, his tone reaching a bass you’d never heard from him before. “Where did you get this?”

You sat yourself on the desk next to him. “Shoko,” you admitted.

“What did she tell you?”

Your shrug was subtle.  “As much as she could.”

He continued to scrutinize the photo in his hands, his brows drawing together.

“Satoru,” you proceeded, hushed. “If it’s okay… I’d like it if you told me about it.”

He lowered the photo so that it no longer obstructed his view of you, but he didn’t take advantage of the space he gave himself; he kept staring at the photo as he spoke: “There’s not much to tell about. I was the strongest then and I’m the strongest now.”

You rested your hands on your lap and exhaled deeply. “That’s not what I mean,” you contested. 

It was as if he couldn’t hear you, continuing to stare vapidly into the photo as if somehow your sentence didn’t make it to his ears. But that was impossible; you’d said what you said, and the room was dead silent.

“I… I want you to tell me about him,” you clarified.

He shifted in his seat, finally looking away from the photo and up at you. “You mean… Geto Suguru?” he asked, as if there were any other ‘him’ in that photo. 

“Well… he’s the worst of all curse users,” he offered. He then shoved the photo back in your direction, a sudden grin straining itself on his face. “But it’s okay. He’s gone now.”

Ignoring his move, you asked, “Is it really okay?”

“I made sure of it,” he affirmed, impatiently nudging the paper at you.

He resumed his usual playful lilt. “Are you doubting me?” he tested.

“I don’t doubt you for a second–not in that sense. You’ve always been strong,” you reassured him. “But that’s exactly why I doubt you know how to be weak.”

He scoffed. “You think Gojo Satoru would know how to be weak?”

“No, I don’t. That’s my whole point,” you upheld firmly.

He folded his arms across his chest, his mocking tone sharpening: “Why would anyone want to know how to be weak?”

“Because even Gojo Satoru needs to realize he can’t just smile and laugh all the time,” you challenged, feeling heat rise up your neck.

His eyes darkened, seemingly into a navy blue, and his inflection further condescended: “There are a lot of things you don’t understand.”

“Satoru, how on earth am I supposed to understand?!” 

As your tone cut through, just as abruptly you pushed the desk behind you and dropped heavily to your feet.

“You’re right, I don't understand you,” you confessed frustratedly, pointing to yourself. “I don’t understand you at all. Because how could I possibly understand you? I can’t see your eyes, I can’t even get near you, and I’ve never seen you not smile.”

Your voice made gaps as your vocal cords threatened sobs. “And sure, I call you by your first name, and I laugh and I smile at all your dumb jokes and… and the idiotic games you play…

“But it’s–it’s… scary, Satoru. Creepy, even. How you know just about everything there is to know about me and yet… It's like I don’t even know who you are. You’re just a toy in the corner, watching everyone come in and out of the room, but I can never make you say or be or feel anything.”

“Feelings are what made him into who he was,” he stated coldly, his eyes fixed on the grimy floor. “It’s important for sorcerers to have a hold on their emotions.”

“So you know what happens, then,” you argued firmly, your shoes coming into his view as you stepped closer. “You know what it’s like to be shut out from them.”

You pushed his chin up, forcing him to witness the way you were holding on desperately to the tears that bordered your lower waterline.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Do you always get Sprite?” he’d asked, looking down as his friend retrieved his drink from the bottom of the machine.

“I mean… yeah, I guess,” Suguru replied plainly. “Why?”

A pit formed in his stomach as he heard the crack of the can opening.

“Shit. I’ve been getting you Coke this whole time,” he’d mumbled. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Suguru shrugged, beginning to head in the direction of the classroom. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Dude, are you good?”

Suguru jolted awake, sitting up from the plush back of the couch and nearly spilling the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“Do you wanna watch something else?” he’d suggested, but Suguru just shook his head.

“I thought you liked Digimon,” Suguru objected.

“Well yeah, but…”

The only lighting came from the flashing screen, but it was enough for him to see his friend yawn, making his eyes water, dark bags underneath them.

“You can turn it up if you want,” was all Suguru had to say, but even after doing what Suguru said, he couldn’t focus on his favorite TV show.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything,” he started, reaching into his bag. “But here.”

“What’s this?” Suguru questioned.

“Your Christmas present, duh.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve,” Suguru pointed out. “And I told you–”

“I know! But just open it.”

He watched as Suguru lifted the lid of the small gray box, revealing a small pair of white gauges.

“I didn’t really know what size to get… But I think they’d look cool on you.”

“Thanks, Satoru.”

He lit up, thinking that he’d finally done something right by his friend, but the way that Suguru looked up at him, the way Suguru smiled insincerely, told him he should’ve waited for Christmas Day.

The tears were warm as they rolled down his face, past his trembling lip and blooming into the blindfold that rested loosely around his neck.

“I just don't understand why he didn’t talk to me.”

You pulled him into a hug, carding your fingers in his hair as you rested his head on your shoulder.

“He thought I hated him,” he told you shakily, finding himself clutching onto your shirt. “I didn’t see him for ten years and… and that whole time he thought I hated him.”

He inhaled a sharp sniffle. “I… I don’t hate him,” he whimpered, his pitch jumping and his body beginning to tremble. “I don’t hate him, Y/N, I don’t, I don’t, I never, ever did.”

“I know,” you whispered, stroking his hair, holding him tighter as he jerked with sobs.

He placed his head on your shoulder, staring at the blindfold that had unraveled itself and fallen between you. “I hate myself.”

You pulled back, cupping his jawline and holding it in front of you.

“Don’t say that…”

“But he was my best friend, Y/N,” he insisted, gripping desperately onto your shoulders. “I saw him every single day… every single day, all of that was running through his head and I… I didn’t even know… I just watched and… and I made him think I hated him. I was supposed to be his best friend.”

“You did everything you could, Satoru.”

“It was all my fault.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did it happen?” he whined. “It had to have been for a reason–It can't just hurt and be for no reason. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s not,” you told him, shaking your head gently and looking deeply into his eyes. “It’s not fair at all.”

Indicating the breaking of a dam, a deafening, siren-like wail pierced the air. His face was red and scrunched up, his nose was dripping with snot, and his hands were coming up to swipe desperately at the tears on his cheeks.

You pulled him close to you again as he kept hiccuping and sniffling into the crook of your neck. His loud weeping wet your shirt with both the fluids from his eyes and nose, but you didn’t care; you just rubbed his back, caressing him tenderly.

His voice was suddenly clearer as he took deep breaths to try and recuperate himself: “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Why are you sorry?” you asked, stiffening your hold on him.

“I just… I don’t know. I hate crying. I’m not a kid anymore, you know?” he tried laughing.

“Satoru,” you whispered delicately, turning your head so your words rested right by his ear. “You were never a kid.”

Gently, you pressed his head into you, stopping him from moving his lips in any way. “I want you to be one right now.”

You let him stay in your arms for a while until his tears subsided and his breathing steadied. You had moved to the floor at some point, allowing him to comfortably lean on you as you embraced him, his previous quivering replaced now by the calm rhythm of his rising and falling figure.

He hadn’t talked in a while, so you assumed he’d fallen asleep, but then, among his mellow breathing, a mumble came up right by your ear:

“Thank you,” he’d said.

Hugging him tighter, you patted him on the back softly. “Of course.”

As one hand traveled to intertwine its fingers in his hair, you reached for your phone with your other one.

You pressed the power button on its side, and flinched backward, squinting at the brightness your phone screen emitted. Despite your sudden movement, Satoru didn’t show any sort of reaction; he’d fallen asleep, for sure now.

You continued to comb through his white locks, a little more consciously now, as you made note of the time and date your phone’s clock displayed, changing right before your eyes:

December 25th, 00:00

You smiled, dragging your coat up to cover the both of you as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, Satoru.”

***

might do a toji x megumi's teacher reader if u wanna follow

[imaginative-123]

This might be my Last Post regarding Vivziepop

I'm just going to say this as a longtime fan since 2019 I was extremely disappointed, before all of this I started following her since 2019 and watched Hazbin Hotel and I thought it was good alongside Helluva Boss which I rewatched in the past of my Youtube Downloads bec the PLDT internet during the Coronavirus that started in 2020 was not great. I used to listen to her different music genres of her speedraws while I'm drawing and I also watch her speedraws and was amazed by the process on how her artworks was made. I even made a fanart about her for my college project

This is my fav Die Young music video that I made fanart for

Artwork I Made for Technicals in History of Graphics Subject in First Year College for my favorite artist and animator Vivziepop.

Although despite Vivziepop's success as an Indie animator and for running Spindlehorse, I cannot deny she's a very controversial person to any video or tweets about her is always related to her past controversies, while I do see that there are unfair accusations thrown against her I still wish she addressed her other controversial stuff that she didn't addressed whether she's aware of what she did or not and I'm not going to mention any names bec I do not want to be involve deeper in the drama bec I've seen there are other tumblr and twitter posts calling her out, not to mention the fanbase is divided with diehard fans, neutral fans, haters, stalkers and critical fans. Also the reason why I'm really dissapointed with her bec any controversy that is meant to call out her attention she blocks people on Twitter whether the person is criticizing her show and her actions and not to mention she started becoming unprofessional lately. I can understand if blocking is meant to avoid harassment, if that's the case, but when it comes to criticism she was acting unprofessional and not to mention not addressing in a professional manner can make people go unprofessional against the creator, if I'm being honest she needs a PR Manager or Assistant to guide her. At the end I'm disappointed, I expected better from her, being a longtime fan since 2019 deeply hurts me, for me this might be my last post including the tumblr fanart works I liked related to the show. I just hope she won't get the worst Cancellation that might make her leave the internet and cancel Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss and her other projects, bec that is the worst thing to happen and I wish she needs to step up her game and try to improve her behavior including the writing of her shows. Only time will tell until she realizes this, and I don't follow Viviziepop or Ayy Lmao anymore, and I'm all for valid criticisms for Vivziepop just as long as the people were not harassing her or sending death threats and also making false accusations against her and just because you may not like her as a person does not give it a free pass to make up false accusations and lies against her and is not acceptable, the fandom should do better. Until then, goodbye Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss fandom, I used to be a fan of the show but I cannot support Vivziepop anymore, and it's time for me to leave.

BTW the art that I made for college will not be removed despite my mixed feelings about Vivziepop it would be a shame for me to delete it with all the hardwork I made it. So it will not be deleted from my Deviantart and my tumblr post including my other Hazbin Hotel redesign edits and Beelzebub redesign edits in my Deviantart account if you guys also want to check out my work there.

If Charlie Morningstar the Princess of Hell will redeem sinners by making Hazbin Hotel a place to rehabilitate sinners and make them become better people, then I hope Vivienne Medrano who uses her creativity through her artworks and being an indie animator to inspire her fans and artists like me, but she needs to grow up and become a better person.

[iwriteasfotini]

Hogwarts Rosekiller I of VI

NSFW

Rosekiller wasn't supposed to be part of Our Love is Written in the Stars. I didn't even know the ship existed until I joined tumblr. But now I do, and sorry but you can't unlearn that shit! Now they have an interlude in Book 6 and I'm planning installments from both their POV's during Marauders year 7, which is Evan's first year out of Hogwarts and Barty's year 6.

The Book 6 interlude is not really plot relevant. So... I'm sharing *most* of it! FYI It hasn't been through my full editing process.

Part I of VII - Rating Explicit (543 words) Barty's POV

Warnings: lots of f*bombs and underage

...

Salazar how he hated these detentions. Barty sat at the desk as far away from his babysitters as possible, resisting the urge to fall asleep. Today it was the Gryffindor mudblood and some Hufflepuff bird. Or maybe they wouldn’t care if he napped through. At least Slytherin had won the match yesterday. Beating Gryffindor during Evan’s last year had been extremely rewarding. Especially since Barty knew it was McKinnon and Meadowes’ last year as well. McKinnon had looked ready to murder. 

Even with the victory to reminisce, he was annoyed to be in detention. He was annoyed at Regulus, who still thought Barty wouldn’t notice his shifty behavior. He was annoyed with the administration who had forced him to take all five electives which meant his workload this year was astronomical. Good thing he had a photographic memory. And no one said he had to excel in his lessons, merely pass. 

At least he had the afternoon free, Evan having canceled their practice session in light of the victory, giving everyone time to rest and recuperate from the massive party the night before. Although Barty always found bashing bludgers around to be very soothing, that and blow jobs. And Evan was extremely generous where blow jobs were concerned. 

Barty tugged at his lip rings with his teeth. He wanted Evan to get one, but Evan laughed and said they’d get tangled up together while snogging, and did he want to go around like two fish caught on a single hook?

“The rings are solid you prat,” scoffed Barty. “There is nothing to hook.”

Evan shrugged. “They look best on you anyhow.”

At this point Barty was pretty sure half the house knew they were together, even though they kept their intimate relationship completely private. But you’d have to be really thick to not notice all those people who spent time in private… together. It was one of the reasons Regulus annoyed him to no end. Because he continued to uphold the veneer that he wasn’t seeing anyone to Barty. Barty was many things, but an idiot was not one of them. 

And he’d be lying if he said the fact he’d still fuck Regulus, if given the chance, wasn’t one of the reasons he’d let Regulus continue on with his little ruse all these years. Because yes, they were now years into this behavior. Barty reasoned Regulus must be either extremely ashamed of whoever he was seeing, not likely because guilt wasn’t an emotion he felt Regulus was familiar with, or whoever it was was on the off-limits list. This was far more likely. Of course Regulus would fall for some dweeb blood traitor. He was more like his brother than he admitted. 

And yet, Barty let him have his fun. Because Barty was happy, and knowing someone else could make the impossible work somehow gave him faith that his impossible would work out as well. At the end of the day, it wasn’t his business who Regulus sucked off. All Barty needed to know was that Regulus was capable of lying, well enough for most people to not question his actions. 

Barty was also capable of lying. His whole life was one big fucking lie. Self-preservation had that effect on a person.

...

Continue to Part II

This is part of my very epic story Our Love is Written in the Stars which you can find more about in my pinned post.

[spotofmummery]

OOC: State of Mummery 2023

On the eve of Amon’s Nameday (tomorrow), I just wanted to take a moment to talk about Spot of Mummery, my creative endeavors (rather the lack of), a bit about what’s happening IRL, and what I’d like to do more of in 2024.

Feel free to take a peek into my life if you wish, below the cut. Your suggestions are always welcome!

I want to start this with a disclaimer – I’m going to talk about difficult things that I don’t normally address here, but I am doing okay. I’ve learned how to work through many difficulties the last couple of years, and this is not a post of lament.

Some might know that I lost my father unexpectedly right before Christmas last year.

Most don’t know that for the last couple of years (and right now currently), I’m also dealing with unexplained chest pain on and off through the year. My heart was checked this past year, and that was all fine. It’s undiagnosed, but I’m thinking (and the cardiologist also thinks) it’s a form of inflammation. The pain I can deal with, the worry about “what is this?” is a bit more troublesome.

All this is to say, I haven’t been very creative in 2023.

During NaNoWriMo of 2022, I finally wrote Amon’s triumphant return to Syrcus Tower in the First, as I’ve wanted to for years. But then, my Dad passed, and it took months for me to finish editing and posting all that writing. I did finally get it done, but my focus was other places, obviously.

In 2023, I haven’t written a word for Amon’s story outside of the Choose Amon’s Adventures (which I’d like to get started up again, maybe) and his silly adventures on Island Sanctuary (which I need to complete with the newest content for the last patch).

My RP interactions here have been little to none. My energy for attending in game events has been low.

I did organize my own event around the NA fanfest, and that went great, actually! Thanks to all who attended!

But aside from that, Lunarcon, and a few small art parties, I’ve kept to myself a lot this year. In fact, my game time in FFXIV is probably an all-time low – and that’s not because I’ve fallen out of love with the game.

On a positive note, the whole fiasco at Twitter/X brought me back to this Tumblr account full-time. I was already moving this direction, but now I’m here primarily. I do have a Pillowfort and a Blue Sky account for Amon, but Tumblr is my main gig.

I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with all this, other than to just note that my creativity and interaction has not been up to snuff this year. I’d love to say something like, “My resolution for next year is to knock it out of the park!” – but the reality is, I’m not sure what I can commit to just yet.

I think what I'd like most of all to start by getting back into enjoying time spent in game with Amon again, for one. Not that I dislike time spent with Amon, just that I recognize that it’s not got that spark that once motivated me (probably user error).

To be fair, though, I haven’t been spending a lot of time with any of my characters in game like I used to. So, it’s not just Amon.

If you’ve gone through a time where you needed to reconnect with your OCs, let me know how that turned out and what you did. I’m open to suggestions!

And if you’ve read all the way here to the end, thanks for listening. You are appreciated, friend! <3

[harrietwritesstuff]

Could you repost the winter fic with Vova and Andriy? 🥺 It was so lovely!

Hello lovely anon - I'm sorry it vanished. Tumblr has taken to eating my posts occasionally which is unhelpful.

It's just below the cut. I hope you like it.

(Tagging @the-jam-to-the-unicorn also as you mentioned it earlier x)

Andriy knows just how little Volodymyr sleeps - knows how often he is the last person in Bankova to turn out the light in his office, the first one awake even before the custodian staff. It comes as no surprise then, that as the nights draw in quicker, colder, winter clawing at the door - there is no change in the routine that his President keeps - to bed long after the sun has set, and up long before it rises too. He knows too, how few moments of rest he gets - the scarce seconds of time he has for himself, always throwing his energy headlong into the next meeting or conference, telephone call or conversation, writing reports, editing speeches - it never quite seems to stop; Andriy alongside him, quietly keeping up as they hurtle through it all together. There seems to be so little time for anything outside their fight.

Of course, Volodymyr would say that it is to be expected - that they are at war; they are here to serve their country and her people - not to waste time, resources or effort on anything not wholeheartedly co-ordinated for Ukraine and her needs; defence, liberation, victory.

One evening, the two of them are sitting in the Bankova canteen. It's mostly empty save for one employee wiping down the counter, glancing at the two of them intermittently, clearly wondering if it would be rude of her to ask the President and the Head of the President’s Office to leave. He disregards her for the moment though, gaze lingering on Volodymyr's bowed head as he stirs his coffee. It's a rare half an hour of peace away from their respective offices, their endless work, hands curved around cups of coffee - for once, not necessarily talking or planning or any of it. It's an opportunity for a shred of quiet.

They sit companionably for long enough that Andriy begins to wonder if this is the longest break Volodymyr has allowed himself since the beginning of all this. Something feels off, and eventually, Andriy puts his finger on it - the silence. Their colleagues have all long since gone home, or back to wherever they currently reside; there's no whine of the air raid sirens and resulting scramble to the shelter, deep in the depths of Bankova. Even Vova's gravelly tone is stilled, attention taken up by his coffee, sipping at it intermittently in the low light. His dark eyes flicker up, as though sensing he is being observed. He meets Andriy's gaze, his expression lightening, not quite tipping into a smile, a sense of inquiry about him, one eyebrow raised.

For a while, Andriy is still quiet, briefly taken in as he scans Vova's face, mapping out the changes he sees that settle somewhere in his own chest with a distinct sharp hurt - the dark circles beneath his eyes that seem to deepen with each passing day - bruised looking now, the dull light within him like a flickering flame, buffeted by the wind. He looks tired, even as he swallows another mouthful of coffee, looks at his phone and shifts in his seat, ill-hiding a wince that Andriy knows comes from the ache in his back.

“Did you see the physiotherapist? There was time for it set aside in your schedule.”

“You sound like Lena.”

“Don't avoid the question.”

Vova smiles faintly and does just that, sipping at his coffee, gaze flickering around the empty canteen. He briefly catches the eye of the young employee and offers an apologetic little murmur for their lingering presence at such a late hour, but still makes little movement toward leaving. Andriy hardly dares shatter the moment by suggesting they head back up to their offices to sleep; it's a strange kind of peace for both of them in the silence and he is keen to preserve it for as long as possible. In the end, it is Vova who breaks the quiet.

“Winter's here, it snowed today.”

Vova's voice is soft, concerned - it needles at Andriy's heart as he watches his friend's features suddenly full of disquiet, worrying at the already raw skin at the side of his thumbnail until Andriy is sure it's about to bleed. Vova’s thoughts are so clearly and suddenly taken up by the realities of the front line as the year hurries to a close; of frost and snow and ice - of things he cannot control - almost as if he feels something like guilt for allowing himself a few minutes away from it all.

“It did snow, yes.” Andriy's voice is very carefully neutral as he looks at Vova, fights the urge to reach out and press his palm gently down over the other man's shaking hand, to stop the insistent, anxious way that Vova digs his nail into the side of his thumb.

“I need to go and–” he gets to his feet so quickly that the movement shoves his chair back with a wince-inducing scrape of metal over the tiled floor. His words are faint, hurried even, the gears in his head churning overtime, fixated suddenly on his work once more, the carefully cultivated peace shattered so very suddenly that Andriy could scream.

“Just.. stop. Just for a minute. Please. Volody– Vova. Just. Take a breath.”

Andriy quietly pushes his chair in and moves around the table. He reaches out a steady hand and places it lightly on his friend's shoulder, aiming to pull him back out of his racing thoughts, to let him reside once more in the present and not the endlessly  churning maelstrom of ideas, worries inside his own head. Vova blinks rapidly, his wide brown eyes finding Andriy's features in the soft light of the canteen. There’s a sense of energy flickering through him again, his muscles taut beneath Andriy’s hand, a distinct need to be off, away - doing something, not just sitting around.

“It snowed, yes. It's cold, yes. We're also far more prepared for winter than we were this time last year. Whatever it is that you want to do now; if you want to speak to someone about what else is needed, if you want to go and visit the front lines again, that's fine. We can look at all of it tomorrow, together,” his tone is soft, almost gentle - but firm too; because he knows his President, but he knows his friend too. Andriy knows without question that Volodymyr would do anything that anyone asked of him, knows too that he is always just one moment away from using himself up entirely - that everything he does is for Ukraine and her defence, her liberation, her victory - never wholly for himself.

“But right now, it's also half past twelve at night. The most useful, helpful thing you can do for Ukraine, the most helpful thing you can do for yourself right now, Vova - is get some rest.”

In the dim light, he watches the President exhale softly, his shoulders releasing a little of the ever lingering tension.

“Yes. Well. Tomorrow, then.”

Even with the implicit agreement in his words, Andriy can still see that Vova hasn't quite let go of the thoughts in his head - the gears turning as he picks at the idea, the increasing worry - about winter supplies, about motivation, troop rotation, the energy grid, the looming threat of blackouts, already trying to push toward a solution, his brow furrowed, rubbing his thumb at the corner of his eye. 

“Volodymyr..” his tone carries a small note of warning, his arms folded as he looks at his friend, wondering however faintly, if he will actually get some sleep, or if he’ll spend the night awake - planning, worrying, reviewing the schedule and wondering if there is something, someone he has forgotten - his work endless. The set of his shoulders, the dark shadows below his eyes and the faint sigh that pierces the air tells Andriy everything he needs to know, and then some.

“Tomorrow, yes. I know,” Volodymyr’s tone is soft, for Andriy only as he raises a hand in apologetic farewell to the canteen worker. She offers her own wave as she moves over to their vacated table to clear away the empty cups, the gentle clattering fading from earshot as the two of them make their way back to their respective accommodation. The calm of before never quite manages to make a new entrance, Vova’s frown enough of a barrier to the easy quiet.

“I’ll get Maks to put the physio appointment back in your diary,” Andriy utters by way of goodnight, the two of them paused outside Vova’s bedroom door. He nods a quiet greeting to the soldier who stands guard, a loose smile the only reward as he pushes the door inward, and pauses a second, shoulder resting against the doorframe.

“We need to talk ab–”

“Vova. Get some sleep.” Andriy’s expression is still fond, gentle even as he reaches out a hand, settles it once more on his  friend’s shoulder and pushes him lightly over the threshold.

Volodymyr turns back to look at Andriy in the dim light, and finds his friend’s face shadowed with something he can’t quite name.

“Andryusha?”

“Goodnight, Vova.”