#but hello hi i love him so badly he is everything to me ik u asked for the story and this is literally barebones of what happens but :-)

[castoracklys]

i just stumbled across your blog and i'm in love with it! if you're okay with it, can you talk about the concept/story?

Of Course!

There are three timeline's to follow which is 1943, then 1983, then 2003. But the main focus is 1983!

Saviour's Secret (aka "album 1") follows Castor Acklys in his hidden romance with Charles Mercy, his older siblings best friend. This album explores themes of saviour complexes, secrets, social pressures, and coming to terms with things not going in a perfect fairytale way.

Brother of the Sky (Extended) (aka "album 2") is where we explore of Castor's life and family. We learn about the Acklys family and meet Winifred, his mother, Calamity, his maternal cousin, and most prominently, The Star, his older sibling. We see their family dynamic and explore Castor feeling abandoned when The Star can no longer live the way they were raised and chooses to leave, which opens the world to Castor in new ways as he views everything around him without the layer of protection his sibling gave him. This explores abandonment, doing the right thing and still getting hurt, legacies, and disillusionment with circumstances you may have been raised with. It also establishes The Star and Castor's dynamic as not particularly healthy, fed by codepedence, jealousy, insecurity and belonging. The extended version of this album includes 5 tracks "post mortem", meaning that the original album ends with Castor being murdered after he too tries to escape his family home and run away, and the final 5 tracks are his reflection upon his death and the way things are unfolding for him. (This album also includes my favourite song; The Beginning and End of Everything I Know. Castor's dying song/his final goodbyes.)

Husband (aka "album 3") is a timeline diversion, what if this didn't happen. What if Castor got a happy life. And the answer is, he wouldn't (yet). In this album, Castor doesn't run away, instead he marries his friend Abram. A major issue in this relationship is desire, Castor is not romantically invested in Abram, he needed family and belonging and an escape from where he was, Abram offered that. He's trying to find family in someone who currently views him as a sexual/romantic partner. This explores how his life should have gone, yet every song feels uninspired and unfulfilled. Castor feels empty in life and thinks about how things could have been better if he simply didn't marry Abram (even though we, the audience, know it would be far worse). Feeling unfulfilled leads Castor to have an affair with Nova, a local shop keeper. This album ends with Castor talking to a divorce lawyer.

Keeper's Lover (aka "album 4") is the happy album, but it doesn't ever feel like it. Continuing on from Husband, we see Castor's life develop even more and that he does finally find belonging and happiness with Nova. But that also comes with the full range of acceptance that everything that came before wasn't good. This is a very cathartic album where Castor has to accept that everything he has been taught his whole life about love is wrong, but not really. The things Castor has been taught about love are right, it's all consuming and wonderful and everything he ever expected, except there isn't a catch. Every concept Castor has been taught about love was also used to justify a lifetimes worth of suffering he's experienced. This explores themes of grief over lose opportunities, acceptance, autonomy, and if then rounded off in the final song with the other shoe dropping, a reminder that this is not the life Castor lives, he doesn't get married, he doesn't meet Nova. Castor's is still dead in the woods, Castor still left the night he did, still met the wrong man at the bus stop, still didn't stand a chance to ever really get this life.

Gravesite (aka "album 5") returns to Castor's original timeline with a new perspective. Castor's life unfolding after The Star leaves, Castor deciding to leave too, all now watched from the perspective of a ghost. Dalilah Fare, a girl who died in 1943, was murdered and buried in a near identical way to Castor in the same location 40 years earlier. She is buried so close to Castor when he dies they could have reached out and held hands. While Dalilah's circumstances are not the same, her death was. This album follows Dalilah trying to understand the story unfolding in front of her and protect Castor, she kicks and screams and bites and pleads but she's already gone and can't save him. This also covers Castor's acceptance into the afterlife and learning about Dalilah's life, her family, her sister Angie, her love Simon.

The final album, Something Like God (aka "album 6") says what if Castor didn't stay, but did leave differently. Castor goes to a different location on a different day when he runs away. He meets a different man than the one who murders him. He meets Victor Casement instead. He is brought to a community entire different from his own, he meets Victor's wife, Donna Casement, who becomes his friend. He finds acceptance in a different way. He finds religion in a very different way, Victor is a cult leader. This album unfolds more as an investigative piece, Castor slowly peeling back layers of this cult to begin to understand it and the people around him.

That's it for the albums ! But it doesn't round off the story completely.

We still have Kory, in 2003. A theme for this whole piece of work is cycles. The cycles of abuse that drove The Star away, the cycles of violence that lead Dalilah and Castor to the same circumstances of death. For Kory, the cycle continues. Kory also dies in a new identical way to them, in the same location, 20 years in the future. Sacrafice and suffering were never enough to save people. Dalilah and Castor were not enough to reach through the veil of death and save Kory from their fate. Some cycles continue no matter how much we wish they never existed in the first place.

[honklore]

hello! i just found ur blog and omfg i’m in love with your writing style! may i pls have some soulmate au hc’s for a reader who’s an artist? (i’m indecisive so you can choose who the hcs are with!) so like (insert cc u write for here) has got paint stains on his hands and like assorted sketches and stuff on his skin all the time from his soulmate. ty so much!! :]

masterpiece | quackity

(gn reader, quackity is the loml, reader is so talented but v messy, chat teases q to no end, quackity is the biggest softie in the world but refuses to acknowledge it, plantain slander)

listen to: rainbow connection (cover) by sleeping at last

sweet quackity :((

it starts when he’s eighteen, and it happens like almost immediately

he got these splotches of purple on his hands and his mom was like ?? are u getting into fights ?? are you okay???

and q rlly doesn’t mind aside from the weird questions when the colors are a little too close to red or purple

but!! nowadays mostly you just sketch w a pen

it’s during your classes usually,,, ur an art history major and you need something to occupy your hands (which is actually why you started drawing in the first place)

so during the day quackity will acquire lil sketches of famous paintings,,, or sometimes originals,,, but they’re always washed off before the day is done

sometimes random art facts/theories/studies but he has no idea why someone would write him about van gogh’s use of color

*cue u aggressively scrubbing your skin in the shower bc you always forget how permanent the ink is*

quackity is sort of... hesitant when it comes to writing on his skin. esp with streaming, he’s scared that fans will react badly ,, that negative thought keeps him at bay most days

but sometimes he writes lil notes on his legs,,, where chat won’t see anything ,,,, and they’re always either rlly sweet or rlly weird

(hope ur having a good day)

(hey bestie :P )

(soulmate my beloved)

(will u be the howie mandel to my dr. phil)

that last one made you genuinely worried for your future

badly drawn picture of a duck holding a briefcase (this is me)

which confuses you but as he draws more, you begin to associate him with ducks, and sometimes the duck wears a tie, and sometimes a beanie, and one time he had a giant blue axe which kind of concerned you

but you digress

when you get stressed u finger paint

and it’s just a way to create chaos and feel the cold paint on your skin like idk it’s relaxing yknow :)

quackity is streaming

and he doesn’t realize what’s happening. he’s reacting to attaway general,, and he’s kind of invested

it’s only when he pauses it to make a point that he notices

and he tries to hide it but chat notices right away

panicked!quackity

it’s not that he doesn’t trust chat he just knows things can get negative quickly and he wants his space to be free of that

but someone donates “artist q?”

and quackity lets the joke run

he stands up and pulls the mic super close to his mouth

“i’m in my artist arc chat! nihachu watch out >.>”

“CHAT WE’RE POPPIN OFF I AM A PAINTER NOW I PAINT”

it’s literally so silly bc q knows that chat knows but they’re letting him do his bit

and later that night he checks twitter and artist q is trending, but quackity’s soulmate is also trending

it’s all mostly supportive, and there’s already some rlly endearing fan art of quackity with paint all over his hands

quackity private tweet: ❤️❤️❤️

and he gets a lil confidence boost after that

answers questions abt u on his alt

tells the story of his mom thinking he was getting into fights

“guys paula is still my number one and my soulmate will just have to understand that”

“we already agreed we would both reject each other for taylor swift chat it’s fine”

answers donos and doodles on his hand

which he can do now bc chat knows!!!!

(you’re so talented your honor)

(have you ever seen attaway general?)

(charli d’amelio is in it)

(charli d’amelio is in it shit dixie sorry)

and you’re like !!! it’s on my hand !!!! it’s not hidden at all !!!

this image is so endearing to me like you’ve got paint stains all over your hands and quackity’s scrawl is filling in the empty spaces like he didn’t want to interrupt your work

duck with a beret, a mustache, and a paintbrush (this is me now)

ik he is going to share the most mundane things in a way of showing his love

(i listened to this song the other day)

(i bought a literal plantain today those things are big as shit)

(update: not good :/)

(i’m writing lore)

(i have an exam tomorrow)

just :(( sweet quackity wants u to know every little detail abt his life bc he wants u to know him

and you reply when u can

(added to my playlist!)

(i like plantain chips but i’ve never had the fruit alone)

(rip buddy :/)

(lore? like fnaf?)

quackity finds out you know extensive fnaf lore and the two of you stay up arguing about which is worse: the bite of ‘87 or the bite of ‘83

both of your legs look like newspapers that night and it takes a lot of scrubbing to get all of those off

one day you’re painting smth and quackity randomly gives you his discord

(add me and we can watch game theory together and see who is right)

the two of you end up watching it and getting in call with each other

when you hear his voice it’s like everything falls into place

he fills in all the empty spaces,,, answers all the questions you didn’t realize you had,,,, and he’s so wonderful that you find yourself missing him dearly whenever he’s not on call with you

you join him in calls on his streams sometimes like for jackbox or when he’s cooking

“CHAT MY SOULMATE IS A CHICA KINNIE”

you stop joining him on calls on his stream /s

but chat loves you and always takes ur side over q’s

you get tons of followers on your art account and you even get to sell some of your paintings!!

ur new favorite colors to use are blue and yellow i don’t make the rules

but everyone starts to catch on and they find it really sweet

you catch up on quackity lore solely for him and declare yourself a c!quackity apologist

you’ve definitely retweeted the meme that’s like “if villain bad why hot”

when u guys meet quackity kisses your forehead :((((

when you

a drawing of two ducks holding hands (this is us)

thank you for the kind words and for requesting !!!

[jewish-space-laser]

ok i have an idea for a cbl blurb? could u do a blurb from harry’s pov from the night where he got drunk and how he felt when he saw yn and stuff? ik it already happened but i think seeing it from his viewpoint would be interesting!

Could be Lethal - Part Three (Harry’s POV)

“And every time I’ve held a rose, It seems I only felt the thorns, And so it goes, and so it goes, And so will you soon I suppose...”

– And So It Goes, Billie Joel

HELLO EVERYONE! It’s been months since I’ve posted anything on here, but I randomly got the motivation to pick this up last week. I apologize in advance for my rusty writing skills! This ask has literally been sitting in my inbox for 10 months, so posting it actually feels quite cleansing. Anyway, here is a (long) blurb full of angst, angst, and you guessed it, angst! I hope you love Harry’s take of that night as much as I do. I love you all muchly, thank you for your ongoing love and support <3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxooox Tile

(3.8k word)

You and Harry were friends, with a capital ‘F’. Yeah, you’ve been sleeping in his bed for the past two months, and maybe your entire nervous system goes into hyperdrive when you’re in the same room, but that’s normal, right?

or

The one where you and Harry have an arrangement… of the cuddling sort.

 See the CBL masterlist here!

WARNING: Detailed descriptions of heavy drinking

~~~

It was bullshit. It was all bullshit. 

Harry was miserable. He knew it, his friends knew it, his family knew it… it seemed the only person who wasn’t picking up on his desperation was you. 

You were a complete enigma to him. Sometimes, you were the warmest, most open person he’d ever met, indulging him with interesting conversations, stupid jokes, and even the occassional existential discussion. It was always difficult for Harry to truly open up to a person, having been jaded time and time again by people who weren’t able to look past his famous exterior. 

That’s what makes it so much harder, he thinks. Knowing you properly, you knowing him properly. It made the moments where you were closed off harsher, colder, more difficult to read. 

Since you left his house two days prior, he had done just about anything he could to take his mind off of you. He loved thinking about you, but he also hated thinking about you. It was tortuous and circular and he just wanted a brief moment of emotional respite. 

No, he didn’t want respite, he needed it. 

So he watched all three Lord of the Rings movies in a row, tested out a new stir fry recipe, spent way too much money online shopping, and even scrolled through the Humane Society website in a moment of weakness. But none of it mattered, because even if he could distract himself for a moment, you were still there, lingering in the peripherals of his mind like a song stuck in his head. 

It was dizzying and mind-boggling, and Harry was at a loss for what to do. So when Sunday morning rolled around and it still felt like his lungs were being crushed into a ball, he started drinking. 

It was only 8:00AM, but he bypassed the coffee cabinet and went straight to the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of champagne. The pop of the cork was as loud as a gunshot, but Harry didn’t even flinch, hardly registering the sound of it hitting the floor across the room as he rushed the bottle to his lips. 

Bubbles fizzed past his tongue and dripped down his chin, sliding down his bare chest before puddling on the floor. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly at the burn of the carbonation, but each gulp sent pleasant tingles over his skin. 

For the first time in ages, his mind felt numb. He didn’t necessarily feel good, but he didn’t feel miserable anymore, and that’s what mattered. He could close his eyes without seeing your smile flash in his head, he could listen to music without immediately relating the lyrics to you, and after his second bottle of wine, he was even able to brew a cup of coffee without thinking of you. 

Okay, maybe he thought of you a little. 

At some point, he passed out on the couch, cartons of Vietnamese takeout sitting cold on his coffee table. When his eyes finally blinked open, the sun had already started to set.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. There was a familiar ache pulsing behind his eyes, and he groaned loudly into his empty house. It never used to feel empty, but now you’d come and gone, and it was too late. You’d left your mark on his house and his coffee and his heart… so he drank more. 

There was no more wine, so he started in on his collection of hard liquor, expensive bottles lined on top of his cupboards. Normally they were reserved for when he had guests over, but this fell into the realm of desperation. His sunken eyes scanned the glass bottles before settling on the cheapest of them, an unopened Maker’s Mark. It would do. 

He was pouring a healthy sized glass of the whisky, and then suddenly he wasn’t. His heavy eyes blinked in confusion as he stared across the bar at the bartender, who was raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

“That’ll be thirty-five pounds, mate,” the bartender said, “got roped into buying the first round, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, glancing over his shoulder to see Thomas and Jessie watching him from a booth. 

He doesn’t remember leaving his house, let alone coming to the pub with his friends. In fact, if he tried to think about it, his memory of the entire day felt fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. 

In his mind, this was a success. A full day gone without thinking about you or talking to you or seeing you. The clock behind the bar read 00:43 in red neon numbers. He took one of the shots quickly, signing the bill and taking the remaining five back to his friends. 

“Harry mate, we told you we’re not getting pissed tonight,” Thomas groaned, “what’d you get six shots for?”

“What kind are they?” Jessie asked, wrinkling their nose. 

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, setting the tray down directly in front of himself. His vision swayed to and fro, but he still managed to down another shot, disregarding the concerned look his friends shared. “It’s rum. If you don’t want any, that’s fine.”

“It’s a Sunday, mate,” Thomas reminded him gently.

“We’re at a pub, aren’t we?” Harry slurred. “Supposed to get drunk here.”

“You asked us to come here,” Jessie said slowly, “said you needed to talk to us about something.”

Harry blinked at them slowly, swaying slightly in his seat. He didn’t remember any of this. 

“Actually, he said he needed a drink,” Thomas corrected, “I didn’t realize he meant twenty drinks.”

Another shot burned down his throat, and then everything was cold. 

“Harry.”

His head was pounding. Every limb felt heavy. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes, already overwhelmed by the echo of Thomas’s voice reverberating off of the tile floors. 

“Harry.”

He knew that somebody was trying to get his attention, but he just couldn’t. The alcohol had done its job for most of the day, keeping his brain muddled down and diluted just to spare him the pain of remembering. But now, it backfired, trapping him inside his own head with no way out, with nothing to do but remember. He could hear people talking in the background, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was as if he was underwater, slipping further and further down with each painful clench of his heart.

He felt a hand press against his arm, and jerked away, causing his stomach to twist. He didn’t want to be here anymore, and he certainly didn’t want to be bothered. 

“G’way, Thomas,” he managed to grunt. 

“It’s me.”

Your voice was clear as crystal to him, but he knew it couldn’t be real. You had left him, after all.

The image of you driving away from his house was burned into his memory, playing over and over again in slow motion. If he thought hard enough, he could even remember the way your body had felt beneath his, whining and squirming and gasping, just like he’d always dreamed about. He could remember the sunken expression on your face the next morning, the heavy silence of the car ride to the coffee shop. He could remember how he’d hoped, so badly, that you’d finally talk about it, this unspoken connection that could no longer be denied. Most of all, he remembers the way his heart dropped when you told him that you didn’t remember any of it.

Another gentle brush, this time along his hairline, and he managed to open his eyes just a sliver. 

You looked amazing. Well, there were circles under your eyes, you were wearing your pajamas and slippers, and you were frowning in concern, but to Harry, you were the most beautiful thing. 

 “You’re here… y’really here….” he sighed. 

You were crouched in front of him, holding a plastic cup of water, and all he wanted to do was pull you into his chest. You looked sleepy and cosy, just like you always did when you stayed over. Before he could reach out to pull you close, you were putting the rim of the cup against his bottom lip.

He took it, grateful for the relief it provided his dry mouth. For the first time since he came to, he took in his surroundings. He was in a single stall bathroom, curled on the floor next to the toilet. The walls were an ugly pale yellow, while the floors were white, making the streaks of dirt and grime more noticeable than ever. Thomas was leaning against the sink across the room, watching you as you tried to get him to finish the cup. 

“Y’look so pretty, always look so good,” Harry slurred, “just wanna snuggle, like we always do.”

He loved the way your mouth dropped open. Everything about you was endearing, really. He watched as you twisted your head to say something to Thomas, water sloshing around in the cup when you nodded your head quickly. Thomas left immediately after, but Harry hardly even noticed. 

When you turned back around to face him, he felt blinded. Despite the dark circles under your eyes, they’re bright and they pierce through him just like always. He loves the color of your skin and the shape of your nose and the little crease that forms between your eyebrows when you’re anxious. He thinks he could probably paint you with his eyes closed. 

Warmth licked across his skin when you brushed your fingertips against his forehead, tucking a stray lock of hair back into place. Harry leaned into your touch, unwilling to let the moment pass too quickly. 

“Can you try taking a sip of water, H?” You tilted your head. “For me?”

He could have laughed, had he not been so nauseated. He would do anything for you normally, but he really did feel awful. “G’na make me sick,” he insisted, wrinkling his nose at the cup in your hand. Even though he could hardly focus, his eyes zeroed in on the faded X scrawled in sharpie on the back of your hand, a souvenir from your night out at TAVERN. He had a matching mark on his hand, and he dreaded the moment the ink would wash off fully. Just another thing forgotten.

He just wanted you.  

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the look on your face told him that it had slipped out. There was no way he regretted it though, not with you right in front of him. Not in this state of mind. 

“It’s gonna make you feel better, and then we can go home,” you urged softly, scooting a tiny bit closer to him.

Home. When he thought of home, he thought about mornings in his house, sunlight filtering in through the blinds and leaving shadowed stripes across your skin. Home was the way you squinted your eyes tighter together right before waking up. Home was you at his kitchen table, going off at him about not doing his dishes. 

“Y’coming home w’me?” He managed to say. Your eyes softened.

“Only if you drink this whole cup,” you lifted it up to him once again, gingerly tilting his head up with a finger on his chin. Even though he felt like his stomach would combust if tried to swallow anything, he allowed you to help him drink some water. Some sloshed messily onto his shirt, but it felt sobering. You met his eyes for a moment, “is that good?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

If you asked him to drink water, he would drink water. He would drink an entire ocean of water. It was achingly clear to literally everybody but you. He could tattoo your name over his heart and you still wouldn’t see.

You gulped loudly, but didn’t say a word, simply prompting him to take another sip of water. He wished more than anything that you’d say something. Make some kind of facial expression. He just wanted a signal, a sign, that you felt anything towards him; disgust, affection, pity. 

He was sure you must pity him. 

Harry drank the rest of the water, cheeks burning as he asked you for a refill. He was still drunk, but the fog had cleared enough for him to sit up straight without feeling like he was going to hurl. He watched you refill the cup in the sink that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades, but that was honestly the least of his concerns. 

“Y’must think I’m pathetic,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back against the wall. “Can’t lose you.”

“You haven’t lost me,” he heard you say quietly.

But it felt like he had. Because even though you were friends, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fall asleep to the sound of your soft exhales. It wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t feel that rush of excitement when you sneakily texted him under the table on nights out. Having you at a distance could never be enough. 

“Harry…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, “why did you drink so much tonight?”

If your obliviousness hadn’t been so devastating, he would have laughed. How could you sit here with him, look into his eyes, and not see that his heart was entirely in your hands? How could he explain anything to you if you hadn’t already seen it?

So he wouldn’t try. Not right now. 

He mustered up the strength to push up onto his knees, managing to stand up fully with your steady grip on his arms. He took one shaky step as his head spun, and felt your arms snake around his waist to keep him balanced. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped his arm over your shoulder, reveling in the feeling of having you so close as you helped him out of the toilet. 

You brought him to a stop in the main room by the bar, and he couldn’t help but bury his nose into the top of your head. You smelled just like you always did. It had only been a few nights, but your scent was already fading on his bedsheets. 

“Y’smell like lavender,” he hummed, squeezing your arm lightly, “s’like you’re tryin; t’torture me…. So pretty.”

It really was torture, having you hold onto him as you both walked out of the pub. You were distracting, with your warm skin and soft hands. Each step was difficult; his feet were heavy as anvils and he just wanted to curl up right here on the sidewalk. 

Just as he was considering plopping down on the pavement, he heard the familiar beep of your car opening. He closed his eyes once he was sat in the passenger seat, feeling you fuss over his seatbelt. He flinched slightly when you slid a cold water bottle between his knees.

Harry blinked, and then suddenly you were buckled in behind the steering wheel, poking his arm and peering at him with tired eyes. “Can you stay awake for me, H? Just till we get to your house, okay?”

“Y’coming to my house?”

You were so good to him, all the time. By the looks of your attire, you were ready to be in bed hours ago, yet here you were, patient as ever.

“Yes, I’m taking you home,” you said through a yawn. 

“Miss having you at my house,” Harry exhaled. He didn’t even know what he was saying really, just the same thoughts and memories circling through his mind like planets around the sun, all them centered on you. “My sheets don’t smell like you anymore.”

Suddenly, he felt hot all over. His trousers were too scratchy against his skin, his palms felt clammy, and the longer you stayed silent on the other side of the car, his stomach started turning. In an effort to cool off and calm down, he let his head fall against the window, the cool glass soothing his skin. 

Drunk or not, he was trying to tell you how he feels, he was constantly trying to tell you how he feels… and you didn’t say a word. You never did. It was so frustrating that he found himself biting back tears. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, you cleared your throat. “You can’t…” your voice cracked, “you can’t say things like that, Harry. It hurts me when you say things like that.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Harry managed to say. “But it’s the truth.”

He was so confused. How on earth could you be hurting when he was sitting here with his arms wide open? Was he so repulsive that the mere thought of being with him caused you pain, somehow?

He was too drunk for this. 

Luckily, you seemed to be on the wavelength. “Let’s just… not talk,” you said, shoulders slumped. 

Harry was feeling awfully dejected himself. He’d spent the last few days trying to cope with his complicated feelings, and now he was back at square one. Every time he thought he knew where the two of you stood, you would say something vague and he would start all over. Your relationship was like a house of cards; delicate, fragile, and knocked to the ground with the slightest shift, the tiniest gust of wind. 

The headache started out small, but by the time you pulled your car into Harry’s driveway, he was feeling like he might keel over. Somehow, he was simultaneously drunk and hungover. If he was going to make it up the stairs to his room, he was going to need something in his stomach, and water that wasn’t from a pub bathroom.

It was humiliating enough that he’d needed you to help him from the car, but upon entering his house, he nearly kicked his shoe through the living room window, grumbling about toast. He knew he’d been less than impressive tonight, but perhaps this was what you needed -- seeing him at rock bottom -- to finally open up and have a real conversation about what you could be. 

When he woke up in the morning, he would be sober, and he would be ready. He would make you coffee like he always does, and maybe he’d even run out and pick up fresh pastries.

“Want some toast,” he said, though he was fairly certain he’d said it once already. 

You were standing in front of him, toes just inches apart, and it felt instinctive to place his hands on your waist and pull you in. The silk pajama top you were wearing was cool against his hands, but he could feel the heat of your skin underneath, the frantic thumping of your heart against your ribcage tickling his fingertips.

Your hands were on his shoulders to keep him steady, but he was suddenly feeling more sober than he had all night. All day, really. 

Harry slid his hands further behind you, locking together behind your back. Having you close felt incredible. It hadn’t even been three days since he last saw you, yet every atom in his body was craving your touch.

“You, um,” he felt your shaky whale against his collar bone, “you have to let go of me if you want me to make you toast.”

Letting go of you felt physically impossible, so instead, Harry dipped his head down and rested his forehead against yours. The anticipation was excruciating as he waited for you to do what you always did: sink into his arms, wrap yourself around him, soothe him to sleep with the weight of your head on his chest.

Fissures cracked through his heart when you pushed him back, taking a single step back that may as well have been a mile. Suddenly, the air all around him felt cold, the room felt darker, the silence felt louder. He took a deep breath in, but still felt like he was suffocating.

“Do you really not remember?”

He needed to know. He had done everything in his power to think about anything else, but had somehow ended up here, standing face to face with you. He wonders if this is how it was supposed to be, if throwing you together over and over again was the universe’s ultimate plan, if all of this misery would be worth it in the end. 

He’d experienced heartbreak before, but this was something else. And when you choked out, “Harry, please don’t make me say it,” in the smallest voice he’d ever heard you use, he knew that he could write millions of records about the pain of this moment, and still never do it justice.

“You remember, don’t you?”

All you did was nod your head once, but he suddenly felt drained. Maybe it was the full day of heavy, reckless drinking… or maybe it was the realization that things really might not work out. He still wanted to try, though. Even though you’d left the other day, there were countless other times you had stayed. For months you’d been coming over in secret, coming out of your shell and showing him how amazing you really were. That had to count for something; there had to be a reason. 

Coffee. He would make coffee in the morning and the two of you would fix everything. 

“Should we head to bed? ‘S getting kind of late, y’must be exhausted.”

You really did look tired, your eyes rimmed with red from yawning over and over, back hunched and shoulders slumped. He was feeling knackered himself, and was more than ready for this night to be over.

“Actually… I think I’m gonna head back home,” you gulped. Harry felt like he’d been slapped, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. It’s as if you’d turned to sand; there one moment and slipping through his fingers the next.

“You don’t want to stay?” Harry tried to keep his voice even, but even he could hear how it wavered. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying.

“I just… have to go home,” you said, looking everywhere but at him. 

He waited for you to say something else, but instead watched as you hoisted your purse further up onto your shoulder and walked out the door. Shell shocked, he stood there frozen, even as your headlights disappeared down the street. 

A long breath blew past his lips as he finally moved to lock his front door, any hope of you walking back through it dashed by the way you’d walked out for a second time. 

Harry likely would have benefited from a glass of water and pain medication, but with a buzzing brain and a shattered heart, all he could manage was to pass out on the couch fully clothed, dreaming about what might have been if you had just stayed.  

~~~

As always, let me know what you think! I love talking to you <3 xoxoxoxox Tile

[simpbur]

hello! i would like ur 40 song wiblur playlist

anon thank you so much for asking <333 while it would’ve been easier to just drop the link i have so many thoughts about everything so i explained why every single song has its spot on this list which was IMMENSELY fun for me

(also: if anyone does want the link i can provide both apple music and spotify but if u would like the apple music link i’d rather it be through dms or an ask off anon that i can make private!)

another also: i bolded all the songs for ease of perusing if you don’t want the director’s commentary and bolded + italicized the ones that i think fit Very Well

another another also: wrote the second bit of this on my laptop and the keyboard is p funky so if there are any typos or things that do not make sense i will try to fix them asap haha

saint bernard by lincoln: this is one of those like. Dream SMP Songs that i added because it fits into so many different relationships and plot lines and arcs but i think there’s some connection to c!wlbur somewhere out there. idk i asked my friend and he said to add it so this one goes out to him

amnesia was her name by lemon demon: ghostbur song ghostbur song! mostly comes from this lovely animatic

o valencia! by the decemberists: okay this is one of those songs that only really has one lyric that fits but is an absolutely banger so it’s here anyway. you’ll also notice a trend of quasi love songs that i relate to c!wilbur’s perception of l’manburg and i think this song shows this in a really cool way, esp with the chorus (‘and i swear to the stars i’ll burn this whole city down’ is The Line)

achilles come down by gang of youths: another one of those Dream SMP Songs. i think this fits better with c!tommy but i like it too much to remove it. this is a somewhat common trend with the earlier songs on this playlist (i’ve been building this thing since january, for reference)

brave as a noun by ajj: another Dream SMP Song. i think certain verses fit better than others when it comes to wilbur’s character but that ones that work really work

harness your hopes by pavement: a song that is one here for vibes alone. i have no idea what these lyrics mean. all i know is that i heard it, thought of c!wilbur, and put it on the playlist. thank you all for being here

evelyn evelyn by evelyn evelyn: sad-ist made this a tommy and tubbo song (as she should) so it’s validity on this playlist is questionable but folks used to compare it to wilbur and tommy’s relationship during the pogtopia arc and i think some points were made there

the execution of all things by rilo kiley: i’m so excited to get here because this was the first song i put on the playlist that i think really works and i thumb nailed an animatic for the last verse and november 16th so! i think it’s a good l’manburg song and the last verse has some good ghostbur lines (‘and lately you’re all alone with nothing left but sleep/but sleep never comes to you, it’s the guilt and forever wakefulness of the weak’)

i’m just your problem from adventure time: this ones a bit tricky since at is my favorite show of all time and i cannot detach this song from its in-show context very well but there is a very cool animatic with this song that landed it a spot on the playlist

man burning by josh ritter: almost became an animatic but the audio i wanted to use (which i recorded at a josh ritter concert and it’s just him and his guitar and there’s echo and it’s very haunting and pretty) has my stepbrother singing in the background and i could not edit it out so. that will probably not happen. but anyways the only hole i would pick in this song is that it’s mostly about self sabotage which isn’t really applicable but i think the imagery is cool

mamma mia by abba: here me out. here me out. this is another song that fits so well and i have spent so many hours thinking about this and somewhere there is a note on my phone explaining how every single line relates to c!wilbur’s entire arc from founding l’manburg to the resurrection (made when we thought gbur was going to get resurrected in january) and just. the metaphorical ‘you’ is l’manburg does this make any sense (another almost animatic except now that wilbur’s actually back it might become an actual animatic)

the other side of paradise by glass animals: no idea why this is here other than being a Dream SMP Song. it’s good tho

infinitesimal by mother mother: they saaaaay it stared with a big bang but they saaaaaaaay it came out of a small thing latelyyyyy i’ve been feeling like a big bang You Know

curses by the crane wives: had a thing drawn out for this song showing the comparisons between c!wilbur and c!niki because of the chorus and i think the last two lyrics of said chorus are the best thing about this one

lonely eyes by the front bottoms: gotta admit that i have no idea how this song got on here but i’ve come to associate it with ghostbur based on vibes alone. it’s a friendly song he’s a friendly ghost it works. the other tfb song coming up fits a bit better methinks

king of new orleans by better than ezra: not to put better than ezra on my c!wilbur playlist but like. something about the whole ‘tasing something up to let it fall’ motif makes me think

get me away from here, i’m dying by belle and sebastian: another almost animatic song (there’s a trend here). not only does the story told in this song work i like the lines ‘play me a song to set me free/nobody writes them like they used to so it may as well be me’ in relation to my l’manburg

montgomery forever by the front bottoms: certain bits and pieces of this song fit so well, specifically the chorus and those bits in the last two choruses Yeah (’montgomery forever and ever and ever and now they’re blowing it up/(x2)/as you started laughing and crying and trying to explain how all you want to do is leave’)

don’t look back in anger by oasis: out of all my almost animatic songs, this one got the furthest. the animatic, which I got pretty far in thumbnailing, was about wilbur and tommy and kind of drawing comparisons between their characters, also about the revolution in general. maybe i’ll finish that animatic one day idk 

snow by ricky montgomery: i wish i had a link for this so bad but!! saw art on twitter!! with the lyric ‘bury me six feet in snow’!! and went ahfsdjfk!!

burning pile by mother mother: a Dream SMP Song. also a jam there’s no real specific connection for this one but i think it could fit in a couple of ways

rounds by the oh hellos: in the same position as snow except it was on tumblr..... @ whoever made this comic i saw these lyrics in your brain is massive and your art is incredible

lovely by mt. eddy: on here for vibes alone. there’s something in the lyrical content too, but my thoughts in that regard are not very fleshed out

adventures in solitude by the new pornographers: ah yes..... the song that prompted this all...... this is a beautiful and incredibly well written song and if you’re going to listen to any song off of this playlist i’d encourage you to listen to this one. it’s place of here is mostly cause of the chorus but the imagery in the verses could all represent a part of c!wilbur and i’d love to explore that more

caught in the middle by paramore: obligatory paramore song. i think it got on here because limbo = ‘middle’ but i’m not quite sure. on the verge of being deleted if i can find a better pmore song

delicate by damien rice: one of the oddest songs on this list and i am well aware that it sticks out like a sore thumb. a song that’s on here pretty much because of one lyric, which is ‘and why’d you sing hallelujah/if it means nothing to you’ which i related to both eret’s betrayal and how my l’manburg is hallelujah yknow

bang! by ajr: almost animatic song. i think we all know what the bang is here

somewhere only we know by lily allen: ik i said don’t look back in anger has the most potential to get made into an animatic but this song might actually take it place. on par with adventures in solitude in terms of how pretty of a song it is, and probably even moreso. it’s kind of turned into a ghostbur song in my head, and makes me cry like an infant child every time i hear it

a pearl by mitski: i cannot defend this song’s place on here past the line ‘it’s just that i fell in love with a war and nobody told me it ended’

eight by sleeping at last: the official c!wilbur song needs a spot on here <3 if i can dig up the clip of cc!wilbur talking about this song in relation to his character i’ll add it but until then yeah <3

always by rilo kiley: no idea why this is on here but it fits well!! could not tell you why!! banger!!

celebration guns by stars: it’s a hauntingly beautiful song about war, and kind of one of those that necessarily isn’t about wilbur but moreso his place in the story? idk how to explain it but yes

passerine by the oh hellos: it’s. it’s from the . the fic. yeah h

oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place by bright eyes: added this after the real resurrection and i think it’s because fo the imagery? also the last verse

we are beautiful, we are doomed by los campesinos!: all i have to say is ‘i cannot emphasize enough that my body/is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel/harboring these diminishing, so called vital organs/i hope my heart goes first, i hope my heart goes first!’ has always made me think of pogtopia era wilbur :(

dead weight by jack stauber: no real connection other than eret played this song during a break during the ghostbur’s january ‘resurrection’ and i heard it and went :0

point me at lost lands by tired pony: gives me season on l’manburg vibes..... i love how free and passionate it sounds and that's p much the only reason it’s on this list haha

ghosting by mother mother: added this five seconds ago because i could not BELIEVE it was not on here. ghostbur song. mans sang it on that one stream with the reverb and everything. the lyrics ‘i will be kind and i’ll be sweet/if you stop staring straight through me’ hit particularly hard back when everyone thought that ghostbur was actually wilbur in disguise