#cool artist has escaped and now is out in the wild

[sunsetstarfire]

I understand how Stanford feels :'D

Based on @scribefindegil‘s amazing fanfic Fisherman’s Knot. Everyone go read it!! This was probably one of my favorite scenes in chapter 11. Honestly, anything that has to do with these two hugging and talking it out is my favorite thing. 

I hope you like it @scribefindegil!! Hopefully the background is ok because my imagination of what Atlantis looks like is limited. :’D

[spiritsonic]

Hi Evan! Big fan here, hope I'm not disturbing you at an inconvenient time. I love your work as an artist and writer, but it's not just Sonic that you work on. It would be cool to know more about your work Ensouled. What is it about? Who is the ghost guy and the human girl?

Sure, I’ve been wanting to write some new character bios. Check it all out under the break!

CHARLEY PARKHEARSE

Once, long ago, Charley was the best teamster in Santa Alma county. His stagecoach flew over treacherous mountain roads, One crack of his whip could snuff a candle’s flame from six yards, and any bandit who dared to stop his stage would meet the business end of a rifle. Anyone who cared to comment about his sour temper or murky past knew to keep their voices low… and God help any fool who questioned Charley’s refusal to remove his heavy greatcoat, no matter the weather. 

But Charley’s fame was bound to earn him enemies… When the bandit Sugarfoot learned that Charley was in fact born a █████, the secret spread like wildfire through the mountains. Charley was ruined. He thought his life was over, until he was visited by a being dealing in black magic; a devil known in his human guise as Aurelius Flood. This devil promised to erase Charley’s secret from the minds of Santa Alma’s people, restoring Charley’s reputation, in return for his soul. Charley accepted, though he would not learn the depth of his folly until the night he died… and was raised as a ghost by that same devil, now bound to his service. Still, the devil was true to his word. Charley’s secret was safe, even beyond the grave.

At one point in the many decades since his death, Charley thought he could escape Aurelius’ control. But today… he’s given up that hope. He haunts the roads he was once the master of, frightening drivers to meet his quota of Soul and waiting ‘till his memories fade away, taking the pain of his mistakes with them. That is until, in a flash of ill-advised mercy, Charley spares the life of a young woman he scared off the road…

(Charley is LOOSELY based on Charley Darkey Parkhurst, a real historical figure. Look him up! He's a really cool example of a queer, probably trans person ((by today's standards)) in history. The real Charley's dying wish was to be remembered as a man; a wish that has not been respected by history. I want to explore the pros and cons of living closeted or stealth in an ever-changing world, while also honoring his memory and wishes as best I can in a modern context.)

SEQUOIA LOGANBERRY

Sequoia would like you to believe that she is a monster. It’s easier that way. Ever since her father left for a mistress on the east coast in her senior year of high school, Sequoia has been working a dead-end job at the local amusement park and doing her damndest to drink and drive herself into an early grave. And she almost does it… Until a friggin' SKELETON GUY fishes her out of the lake she drove into?! And now she’s getting these insane migraines and seeing spooky shit everywhere???? 

After a close encounter with death (and Charley), Sequoia develops an unpredictable 6th sense that threatens to finish what she started in her car the other night… Until she’s found by the misanthropic wizard Monty and his much nicer siren husband Luka, who help her get her new powers under control… in trade for her helping them with a few odd jobs. Nothing crazy, just, oh, infiltrating the local magical crime lord’s fey court. Sequoia is just the wild card they need to break a fifty-year standoff between the supernatural powers vying for control over Santa Alma. Sequoia will need to learn fast, about both magic and herself, or else end up a pawn in other people’s plans. Will she be able to make the friends she desperately needs and find direction in her life before she’s swept away?

OTHER CHARACTERS INCLUDE...

MONTY MOUROS, aforementioned misanthropic wizard. Older than he looks. Came to Santa Alma in the 1930’s to earn his fortune, and ended up embroiled in one of Charley’s bids for freedom. It didn’t go well, and he still holds a bitter grudge. He’s guarded the local amusement park, the Boardwalk, from Aurelius Flood for years, but other than that has hidden himself from both the magic and mundane worlds for decades.

LUKA, a siren who lost his singing voice in a trap set by Flood. If not for Monty, it would have taken his life. When they were young the two fell in love, and Luka defied his family’s traditions to be with Monty. They’re still together, and Luka is the only person who can get past Monty’s harsh exterior. Luka now runs a speakeasy for spirits hidden beneath the Boardwalk, where he mixes magical cocktails and turns the rumor mill. He is a kind soul who defines himself through service to others…perhaps to a fault. 

AURELIUS FLOOD, The mastermind behind most of Santa Alma’s woes. A cruelly ambitious leprechaun who thrives on greed, he’s been following the money since the time of the Romans. In the 1800’s he came to the new world, where he found fabulous opportunity during the California gold rush. Assuming a human disguise he carved out a business empire in the mundane world, and a criminal one in the magic world. He built Santa Alma himself, engineering the city’s growth. Fattening a pig for the slaughter. Now, the only thing standing between him and his ultimate payday is Monty and the pivotal bit of territory he controls at the Boardwalk. It’s stymied him for years, but he’s got a new plan…

SUGARFOOT, Flood’s left-hand man. As the illegitimate son of a powerful Californio rancher and an Ohlone woman trapped in the California mission system, fate did not deal Sugar a kind hand. After his father’s family lost their rancho, Sugar turned to a life of crime. He got his sarcastic nickname from a festering leg wound he earned in a shootout with Santa Alma’s top teamster, Charley Parkhearse. As his infection grew, so did his hatred… These mountains should belong to him, not some johnny-come-lately from New Hampshire. So he turned to another stranger for help; Aurelius Flood. In trade for his soul, he gained information; a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin Charley forever. Sugar leapt at the deal, and got exactly the revenge he’d wanted… until Charley came for him, blinded by rage and shame, and shot him dead in the street. In death, Sugar and Charley found themselves in the same situation… bound to serve Flood forever. As coworkers. Hell would have been a mercy. 

(Sugarfoot is also based on a historical figure of the same name, but almost nothing is known about him other than he was a bandit with a very stinky foot. IRL Charley shot him when he tried to raid his stagecoach.) 

ZINNIA LOGANBERRY, Sequoia’s annoyingly precocious little sister. While Sequoia turned to delinquency after their parents’ divorce to avoid her feelings, Zinnia threw herself into her studies for the same reason. She has become the model student and daughter, earning their workaholic mom’s favor… but man, this kid is Burnt. Out. When she finds out about Sequoia’s new adventures with the supernatural, she throws herself into this new world as a release from her demanding daily life only to once again take things too far. And now, the consequences come with fangs, and hair, and claws…

DEBORAH LOGANBERRY, Sequoia and Zinnia’s mother. She knows she could be doing better by her daughters, but ever since her no-good husband left them, she’s been the family’s sole provider. Her job in the city’s planning and zoning department is the only thing keeping them off of the streets, and the price of housing in Santa Alma is only going up. It’s a matter of survival; surely, once they’re more financially stable, she’ll be able to patch things up with Sequoia. And maybe something will come of the new friendship she’s struck up with Mr. Flood. He IS quite the successful developer, after all… perhaps they could be more than friends?

[itneverendshere]

you and your sister going out to the store, and milo’s so wiggly in the cart and you over hear your sister tell him “go hang with uncle rafe” and he zooms to rafe and it’s so cute to see

thank you for the request!!! 🫶🏻🫂 it's so cute watching them all grow up/old together it kills me

i'd give up everything - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

It’s almost golden hour, and the parking lot of the grocery store is lit in that perfect, warm light that makes everything look prettier than it is. You’re pushing the cart while Monica’s next to you, holding onto Milo’s hand as he bounces with energy he clearly stole from the depths of kid’s chaos. It’s like he never stops.

You can’t remember the last time this kid sat still.

“Why did we even bring him?” You laugh, watching as Milo keeps trying to wriggle out of her grasp. "It's like he's allergic to being still."

Monica sighs, throwing you a half-hearted grin. “I know, right? Kid’s got more energy than I did in college.”

Milo makes a break for it, slipping out of her hold and darting towards the cart. He’s got this wild grin on his face like it’s the most fun game in the world. And to be fair, it kinda is. His growing legs are sprinting towards the cart before Monica can even react.

“Come on, Milo!�� she calls after him, rolling her eyes but not too mad about it. She’s used to this routine by now.

You scoop him up, plopping him back into the shopping cart with a laugh, wheezing in the process because wow he’s grown now. “I got him,” You say, but he’s already jumping, trying to climb out like some mini escape artist. His hands grip the edge, feet kicking out as he tries to launch himself toward freedom.

“You know who’s better at wrangling this kid?” Monica says with a smirk, like she’s got the perfect plan up her sleeve.

“Don’t say it,” You warn, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Go hang with Uncle Rafe,” she sing-songs, like it’s the solution to every kid problem in the world.

And, of course, the second the words leave her mouth, Milo’s entire face lights up. He lets out this high-pitched squeal, the kind that only a soon to be six-year-old can make without bursting their vocal cords, and he’s off. He shimmies out of the cart like a squirrel, landing on the pavement with all the grace of a tiny athlete.

“Milo, wait!” You laugh, but honestly, you don’t even try to stop him. The kid’s determined, and you all know where he’s headed.

Rafe’s leaning against the hood of his truck, looking way too cool for a grocery store run. He’s on his phone, completely oblivious to the tornado zooming his way.

Milo barrels into his legs with full toddler force, grabbing onto his jeans like his life depends on it. “Unca Rafe!” he shouts, voice so full of excitement it makes your heart flip. 

Rafe looks down, caught off guard, but then his face softens into this smile that’s...it’s so unfair how cute he is. How does he manage to go from looking like the most intimidating guy in the world to this softie in two seconds flat? It’s criminal, really.

“Well, hey, little man,” He says, tucking his phone into his pocket and crouching down to Milo’s level. “What’s up? You causin' trouble already?”

Milo giggles, throwing his arms around Rafe’s neck in the clumsiest, cutest hug. Rafe lifts him up with ease, like he weights nothing, holding him against his chest like he’s done it a thousand times before — which, honestly, he kinda has. 

You lean against the cart, watching the whole scene unfold, and you can’t help but smile. It’s such a simple thing, but the way Rafe is with Milo always gets you. Like, he’s got this side to him that not a lot of people see, this soft, caring, protective side that only comes out when he’s with the people he loves. And watching him with your nephew? Yeah, it makes you feel things. Big, mushy, embarrassing things.

“He’s obsessed with you, you know,” You say as you walk up to them, folding your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

Your boyfriend gives you this cocky grin, holding Milo with one arm like it’s nothing. “Can you blame him?” he teases, winking. “He’s just like his auntie.”

Even though you roll your eyes at his teasing, there’s no denying that he’s right. Milo is kind of like you—especially in the way he seems totally infatuated with Rafe.

You can’t blame him.

“I don’t know who you think you’re flattering right now,” you reply, smirking as you grab a few of the grocery bags from the cart. “But fine, I’ll give you that. Kid’s got good taste.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm, while Milo tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, trying to get his attention again. “Unca Rafe, can I go in the truck?” Milo asks, bouncing with the same boundless energy that’s been following him all day. You really miss the days he called him Rafey.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at you for approval like the responsible uncle he pretends to be sometimes. “What do you think? You wanna let him play around inside?”

You shrug, already giving in because, let’s be real, there’s no stopping Milo when he’s this excited. “As long as he doesn’t drive off, I’m good.”

“No promises, baby."

Before you can say anything, Rafe’s already tossing Milo into the air, earning a high-pitched squeal that echoes through the parking lot. You can’t help but watch, feeling that familiar tug of affection as he catches him effortlessly, setting him down in the open passenger door of his truck.

Milo immediately starts pressing all the buttons, making the truck beep and flash like he’s setting off a mini-light show, but Rafe doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. He’s leaning back against the side of the truck, crossing his arms as he watches Milo with the prettiest smile on his face. 

Monica finishes loading the last of the bags into her car, and she glances over at the scene unfolding in front of you with a smirk. “He’s a natural, huh?” she says quietly, nudging you with her elbow. 

You try to play it cool, even though your heart’s swelling in your chest. “Yeah, he’s alright,” you joke, but the truth is written all over your face. You’re totally, hopelessly in love with the guy standing there, pretending not to care that Milo’s probably activating every feature his truck has to offer.

Your sister gives you a knowing look, like she can see straight through your attempt to be nonchalant. “Milo’s lucky. He’s got you both wrapped around his little finger.”

You laugh because, yeah, that’s probably true. Milo’s got this charm that no one in your family can resist, and Rafe’s just as guilty of it as you are.

As if on cue, Milo pops his head out of the truck window, eyes wide with excitement. “Unca Rafe, can I honk the horn?”

Rafe shoots you a glance, “Should I let him?”

You sigh dramatically, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Go ahead. Just don’t blame me if he thinks he can do this every time.”

Rafe laughs, reaching over to ruffle Milo’s hair. “Alright, little man. One honk. Make it count.”

Milo slams his tiny hand down on the horn, the loud sound blaring across the parking lot, and you wince even though you knew it was coming. Rafe’s laughing, Milo’s giggling like he’s just pulled off the prank of the century, and you—well, you’re just standing there, taking it all in, wondering how you got so lucky.

It’s moments like this that make you realize how different things are now. Two and a half years ago, if someone had told you that Rafe Cameron—golden boy, Kook prince, with a reputation for being that guy—would be standing here, playing the perfect role of doting uncle to your nephew, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

But here he is. 

And here you are, watching the two most important boys in your life bond over something as simple as honking a horn. Rafe catches your eye again, his grin softening as Milo scrambles back into the truck, happily babbling to himself about how loud it was.

“Think he’s ready to drive it for real?” Rafe jokes, stepping closer to you.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But thanks for getting him all wound up right before we’re supposed to head home.”

Rafe shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “What can I say? He’s fun to mess with.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s gonna have to deal with him next time he demands a honk.”

Rafe chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both watch Milo crawl back over to the driver’s seat, completely mesmerized by the truck’s dashboard, “You know I love it.”

You glance up at him, and for a second, you feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude—like you’ve somehow stumbled into the best version of your life without even realizing it. This is the guy who has seen you at your worst, dealt with your stubborn streak, and still chooses to stick around. And not just stick around—he’s fully here, present, loving your nephew like he’s been part of your family all along.

You can’t believe he only left rehab a month ago. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Monica says, glancing between you and Rafe, “How am I ever going to survive without seeing you being in love every day? It’s sickening.”

You can’t help but snort, nudging Rafe with your shoulder. “Sickening, huh?”

“Pleases,” she rolls her eyes but is smiling. “I can’t believe you’re moving together.”

“Moving in?” Milo suddenly chimes in, his head popping out of the truck window like a jack-in-the-box. “Are you gonna live with Uncle Rafe forever?”

You share a look with Rafe, and he raises his brows in mock surprise. “What? You don’t wanna share her?”

Milo’s eyes widen, contemplating this monumental decision as if it were the biggest thing he’s ever had to think about. “Will I get to come visit?”

“Every day if you want,” Rafe assures him, still grinning as he crouches to Milo’s level again. “You can help us cook and make all the noise you want. We’ll even have a trampoline in the backyard. Sound good?”

Milo claps his hands, clearly sold on the idea. “Yes! And can we have pizza every Friday?”

You chuckle, glancing at Rafe. “I think we can manage that.”

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 2

Michael had left you alive, and you couldn't begin to fathom why. You know all you can do is try and forget it and move on with your life.

Except...Michael has followed you home.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms

The police hadn’t caught him yet.

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Michael Myers in the woods on your way home from work, and he’d been on the run ever since. You hadn’t reported what had happened to the authorities, even if you’d been on the verge of it many times. You’d spent the whole week waking up in cold sweats with a gooey and shameful mess between your legs at the memory of Michael’s large hand on your neck, or the sense-memory of his cock pressed heavy and dangerous against your core. The way he’d used you, fucked you, like his own little plaything haunted you.

No one could know what he’d done to you, no one could know how you felt about it, even if the guilt gnawed at you. Maybe if you’d told someone, they might have caught him by now, and people might still be alive. But there was a part of you, a part of you you wished you didn’t have, that reminded you that if Michael wanted someone dead, then there was nothing any earthly power could do to keep that person alive. Michael left no survivors.

Except for you.

It had been on the news religiously all week; police were baffled by his location and utterly at a loss for his motivations and patterns. Michael, it seemed, cared not a bit to cover his tracks. He even seemed to decorate his murder scenes artistically, propping bodies up and, blurred though they were on the television, reminding you of a sick and gruesome game of action figures. They were Michael’s bodies, to do with as he pleased. Twelve people he’d killed since he found you. Twelve. That the authorities were aware of, anyway. The thought chilled you to the very core.

You’d learnt from the heavy reporting that Michael Myers had been being held at the Westbrook Sanitarium for the criminally insane, not four miles from where you worked, and he’d escaped that night he’d taken you - thrust against your weak body until he came on your cunt like a wild animal. 

You were the first person he’d come across, apparently, and after years of solitude, Michael had some frustrations to take out on you. You knew well who he was, you recognised that mask and that boiler suit the second you’d seen it. You’d grown up with stories of the boogeyman who’d murdered his sister the same as everyone else, thrust into the spotlight when he’d escaped from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a few years ago and murdered a bunch of teenagers on a spree. You’d seen the youtube video essays and buzzfeed articles on the stoic killing machine who’d baffled psychologists and doctors up and down the country, maybe even the world. You’d walked past books in shops written about this monster, his silence, his rage, his gore and death and damnation were a part of your culture. It made it easy to forget that Michael Myers was real, and not just some fictitious product of a sick mind. He became very real to you that night, your own personal boogeyman.

You’d learnt that Michael Myers was no man, he was an evil spirit, a hell-sent silent demon, a ghost - one that was haunting you. 

You turned the television off and went into the bathroom, shucking your clothes into a messy pile by the bath as you stepped under the cool spray of the shower.

It was a warm day, your skin over-hot, and you welcomed the clammy dribbles down your back. You washed quickly, fingers pressing too familiar over the lips of your pussy, you expected them still to be swollen, puffy from use where Michael had rutted his scorching and elephantine cock against you like a beast in heat, but it wasn’t. It was like it hadn’t happened. Except it had, of course, because you still wore him on your skin. His fingertips were in every bruise, his grip was the ache in your bones with every groan of your sore body. It was like he’d marked you, made your tiny body a part of his eclipsing form. 

You shook your head frustratedly to yourself in the bathroom mirror before flicking the lightswitch off and making your way to your bedroom. You couldn’t think of him every moment for the rest of your life, you couldn’t live in fear of the boogeyman. He had left you alive, and you had to live with that. Michael was gone, and you’d never see him again. 

You pulled a short nightdress on, the flimsy material to combat the hot and sticky night you anticipated, and you made your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle to take to bed. 

The outside light was on.

It wasn’t yours, but your neighbours. It was motion-sensored, you knew that because it blinded you every time you stumbled back from a night shift.

You frowned before crossing to the door, to close the blinds over the glass so no one would be able to see into your home in the middle of the night. Your hand tangled in the string before it froze, along with the rest of your body. Like your blood had frozen to ice inside you and made you a dead weight to the floor.

Michael was standing under the light, 50 yards away from your door. He was staring sightlessly at you through the empty eyes of his mask, utterly emotionless. His hands rested unclenched by his sides, his back razor-straight as always. He was just watching. His form gave no indication of how long he’d been there. Maybe hours.

Fear shot through you and the string began to shake violently in your grip as you stared at him. He’d come to finish what he’d started, you realised in horror, he’d noticed his mistake in leaving you alive. Was it so you couldn’t tell the police? Was it just that you needed to die, he’d had you in his grasp and that was that, a rageful itch under his skin that wouldn’t be quenched until your blood was soaking his hands?

It didn’t make sense. He was stood in the street, bathed in your neighbours motion light like a bloody homing beacon. Surely they’d seen him. Surely someone had seen him and called the police? Why weren’t there any sirens? It was deathly quiet. Just you, him and the wind. Maybe it was a fever dream, a sleep paralysis nightmare and your demon had returned to you.

He began walking leisurely towards the door, his pace bone-tinglingly unhurried as ever, before he stopped at the glass and peered down at you. You shrank, paralysed with fear. You’d somehow forgotten just how big he was. He might have been two foot taller than you, and just as broad, taking up the whole of the door so he blacked out any light behind him. That was as good a metaphor as any to describe Michael. The darkness followed him. 

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving, dazzled, you supposed somewhere in the back of your mind. A monster brought to life, in front of you, enough to convince yourself that you were dreaming.

His fist shattered through the glass, shards of glittering ice hitting the kitchen floor as his hand curled down to find the handle. You screamed, backing off so violently your back hit the fridge and tears wept down your cheeks until they were quite literally soaking the front of your nightie. This was no dream. It was a nightmare incarnate. 

Even his violent outburst seemed calm somehow, shattering your backdoor into shards of glass like it was nothing. His large hand found the door handle and began to rattle it, and the noise caused your brain to snap back to where it needed to be.

You forced your eyes from him, pushed yourself away from the fridge and scurried into the living room. The front door was in your sights. You didn’t know precisely what you planned to do with yourself when you got outside, your brain hadn’t made it that far yet. All you knew was that you needed to survive, and you had no chance of that locked in the same cage as this rabid animal.

You grabbed for the front door handle with a hiss of accomplishment, throwing your gaze back over your shoulder to ascertain how much time you had. No time. Michael was already in the living room, walking towards you like he had all the time in the world. You shrieked in pure terror at his towering form as you flung the door wide open, the concrete of your front step was cool on your barefoot but the sensation barely lasted a second as fingers tangled roughly in your hair and yanked you roughly until you fell onto the carpet. The open-palm of Michael’s free hand slammed the front door shut, cutting off your exit, and the oak creaked under the force of it, the foundations of the house damn-near shaking.

You scrambled onto your knees, screeching, crying, grasping at his hand in your hair, wincing when every flex of his fingers yanked at your scalp, tearing individual hairs out by the roots. He had to bend his back to hold you to the floor, his emotionless mask looking down on you. His breathing was barely audible over your devastated screams. You couldn’t move.

“Please, please, please, Michael, please don’t kill me. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I won’t! I don’t want to die, please let me go, please, please-”

You could barely beg, your throat hoarse, your words sobs. He didn’t respond except to drag you into the middle of the room by your hair, kicking the coffee table aside to make room for you both in the middle of the floor. One of the wooden legs of your poor table snapped under his boot before he tossed you down like a ragdoll. Your back hit the carpeted floor and it shook your whole frame. You instinctively planted your palms on the floor behind yourself, to crawl back, to spring up, you didn’t know.

Michael’s boot came to rest on your bare thigh, his weight utterly solid and you wailed as he pinned you to the floor. Your nightie had ridden up, not to the point of indecency, but enough that his boot kissed your flesh. You froze as fresh tears streamed down your face, remembering exactly what he’d done the last time he’d had you like this, as if just realising how acutely vulnerable you were in this position. Were you even wearing underwear? You didn’t think so. His boot was mere inches away from your exposed cunt, all he’d have to do was push your dress up and he’d see everything. See how fucking wet you were. You hated yourself.

“Please,” you tried again, voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him. Submissive, you realised, prey before a predator, begging for its life. “What do you want?”

He didn’t move, you could barely tell if he was breathing, just staring down at you as everything else in the world fell away. His hands were still loose by his sides, no knife, you noted, but a grim red-hued dirt on the rough palms of his hands you could identify without too much guesswork. Your stomach rolled.

His hand raised and you jolted, expecting pain, to be struck, stripped, killed. 

How long had he been searching for you? Maybe he’d never left, maybe he’d been one step behind you all week, watching you sleep, watching you shower - were those twelve people dead because they lived close to you? Did you kill them?

His large hand came to rest over the front of his crotch and your mouth fell open. Not again. Why me? You were already shaking your head, breathy hitching sobs racking through you.

“No, Michael, please -”

He toed your thigh with the steel-gap of his boot, shoving it to the side, affectively opening your legs and you wanted to close your eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and shame as he spread your legs for him hurt something deep inside of you, you felt dirty and shameful in every one of your nerves. Your slick was soaking the back of your nightie and probably your carpet too. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He fell to his knees in front of you, in a way that could only have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as his large, gore-stained hands gripped your bare thighs and tugged until you were lying in front of him. You squeaked, your legs not quite touching his, more left hanging in the air as he scraped his calloused hands down your thighs in a way that definitely didn’t make your heart speed up, no more than it was already hammering, before his palms were flat on your inner thighs, pressing them apart and into the floor. You tried immediately and desperately to close them and his grip on you tightened to the point of extreme pain, your femurs tremoring dangerously like they might snap if you moved even an inch.

You stilled completely, you couldn’t tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be right at you, that emotionless masked expression, or lack of, giving you nothing, but you could feel the rage and the dangerous power wafting off of him, you could feel the coiled strength in his fingers, the strain of his bicep muscles in his boiler suit as he held you immobile and you swallowed, shivering in fear and pitiful acceptance as you stopped struggling. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive, and as uninjured as possible, you had to stop fighting. 

His pathetic, mewling hole, your brain supplied almost bitterly.

Once apparently satisfied you’d stopped struggling, MIchael’s grip on your thighs lessened somewhat, leaving deep red bruises regardless, and he shifted forwards on his knees, taking up more space between your legs, as he rucked your nightie up to your belly, sitting back a little just to stare at your pussy, exposed and dripping and vulnerable, as if getting a good look at the wet little hole that had made him come so hard the last time. 

Your cheeks burned boiling hot as he looked at you, your thighs twitching conspirately to close but you forced yourself to try and calm, utterly impossible, you trembled like a newborn foal.

He dipped his head between your legs and your back arched, startled, wondering what he possibly meant to do, particularly, your horrible brain chipped in, with a mask over his face. You could hear nothing but that breathing, before it was sucked in, the nose of his mask just nudging your folds and making you jolt. 

Was he - was he smelling you? 

He made no noise, his body shifted an inch. What was he doing? It was like he was searching for something. He kept his nose buried against your soaping heat for a few more moments before he apparently found it. Then he was sitting back up again. Your knees were nearly knocking together in terror when his hands, fuck, how were they so big? framed your cunt, pulling at the flesh of the tops of your thighs, spreading your folds, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh of your seam, your clit.

Oh fuck.

He prodded you with a long finger a few times, painful sharp jabs until he caught the rim of your opening and sunk in to the knuckle. It burned, it burned so hot, you clenched painfully around his finger. Fuck, it felt like the size of a cock all on its own. But the finger was withdrawn as quickly as it had breached you, like a fucking dip test, but no less rough on the way out and you grimaced. You had a pretty good idea about what was to follow, and the anticipation of the pain alone was enough to make you cry again. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you tried again pathetically, wondering somewhere in your mind why you were trying to distract him from fucking you, when the alternative was his heavy hands shattering your collarbone until your heart was pierced by your own brittle dagger. Survival, you kept saying to yourself, one day you might believe it, you were trying to live. Nothing else. Nothing else.

He’d already unzipped his boiler suit, you could just glimpse a sliver of pale flesh beneath but he undressed himself no further, reaching down into his trousers and pulling his cock free. 

Fucking hell.

It was a goddamn fucking monster. It sat snug in Michael’s large hand, long and thick, crown red with blood and dribbling precome, it curved up slightly, in a way that was designed to attack that spot inside of you, and when he dropped it, it dipped, bobbing against his boiler suit, so heavy under its own weight it could barely hold itself up, but it did, his cock stood proud and to attention, ready for action, as he shifted down a little, hands once more finding your thighs and hauling you practically into his lap. He threw your legs over his broad hips, stretching your thigh muscles, as his cock rested hot and heavy on your pelvic bone, like a leaden weight on you. Oh fuck, you were so fucked. It was near enough the size of your thigh, and you knew it was going to wreck you.

You jerked your hips uselessly, trying in vain to put some distance between you and Michael’s thick cock, you’d never had a partner that size before, you’d never even had a toy that size. It wasn’t going to fit, it was as simple as that. Except he didn’t care.

He pressed his hips up, taking you with him, lifting your back clean off of the floor so your spine was arched uncomfortably. He paid you no mind as he gripped the base of his erection and slipped himself down through your folds.

He was silent, calm and ferocious as he pressed forward against you with so much pressure that it hurt. You could feel his heaviness hard against your pelvic bone and you trembled in fearful anticipation of what was about to happen.

Finally, Michael found what he was looking for and his thick cockhead breached your hole barely a centimetre but still you gasped, already undone by being so violently penetrated by not even a goddamn inch of that fat unforgiving head. 

Michael surged forward, in triumph perhaps, or just in a hurry to get his cock stuffed deep into you as quickly as possible, but your traitorous cunt was wet enough that he slipped straight back out again, whole cock fucking upwards and jamming through your folds, gliding gloriously against your clit. You let out a loud moan and he stilled entirely except for the throb of his cock against you. You clapped your hands to your mouth and forced your eyes to the ceiling. You hadn’t meant to do that. You didn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction. It was the last thing you could keep for yourself.

Michael was a fast learner, it seemed, because this time he inched a little more slowly inside you until a good inch of solid cock was spearing you open. You thought you might die, knees knocking against his hips helplessly as he forcibly stretched you obscenely around him. You will take me, I will make it fit.

Only when he was firm in you, and you were surely going to pass out from pressure alone, did he plunge his hips forward, his whole cock sinking to the hilt in one brutal thrust. 

The pain, fuck the pain was indescribable, burning, aching, stuffed full, stuffed beyond full - he didn’t care - he didn’t care that he’d probably just ripped you in half, stretched you so full you were more cock than you were yourself anymore. He didn’t care you were crying, shivering, he cared that you were an open, wet heat to warm his cock in. 

Those blood-stained, murderous hands gripped your hips and an ache blossomed in your bones, your skin beneath his skin turned white to red to near-black with bloodied pressure-bruises as he gripped you hard enough you fully believed he intended to shatter bone. He could, you knew he could. It was enough to lose yourself to, you were going to pass out, you were going to die from the stress and agony forced upon your weak and small body. This was how he was going to kill you.

He moved, shifted his heavy length inside you, nudging spots of your flesh where a cock was not meant to be. He pulled out incrementally, shoved back in and oh - oh .

Your thighs shook again, trembled, as spiralling pleasure mixed with pain and your pussy clenched around his cock, contracting around it as he thrust in again, as if traitorously and deliriously pulling him in to you, to where that thick and hot pressure felt the best. He thrust in again, harder than before, faster than before, immediately picking up an athletic, robotic pace as if he were half-way through a marathon fuck, thrumming with energy. You had no time to adjust, no time to build-up - you were there immediately, clenching uncontrollably on Michael Myer’s mercilessly hard cock, your cunt fluttering and clenching on every brutal, animalistic intrusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. There was no edge, there was just falling.

You yelped, back arching up even more than it already was, legs squeezing the small of Michael’s back as your poor cunt spasmed, coming hot and hard until you felt your own slick dribbling down the backs of your thighs. Michael didn’t stop for a second, he didn’t even slow, you nearly choked on your own spit.

He was utterly devoid of anything, breathing heavy and focused, no movement except the piston of his hips as he fucked you deep and unforgiving until you were sure his thick crown was kissing at your cervix. 

Your head was hazy, eyes unfocused, you had absolutely no control over your overworked cunt anymore, whining pitifully as you came around him again, lathering his cock in your traitorous spend, praying every time that he’d slow, but he didn’t, and you felt that molten lava in your core building again until you were covered in a sheen of your own sweat, spent, exhausted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet, he wanted more. He took it.

He angled his hips up, chasing a sensation, you weren’t prepared for it. He hammered into you until his hip bones were slamming against your inner thighs with enough force to shake your entire body. His cock against your sweet spot was like a punch to the gut and you screamed. Pain, pleasure, you didn’t know anymore as your hips convulsed and jerked, clamping down on him hard enough that if he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to move.

But Michael was no normal man. 

He held your hips down, taking your clenching orgasm for himself as he slammed into you. Being fucked into your leg-shaking release was like being volted off of this ethereal plane and into another, your eyes whitened, your brain slowed to juddering holt as dizzying, mind-numbing ohmyfuckinggodthisfeelssogood short-circuited your entire being.

Michael slammed into you one final time, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of your velvet walls any longer before he was stilling completely, his cock an erupting volcano inside of you that spurted hot white heat against your walls, filling you utterly.

Your mouth opened in shock, or exhaustion, as your whole body trembled, jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks.

He didn’t linger. His hands left your hips first, the bruises behind ached immediately, black and devastating to your skin where even taking a breath in bothered them. Then he snapped his hips back, swollen cock slipping free of your drenched heat, sopping with white. He let it hang there, between his legs, a stark contrast against his boiler suit, and you trembled with undignified arousal. Your cunt felt wrecked, stretched wide, forced open to accommodate him, and yet your body still somehow ached for more. No, you were terrified, fighting for your life, this wasn’t real. None of it was.

He stood, using core strength alone, leaving your legs to fall heavily to the floor. They ached where the muscles had been stretched, kicking the pain in your back and your hips into eleventh gear. You’d been twisted like a pretzel for too long. You frowned. How long had he been fucking you? It felt like no time at all, it felt like days.

You pulled your nightie down as far as it would go, scrambling your legs together despite the way they twinged. You could feel him squelching between your thighs and your untouched clit twinged pitifully.

When you gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw that he’d tucked himself away and zipped himself back up. He stood tall and menacing over you, gargantuan in your living room, his head near-touching the ceiling. He was peering down at you, that devoid mask giving nothing. The utter silence was as terrifying and deafening as any death cry.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and you winced, fight or flight response, before he was turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Terror rocked through you, vomit-inducing, head-spinning terror, and you were on your feet in a heartbeat. Your mauled insides and your ruined hips complained at you but you ignored it. They would mean nothing if you were dead. Which you were about to be. He was going for a knife, surely he was. He -

The creak of the kitchen door caught you by surprise, but it took a few long minutes for your heart to stop thudding loud enough for you to realise that he wasn’t coming back in. After a few breaths, your curiosity got the better of you and you crept into the kitchen. The back door was shut, except for the hole gaped in the glass by his fist, of course, and the kitchen was empty.

You were careful with your bare feet to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, not that it would make massive amounts of difference to your ruined body, before you shakily peered through what remained of your door.

The motion detector light was on, the street was empty.

Confusion and shame rocked through you with enough force to make you tumble and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself upright.

How on earth were you still alive? For a second time? What did the most infamous serial killer in the country get from keeping you alive?

A hot, wet hole to come in.

You could feel the ache between your legs like Michael was still there, it was a glorious, horrible burn, trembling pleasure, irrefutable depravity - the best fuck of your life.

What did that make you?

Everything was eerily quiet. Your water bottle still sat on the side. If it weren’t for the broken door and the shards of glass, it would be easy to imagine that Michael hadn't been there at all.

Except for the warm come dribbling down your thighs where he’d marked his territory inside you. You swallowed. Whether you were his next victim or his fucktoy - you couldn’t escape that you were his. And you knew, even now, with terrifying certainty, that Michael Myers was not going to let you go.

link to chapter 3

[sabrondabrainrot]

🌦️Dark Sun and 🔅Servant Sun

I tried my hand at designing Servant Sun and Dark Sun.

I'm getting more caught up on the lore!! Click underneath for art closeups and more Lore rants and AU idea! Plus, I have sketches and a comic WIP I've been working on.

😉

There will be rambly spoilers to where I am in the Lore.

For Dark Sun I was inspired a lot by the thumbnails, they give him red eyes a lot in the thumbnails and I like the smarmy red eyed look of the guy. Tried to capture his 'regal-holier then thou' attitude in his design. He's still Sun though, so I used OG Sun's palette (my first Sun design!) to reflect the fact they have the same beginnings. I don't trust anything he says but I know something has totally happened to his Moon (I'm really banking on the idea he ATE him/ ATE his intelligence chip) so he carries his Moon's bell and he also repurposed the star pattern of Moon to parade it around as like a symbol his Moon is at his heal. I don't know if I like his final look but I think it's because I gave him dramatically darker shading vs the other Suns.

Servant Sun! Here's my take on him. He's been suffering for over 10000+ years under Lord Eclipse abuse. We saw how he was being punished just because Lore Eclipse was bored! I feel really bad for this Sun, it was hard to draw a design for him. I think despite his servant title Lord Eclipse just keeps him around not only to keep himself sane but also a trophy/slave to show off to Moon and the others in the afterlife. I had this like monologue for SSun basically, "The sound of bells long ago stopped ringing for the daycare attendant turned servant but Lord Eclipse still can hear the sound of metallic chimes when the neurotic servant cleans thanks to his fanciful additions." (aka the chime of chains) He's also got an apron that's falling apart and SSun used random old fabric to patch it up (it wasn't random it was his old clothes). I was really inspired by Meagancandraw's design of Servant Sun!

Here's my AU sketches. I'm planning to clean these up and maybe color them? This is basically just the AU idea that I think Sun is going to somehow get reborn but be a being reborn from star power and negative star power? I don't know if it's possible? He becomes a mix of the two in my AU. I know some current spoilers and basically I know he may be immune to negative star energy? He can also hold Star Power uniquely and it 'taste good to him'. I will never let go of the fact he told Moon it taste nice like dried watermelon. His untrained magical outburst was also compared to be as powerful as Golden Freddy's. There's big theory he's going to die or be sacrificed but I have this idea what if he's essentially remade? idk just rambly thoughts. So yeah, he has a cool new look to go with his magical transformation.

BTW he is very sad cause he can't be near his family in this AU my brain cooked up. He's basically radiation incarnate now <3 His eyes are cracked because they're intensely pouring out Star/Negative Star power. Just a constant pull and push of power circulating in him.

this is the comic idea I have currently. I don't have a ton of motivation so any encouragement to finish this comic idea would be super appreciated! I'm not a comic-type artist so this is out of my comfort zone (I've made a few comics but usually they are pretty janky)

ON TO THE RAMBLES - spoilers BEWARE:

NEW MOON MY BOY PLS YOU ARE HIDING STUFF FROM YOUR FAMILY. BOY NO. HE IS GONNA USE RUIN TO BRING BACK SOLAR?

Blood Moon just took Ruin. Also Dark Sun repaired Ruin after Molten took him to die in the dead dimension?? BOY??? Also, Dark Sun did something to Eclipse??? Bro is plotting. I wish I could get a read on Dark Sun but I don't even know how much of the truth he's been sharing thus far. He has no reason to tell anyone the truth and so far he hasn't hurt anyone just stole a bunch of data from Moon and built a bunker to escape total dimension collapse...He's just a big wild card for me.

Then there's New Moon, He's just actually going crazy after meeting Old Moon. Sun can tell something is wrong with his brother!!! I hope he can help him but spoilers tells me otherwise. The family is trying! Earth heard out Eclipse and Eclipse is getting Earth proof that Moon is currently cray-cray. Lunar is kind of hanging near Sun and Earth because the creator is now actively trying to kidnap him. So much spicy drama.

I don't pay attention much to the Freddy side of the plot but he's also dying?? bro??? What about Francine? The missing mom/wife? Poor Francine's suffering, she needs her mom and dad! I like that Puppet is hanging around her grandchild more it is very sweet. Foxy also got his 'bestfriend' Puppet a house/condo. hmm-Mmmhmm. Definitely no romantic tensions there. Definitely not.

(side bar, I don't ship Kidscove but I do ship the Foxy and Puppet do they have a ship name? Also no hate to Kidscove I just think Foxy treats Sun like a kid a lot. I like the gooseworld Kidscove. Sun laid eggs, so wholesome.)

Lunar is just waiting for news on his trial and I am in suspense hoo boy...Then the stuff with FC being put in a new body and Frank is not happy about it. I def can tell there's big lead up to the astral bodies making a big move I just wonder what the move will be. I feel like now Lunar and FC are going to end up being more intwined then they might think.

Also I love Dazzle!!! AAAGH! She and Jack are so cute! I loved the ep Sun took Dazzle and Lunar to the store that was so sweet. Can't wait to see more of them! They're such a cute dynamic! I like seeing Lunar put his best foot forward to help Dazzle too.

I can tell Moon is slowly distancing himself from the others but it's like this odd thing where he's no longer obsessed with Solar being back per sei...but he's obsessed over how HE has to be the one to bring Solar back in his way because HE promised and he wants to be better then Old Moon and yeah...he's got a very warped perspective I feel like? But Molten and Ruin BOTH pointed out Moon is being possessed by something so I think he's definitely sick? Or something is keeping him from seeing the error of his way.

Rambles over :)

I do plan to draw Solar and Eclipse and Lord Eclipse next but I'm stuck on what I want to do for Solar's design :P I might make a poll in the future!

[detectivereads]

Batman and Scooby Doo! Mysteries #1 by Sholly Fisch

5/5

This post is for fan entertainment, I am not being paid.

Hi everyone,

I want to try something different, granted I normally like to wait to see if they come out with omnibus of a comic series, because I run into the problem where I am missing an issue (this series I am missing #2). So, I will cover the ones I do have and hopefully I can get my hands on issues #2.

Now I will go over the majority of the story, but I won’t unmask who the culprit is, I am against spoiling any mysteries.

Now I grew up watching Scooby Doo and Batman, and when I watch that one series where they teamed up to take on Joker and Penguin, I thought that was the coolest episode of Scooby Doo (till I watched the one episode where Scooby Doo meets the Addams Family).

Now we have comics that are just as cool as the old episode. 

This first issues centers around the famous Haly’s Circus and it starts out with a flash back to Richard “Dick” Grayson time at the circus leading up to parent unfortunate murders. The Mystery Inc. gang are in attendance enjoying the show and food that the circus has to offer.

They witness the new acrobat in action Zoltan (not Zoltar, I kid you not I had to re-read that panel of the comic) where he was scared by this issue villain Deadman! When Zoltan missed his dismount, he falls but is saved by none other than Nightwing.

After Deadman causes a panic, the audience runs wild to get away from the villain.

Already the Mystery Inc. gang is ready to get to work.

Velma already has found a clue on one of the sandbags, a chalk handprint (How can a ghost leave a handprint.)

The gang meets the ringmaster Haly, the fortune teller Vashnu, the strong man Sando & and another person of the circus Esmeralda.

Vashnu tells the gang about Deadman, once he was named Boston Brand and he was one of the best acrobats in the world. However much like the Flying Grayson’s, Boston died by a criminal. Then the whole ghost thing of haunting the circus.

Zoltan demands to know why Deadman is going after him, that if it weren’t for Nightwing he could have been hurt. Also, Zoltan asks where his partner is Adolfo. Which right on cue he comes out and explains he was knocked out.

Daphne asks the normal questions, has anyone either criminals or developers approach Ringmaster to buy him out. Cue the Dingaling Brothers, they run a rival circus that wants the Haly’s circus.

Nightwing accuses the brothers that this could be their plans, which of course they deny this.

Ringmaster wants to proceed with the show, but Esmeralda is against it. She doesn’t want Zoltan her fiancé is in danger. At this moment Adolfo pipes up he can perform Zoltan act, but Nightwing agrees with Esmerald, which is why Nightwing offers to do the act with Adolfo, which Adolfo is against saying he needs training for that.

However, Ringmaster loves the idea of having a famous superhero in one of his acts.

The Mystery Inc. gang also joins in as well. Daphne said for an old case she has taken some trapeze lessons so she can also help Nightwing.

This is where I’ll leave the issue, but I will say this that Velma is standing in for the Ringmaster introducing the acts. Fred is an escape artist (He makes traps, so this should be perfect for him), and poor Shaggy and Scooby are with the clowns.

However, when the culprit is unmasking and everything is out in the open, I thought the ending was very sweet. We also have a double unmasking in this issue

My thoughts on this issue, I loved it. It was a Nightwing focus issues with no mention of Batman for almost the whole issue. I know in other comics Nightwing has worked hard to be his own hero. This issue was perfect in my opinion, having Nightwing coming home to the circus and helping his old home out.

[taesanemo]

BTS Sims 4 Legacy Challenge

Hi, I was browsing the Reddits and Tumblrs for legacy challenges (which are my favorite way to play The Sims) and I couldn't find any really good, long BTS challenges that cover all the eras and have the right amount of challenges for each generation—nothing too overwhelming to completely take away gameplay freedom, but also not so empty that it leads to boredom. I wanted something as elaborate as the Taylor's eras one. Since I couldn't find one and I've considered myself an hardcore ARMY for 6 years now, I decided this was a task for me! So here is the BTS Sims 4 Legacy Challenge. There will be 9 generations, but feel free to skip some if you want. Any changes to the challenge are also welcome! I chose 9 generations because anything less felt incomplete, and more than that is too much. The generations will be: The School Trilogy, Dark & Wild, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Wings, Love Yourself: Her, Love Yourself: Tear, Love Yourself: Answer, MOTS: Seven and BE. I choose to compact the school trilogy because it would be too repetitive if done one by one; hyyh pt1&2 and persona are too short and subsequent albums contain the same songs and follow, in a way, the same theme; proof was left out because it is basically a repackaging.

Rules:

The heir of each generation needs to aesthetically represent and behave according to the era they belong to. If you need references, here’s a folder with my favorite photos and concepts from the era: https://br.pinterest.com/taesanemo/bts-sims-4-legacy-challenge/

Part of the fun is the difficulty of earning money, especially in the early generations, so I strongly suggest taking on the extra challenge of Rags to Riches or accepting only the standard starting money in the game, but of course, it's up to you whether you want to use cheats or not! :)

Normal or long lifespan (good luck). In short mode, you can't enjoy the character for the time they deserve…

If you don´t have some packs that are needed for some traits or rules you can always adapt the rules to your gameplay<3

You must complete the aspirations and maximaze the habilities that are required

Have fun! Listen to the albums while you play, change the rules, and do whatever you want as long as it’s fun for you! :))

In case anyone is actually reading and playing this, my twitter is @soobinrock and all my other socials media are on my carrd binrockeng.carrd.co

First Generation: School Trilogy (2 COOL 4 SKOOL; O!RUL8,2?; SKOOL LUV AFFAIR)

Your sim doesn’t have a good relationship with their father. The pressure since childhood has driven them apart. The guardian insists that your sim study and become a doctor or a police officer to lift the family out of poverty, but your sim wants to create art. Art has always been their escape since childhood, and they feel they would never be complete without it. They despise school and all the social rules it enforces, loathing those who agree with them and those who remain silent. A rebellious soul, for sure. At the first opportunity, they will escape this rut and live the life they’ve always dreamed of!

Traits: Self-Assured, Art Lover/Music Lover, Loyal Aspiration: Musical Genius Career: Freelance Artist

Rules:

This generation peaks during adolescence and young adulthood: "We tell our story on behalf of those in their 10s and 20s."

Start the family with two sims: your main character and a legal guardian. This sim doesn’t need to be elaborate since you won’t be playing with them! They maintain a difficult relationship with your sim until death or your sim leaves.

You must attend school but never actually attend classes. Always neglect homework and any school activities; none of that matters. What you love to do is write/sing/DJ/dance—choose one!

Be active in the city's street art scene, preferably living in San Myshuno.

Have as many friends as you want, as long as they are all rebellious in some way like you.

Feel free to create rivalries with all figures of authority, such as principals, mayors, celebrities, etc.

Stay away from home whenever possible; you hate that environment.

Have two relationships during high school: one with the most popular person in school who dates you secretly, and after breaking up, they date someone more "acceptable." Then, have another relationship of your choice, but that one doesn’t work out either.

Drop out of school one week before graduation; that was your limit. Make money through your art and move to another city (if you have the Eco Lifestyle pack, that would be perfect). Once settled, finish your studies and apply to college. There, you will find your soulmate, who will be by your side until death do them part. Together, you have one child, and you raise them well—not in the way that typical people might consider good, but in a way you believe is right, and the results aren't horrible. You have a good relationship with your child, despite them being a bit… extreme.

You live the rest of your life dedicating yourself to your work, family, and friends. And although you may not be the model citizen, you feel that you’ve lived your life in the best way possible.

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Second Generation: DARK & WILD

People might think you live a careless life and don’t care about the responsibilities that come with your actions, but you don’t see it that way! What is life if not an opportunity to dive headfirst into the world without thinking? Your parents raised you with love, and that’s what you seek most in the world and in all people. It’s a shame that not everyone thinks like that… At some point, you end up becoming what everyone expected, perhaps it was a lost battle from the beginning.

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Lovebug, Hates Children Aspiration: Public Enemy Career: Criminal

Rules:

As a child, you are raised with encouragement to be who you want and to seek adventure, just like your parents always dreamed.

You must maximize your guitar and romance skills and complete the aspiration.

Just like your parents, you love music, and your guitar is your faithful companion throughout your life.

Your kleptomania starts in childhood; your entire life you try to control it, but in adolescence, you realize that even if it’s immoral, you can’t stop it. This is who you are.

You never had many friends, but in high school, you fall in love with your best friend, who is a completely maladjusted and complicated person. You live a tumultuous romance; even though this person hurts you, it seems you can’t help but love them.

Once you become adults, you and your partner move into an apartment (still in Evergreen Harbor if you have the pack), and one random night, they disappear. After a year, when you hear the doorbell and open the door, there are two infants, twins, and a note explaining that your ex-partner got involved in something dangerous and didn’t want to be around for your sake and the sake of the children, who apparently aren’t yours either…

When the children arrive, quit your job and live only off what you already have in your bank account.

Neglect the children and drown your sorrows in alcohol…

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Third Generation: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life

You grew up in what you like to call hell; your parents always despised you and your sibling, and they never even tried to keep you alive. So you were forced to mature very early. When things get really difficult, any sign of light can become everything to you. Perhaps that's why you love anyone who cares so intensely, and that is your biggest flaw… Despite this, the only thing you can do after the cards fall is to pick them up again.

Traits: Gloomy, Erratic, Jealous Aspiration: Soulmate Career: Freelance photographer

Rules:

You have a terrible relationship with your parent and, from a young age, you hasd to act as the adult in the house.

As a child, you meet someone who understands you and has a complicated life just like yours; you can't imagine being apart from them—they are your everything.

In your teenage years, you and your soulmate find more people and form a group of friends you trust. Despite everything you're going through, you experience a youth full of special memories with them.

A traumatic episode leads you to run away from home with your sister and your soulmate. You find a cheap container to live in.

You do what you can to survive. You start trying to make money from your passion for photography, and little by little, life continues.

At some point, your partner decides they want something more; that life isn’t for them, the city feels like a prison, and the only way out is to leave. This moment shatters your world—you can't imagine life without them, and you hit rock bottom.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you can't live like this anymore. You pack up what's important and move to a new place (if possible, Windenburg). There, you build a new cycle, meet incredible people, and gradually rebuild your life.

As an adult, you meet someone interesting. They aren't like you and they aren't perfect, but they are willing to be your partner, and you love them.

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Fourth Generation: WINGS

Perhaps you are truly bizarre and enigmatic, or maybe the unknown holds a delicious allure… The strange has always captivated you; the wrong beckons, and you have no desire to refuse. Obstacles mean nothing; you can fly—you are destined to fly.

Traits: Macabre, Art Lover, Paranoid Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Career: Reaper/Undertaker

Rules:

Embrace your strangeness in all aspects of your Sim’s life—personality, choices, relationships, and appearance.

Foster a deep bond with at least one parent; their love for you is unwavering, even if they struggle to understand you.

As a child, let playing the organ be your passion, as you grow explore a variety of unusual and unexpected hobbies.

You are impulsive, make surprising choices and handle their consequences with ease; little can shake you.

Throughout your youth, keep just one friend your age; your social circle otherwise consists of your parents and the wise elders in your neighborhood.

Whenever the opportunity arises, delve into the occult: explore Strangerville, uncover secret passages, indulge in the Life and Death and Supernatural packs, and immerse yourself in vampire lore.

As a young adult, you fall for the Grim Reaper (you decide how this fateful meeting occurs)… this forbidden love persists, even if you know its wrong.

Eventually, your sins come back to haunt you, leading to the loss of someone dear due to your dark pursuits (you choose how this unfolds).

In the aftermath, you step back from your wild ways, reassessing your choices. You realize that being different doesn’t mean you must be extraordinary; you can embrace your uniqueness without harming yourself or those around you. Maybe you can't touch the sky, but still, you want to stretch out your hand; you want to run just a bit more.

Complete your aspiration and cultivate three random skills, including Piano/Organ. You’ll decide whether to pursue another relationship, how to bring a child into the world, and if that child will be the product of your love with the Grim Reaper.

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Fifth Generation: Love Yourself: Her

You are captivated by the idea of love, something that has never been viewed positively in your family. Still, you are committed to changing that, to showing that love is what drives the world, that it’s written in the stars and part of who we are… "You know, I know… You are me, I am you."

Traits: Lovebug, Clumsy, Bookworm Aspiration: Freelance Botanist Career: Astronaut

Rules:

In this generation, there's no need to complete your aspiration (it will make sense in the storytelling).

During childhood and adolescence, you make many friendships, going out whenever you can. With your bubbly personality, you believe in the goodness of everyone.

You have a divided passion for both space and Earth; you love astrology and gardening—master these skills. As you reach adolescence, you begin to explore romance, deciding how to navigate it while always giving your all in your relationships.

Though you’re naturally popular and seem confident, you struggle with self-doubt. Your identity feels lost amid your purpose, ideals, and the image others have of you; you don’t truly know yourself.

As a young adult, you find yourself swayed by others’ opinions, abandoning one of your passions—gardening—to focus solely on becoming an astronaut, a career the is seen serious and respectable.

Astrology, once a joy, becomes a burden, and giving up gardening only adds to your stress. You come to loathe what you do. Near adulthood, you succumb to pressure and marry the worst relationship you’ve ever had, forming a "perfect family" that feels utterly false to you.

You spend the rest of your life crafting a deceptive image for others, clinging to the "what ifs" that could have changed everything.

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Sixth Generation: Love Yourself: Tear

Enough pretending; life isn’t a business. It’s time to stop suffering—you already know that feeling; it’s not innovative, and it doesn’t teach you anything new. It’s time to do what you love and be around those who deserve it.

Traits: Gloomy, Socially Awkward, Loves Outdoors Aspiration: Bestselling Author Career: Writer and Singer

Rules:

Just like your parents, you spent your childhood and half of your adolescence pretending to have a perfect life, acting in their pathetic little play.

In the middle of high school, the shock of one parent’s death (you can cheat a bit on this) throws the family into chaos, and you seize this opportunity to leave.

Despite distancing yourself from your family, your circle of relationships remains the same for a while, including a “perfect” relationship that falls apart when you decide to embrace the changes and be yourself.

This heartbreak hits you hard, and amidst a deep depression, you reflect on all the times you had to wear a mask, lie, withdraw, and act like someone you’re not, all for your family and some idiotic reason buried in your mind that forced you to participate in that farce.

You then decide to embark on a journey to discover who you truly are, independent of anyone else. The sadness has reached a point of boredom; you need to change.

Travel with your sim across various maps (or the ones you have), meet new people and explore new hobbies, and dive into game mechanics you’ve always been curious about. You are young, wild, and free!

Amidst your adventures, you discover new passions like singing, writing books, and living in the world without boundaries. And of course, you also find love with someone who, like you, has no grand dreams.

You both live the rest of your lives together as a family, traveling in a trailer you call home, singing in bars, writing novels, and savoring all that life has to offer.

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Seventh Generation: Love Yourself: Answer

You are an odd being, but you sure are yourself! And nothing in the world could change that. Soon in your life, you realize that even the most stable and positive people go through some things that can change them for life. You do not deny or reject when these times come, but you refuse to let them tell you how or who to be.

Traits: Outgoing, Self-Assured, Dance Machine Aspiration: Master Actor Career: Actor

Rules:

You grew up in a supportive family that, despite carrying some difficulties and a ton of generational trauma, always backed your choices and made sure you didn’t lose yourself to societal pressures.

During your family travels, when you stopped in Del Sol Valley, you fell in love with the star-studded lifestyle. The luxurious, colorful life filled with parties and people to share your moments with seemed like the perfect future, and it became your goal.

(If you don’t have the Get Famous pack, you can adjust this storytelling and the aspiration, etc., to another art form of your preference.)

When you reach your teenage years, your parents decide to settle in one city for a few years so that you can focus on your studies. During this time, you meet your platonic soulmate who shares the same dream as you.

When you graduate, you two decide to move to Del Sol Valley, and begin to build your careers.

You love dancing and parties, always attending them and maximizing your skills in dance and mixology.

At one of these parties, you fall in love and enter a complex romance that lasts longer than it should, but you soon realize it’s not working, and for the good of both, you decide to end it.

Over time, you realize that romantic love isn’t for you; you are happy just with the company of your friends and family! At the peak of your career, you and your platonic soulmate decide to build a family together (you can adopt or have a baby through IVF), and you enjoy everything that life, parties, and fame have to offer in a home filled with love, laughter, and color.

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Eighth Generation: Map of the Soul: 7

You were raised under the spotlight, while most people have to face external hardships and obstacles to achieve their dreams in life. You don’t have much to strive for; you are loved and have everything you need right at your fingertips. But your growing shadow swallows you and becomes a monster; your worst enemy is within you.

Traits: Loner, Neat, Gloomy Aspiration: Friend of the World Career: Actor/Dancer/Idol

Rules:

Despite not facing pressure from your family, you were a child prodigy. You felt it was your obligation to be extraordinary (maximize three types of art as a child and achieve academic excellence).

Even though you have all the talent you need, every time you had to showcase it, you couldn’t. You despise the people around you; they are all superficial and cruel.

In your teenage years, to survive in the industry your family is part of and get through high school, you create a persona. You force yourself to be a model of perfection and "altruism," shining like the biggest stars.

Throughout your life, you can have as many relationships as you want, but they are all superficial; you don’t have time for anything deeper.

When you become a young adult, things start to crumble. Your art no longer resonates with you, the people around you don’t really know you, and the need to withdraw only grows. You regret all the moments you shone. You become dark and empty, just a shell surviving on applause. You become arrogant and sad, and everyone notices your misery.

Around the same time, you fall deeply in love with someone, but your routine keeps you from being together, which breaks you.

With your last shred of sanity, you decide to abandon everything. You run away to the countryside with your love and embark on a journey to rediscover the simple joys of life, your art, and yourself.

(I highly recommend the K-Pop Star Mod by KawaiiStacie for this generation. The challenge involves many forms of art, but due to The Sims, this mechanic might have become repetitive by this point in gameplay. So, it would be nice to find a new way to achieve fame.)

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Ninth Generation: BE The idea of a new routine is frightening. Your little bubble is everything you have and everything you know. You don’t want to leave it behind, but when situations beyond your control force you out of that fantasy, you are compelled to face your new reality… after all, life goes on.

Traits: Generous, Geek, Family-oriented Aspiration: Neighborhood Confidante Career: Engineer/Tech Guru

Rules:

Since you can remember, your family and you have been involved in the local community. You know everyone, spend your days in parks, squares, and shops, and all your friends are your neighbors. That place is very important to you and is part of who you are.

An unexpected aspect of your personality is that you love video games. You attend all the geek conventions and build robots and electronics as a hobby, even though you’re not very interested in the academic side of things.

At the end of your adolescence, your family experiences a tragedy, and you find yourself alone in the world. The local authorities send you away to live with your closest relative until you reach adulthood. You lost everything overnight, including yourself.

(Your Sim can only return to their hometown after they manage to buy their old house back from scratch, regardless of the cost.)

When you finally return, you realize that much has changed while you were away. Some of your friends have started families, others have moved away, and new people have joined the community. Some places have modernized, and most importantly… it wouldn’t be the same because your family isn’t there.

This shock is difficult to overcome, but with the resilience your parents taught you, you build new connections, establish a new routine, learn to appreciate change, and discover new passions.

You create a beautiful family, giving birth to some of your children and adopting others (you can choose how many). You work in fields you enjoy, experience love, and find true joy in doing good for your community.

[loveanddeepspice]

PART TWO

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." — Oscar Wilde

Read on AO3 PART ONE INDEX *please look at the index if you are new to this story!

tw: self-deprecation Since my last posting of this, I have made a LADS sideblog! I've been so out there with writing and editing lately, please ignore my mistakes ; - ;

MORGAN

As my eyes adjusted to the cool darkness, the tiny glimmer of stars twinkled like fireflies trapped in the city's concrete jar. The museum's rear path lights cast a warm glow. The rain's brief pause made me more aware; I could hear a distant rumble of thunder, a reminder that the storm may not be over yet. As I descended the museum's rain-slicked stairs, the dampness in the air heightened my senses.

I collapsed onto a nearby bench beside a perfectly manicured bush teeming with playful insects.

A round stone gargoyle was perched near the edge of the path. The gargoyle looked absolutely fucking ridiculous, or that's how it first appeared—scooping up its wings behind it with a look of quiet contemplation and no discernible emotion.

I pulled a cigarette from my bag and lit it. Casually flicking the ashes into a nearby bush, I took heavy drags and blew them out into the starry night. The bitter taste of the cigarette brought back the restless nights of my youth when the city's promise of escape was all that kept me going. Now, here I was, smoking outside a museum at night with a dead phone.

"So this is where you ended up."

A melodious voice shattered the stillness, overpowering the lingering scent of smoke with a wave of sandalwood. And then, suddenly, Rafayel sat beside me on the bench. Even in the moonlight, his eyes gleamed with a knowing glint, his features a mask of that subtle arrogance.

"What?" I asked, trying not to let my surprise show. Had he followed me? The thought rubbed me the wrong way.

He leaned closer, his arm finding support on his knee, as he rested his fist under his chin and turned to face me.

"Well, Morgie," Rafayel said, "I wanted to see you again, but you seemed to be in a hurry."

"I just thought the night was beautiful and wanted to come outside," I quickly made an excuse. "Since my date stood me up."

I looked at the gargoyle, and it gazed back at me steadily.

There was a brief pause as he processed my words. "Wait, what about the chocolate shop? Something doesn't add up here," Rafayel said, leaning closer toward me. I could see the pale skin of his throat peeping out from beneath his jawline.

He pressed the matter. "Go ahead, tell me. I have good ears."

I scoffed, folding my arms and pretending to find the gargoyle engaging. "That's... That's none of your business."

"Ha, ha," he chuckled, a sly grin playing across his lips. I could feel his divertissement radiating from him, but it was a strange mirth. I couldn't quite decipher it.

"Come on, Morgie," his voice dropped low, almost alluring. The use of my childhood nickname only added to the awkwardness. "Let's talk."

I shifted.

His expression was calm and collected, almost bored; that arrogance that made me want to slap him. Who was this guy? We were practically strangers, our paths crossing by chance. Now, we were sitting together under the stars, and I couldn't shake the urge to grab him by the collar and demand answers.

Instead, I looked down at my folded arms across my chest.

"Fine," I huffed, trying not to let my frustration seep into my words. "If you must know...I was looking for a chocolate shop that my friend told me about. She said they had the best hot chocolate in town. I took a wrong turn and ended up at the museum by chance. It's not much different from what I already told you. So there you have it."

I shot a glare over at the gargoyle statue again. It wasn't until I noticed that the artist had fallen silent that I realized he was staring at me. His gaze was as if he was trying to piece something together. Feeling self-conscious, I turned away and fidgeted awkwardly.

"Well, I should be getting home," I said, standing up and flicking the half-finished cigarette away. "It's late, and I'm sure my cat is wondering where I am."

Rafayel tilted his head to one side, a gesture I couldn't help but find endearing as I glanced back at him.

"What?" I asked, trying to hide my annoyance. "Do you need something?"

"No," Rafayel said, "But it sounds like you might."

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I already told you why I'm here. I got lost, and then I found the museum. End of story."

"I'll level with you, Morgie-"

"Morgan."

"-that was a closed gallery, Morgan. Buyers only. And you didn't buy anything."

"What?"

"You broke in, is what I'm saying."

"I'd never!" I said, indignant. "The door was open, and I was just…just walking around!"

Rafayel sighed, a long-suffering sound. "It was a private showing," he clarified, sounding annoyed. He even dared to pout a bit, crossing his arms and one ankle over the other. "If my manager knew you were here, he'd have your head."

"Well, he doesn't need to know," I said.

"And I won't tell him if you let me walk you home."

What? Who was this guy? What did he want from me? "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to make sure you get there safe." He stood up then.

I didn't have a response, so I simply nodded in agreement. I was going to allow a stranger to accompany me on my walk home. Interesting, great, fantastic.

"Good," Rafayel said, grinning. "Let's go."

It felt strange walking alongside a stranger like this. I couldn't help but notice how confidently he carried himself as if he knew exactly where he was going.

"I - I live a bit away from here," I said, trying to keep up with his long strides. "It'll be a while before we get there."

Rafayel glanced over at me, nodding slightly. "I don't mind the walk," he said, "It's a nice night. Hopefully, the rain stopped for good."

I nodded, unsure what else to say. We walked on in silence; the smell of wet pavement and ozone hung in the air, mixing with the sounds of car horns and chatter, the city streets bustling with the usual activity that was starting to settle down.

After a few minutes, Rafayel spoke again. He had shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and moved with a fluid grace not unlike I had seen at the gallery. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," I replied, surprised at the question. "I'm from a town called Redpine, near the border."

Rafayel nodded as if he had expected the answer. "What's it like there?" he asked.

"It's... quiet," I said, unable to think of a better word. "There's not much to do."

His face pinched slightly as if expecting me to say something else. "That doesn't sound very interesting."

"No, it's not," I agreed. "But sometimes that's a good thing."

"I wouldn't know," Rafayel said, turning away from me to look down a side street. His eyes narrowed slightly, and before I could process, he had turned. At that moment, I figured I could slip away – but he looked back over his shoulder and motioned for me to follow. I glanced down the unfamiliar side street, the street lamps casting an eerie yellowish glow, the pavement glistening with lingering rainwater. Confusion and wariness warred within me as I hesitated to follow. He was still a stranger, after all. An annoying one. But curiosity won out, and I found myself trailing after him.

The narrow street was lined with quaint little shops, their windows dark at this late hour.

"You're different, Morgan," Rafayel said after a moment, pausing to let me catch up with him. "I don't know if you're a bad or good person, but you're definitely...different."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Neither," Rafayel said, pausing to look back at me. "It's just something I've noticed about you. You're hard to read."

He paused before a little shop between a bookstore and a vintage clothing boutique. The storefront was painted a rich, deep brown, like dark chocolate. Golden lettering spelled out "Cacao Delights" above the door, glimmering faintly in the soft glow of the street lamps.

"Is this the place you were looking for earlier?" He asked, glancing back at me with a knowing look.

I gazed at the quaint storefront, caught off guard by its charm.

"How did you know?" I blurted out, turning to face Rafayel with wide eyes.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze had a hint of amusement. "Just guessed. But it's closed now."

"Obviously," I replied, rolling my eyes playfully.

Rafayel chuckled quietly, causing a chill to run down my back in the cold night air. It was becoming irritating how confident his laugh was, but I couldn't help but enjoy it. "We could always plan to come back another time. Together."

My cheeks flushed, and I quickly looked away, fixating on the intricate gold lettering of the shop sign.

"I don't even know you," I mumbled, hugging myself for warmth. "Why would I do that? You're the mysterious stranger here. If anything, you should -"

"Tell me something about yourself," Rafayel cut in, holding a hand to stop me. "Something no one else knows."

I hesitated, racking my brain for a suitable answer. "I'm terrible at baking, but I love desserts," I blurted out, surprised by my confession. "I know exactly how unhealthy they are, but I still indulge in them anyway."

Rich laughter filled the air, making me feel warm inside. Seriously? Stop it.

"You sound like me," he said with a smile as he looked at me. "Maybe we have more in common than I thought. See? Now, we're not exactly strangers."

"I highly doubt that," I scoffed, but I couldn't help the slight grin that formed on my lips.

"You'd be surprised," Rafayel replied with sudden seriousness. "There are things about me that may surprise you."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "What kind of things?"

"I would tell you if I could, but some secrets are meant to be kept."

I stood there, completely shocked. Did he really just say that and expect me to agree?

"Well, maybe if you told me about some of them, I could guess the rest," I said, trying to sound calm and collected. But standing next to him, I felt small and insignificant.

"You're persistent," Rafayel remarked, glancing over at me. "I admire that."

"Thanks?" I replied uncertainly.

"Fine, I'll let you in on a secret, Morgan," he suddenly said. "But you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Yeah, sure," I said halfheartedly, already turning to walk back the way we came. All I wanted was to go home.

"You're probably the most boring person I've ever met."

I stopped in my tracks, his words hitting me like a punch in the gut. Even though what he said was true, it still hurt. I turned around to face him again.

"What's wrong with being boring?" I asked, hating how weak my voice sounded.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Rafayel clarified, tilting his head slightly. "It's just an observation. You're different from other people."

"How?" I sneered sarcastically.

"Why is it so hard for you to accept a compliment?" Rafayel retorted with a slight smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe I genuinely think you're special."

"Well then, you should try harder," I snapped back.

Rafayel stood straight, his hands tucked into his pockets, and his eyes squinted as he kept walking, passing me on the sidewalk. It was almost as if he challenged me to catch up with him.

Without hesitation, I rushed to keep up with him by his side, not giving him a second glance as he stared at me in silence.

"I'm not known for being nice," Rafayel finally spoke, his tone carefully neutral.

"Neither am I," I replied bluntly.

"I can be an asshole," he stated.

"And I can be boring," I countered.

"I can't argue with you there," he said softly. "I don't usually enjoy the company of people who aren't willing to take risks and have adventures."

I let out a hollow laugh and rolled my eyes. He had only just met me, yet he was already making assumptions about my personality here. This handsome man seemed to live in his own little bubble.

"Is that so?" I asked finally, too tired to argue with him. "Well, I wish I could say the same about you."

Rafayel pulled back, looking stung. I could see him steeling himself as his jaw tightened and his eyes widened. "What does that mean?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"You're so sure you've pinned me down even though you just met me," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "And here I am, still trying to figure you out."

"You can't read minds, Morgan," Rafayel said, arching an eyebrow. "Or...can you?"

I glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. This was getting tiresome. What did he really want from me, anyway? I looked at him, the unspoken question plain on my face. Then I looked toward the street ahead, my apartment building peeking around the corner. We were almost there.

"Thanks for walking me home," I muttered, the words sounding hollow and forced, even to my own ears. "But you didn't have to. It was nice meeting you." I smiled tightly at him, waiting.

"There's something about you, Morgan. Something that I can't quite put my finger on."

"You mean besides the obvious?" I asked, the corners of my lips quirking into a half-smile.

"Besides that, yes," Rafayel said, flashing his perfect teeth.

Damn, if he wasn't perfect. I couldn't help but stare at him. I wanted to put my lips against his. I wanted to sink my fingers into his hair.

Shut up. No way. Shut up.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Rafayel asked, his blue-pink eyes flicking toward the apartment building. He could have been a murderer for all I knew and used blood in his paintings. Why did he want to come inside? Surely I wasn't anything to look at. Chubby, a redhead, brash. He could have his pick of anyone.

"Should I?" I let a subtle challenge color my voice.

"Maybe we can negotiate in front of a lit fireplace," he offered, glancing at me sideways. "With tea."

I couldn't contain my laughter and had to wipe a small tear from my eye. He watched me with a smirk as I struggled to catch my breath after that outburst of laughter that sounded more like a hyena's cackle.

"Well," I said, forcing myself to sound diplomatic and just as lighthearted as he. "I don't have a fireplace because it's just a studio apartment, but I have a candle. Also, tea, plus coffee. I guess I could add a bag of chips?"

Rafayel shook his head.

"Make mine a chocolate croissant and a triple shot cappuccino," he added with a straight face.

I quickly glanced at him from the corner of my eye before returning to the door. Unlocking it with the key meant I would have to turn around, which made me feel vulnerable for some reason. Maybe I wasn't ready to face being alone inside just yet. Suddenly, I felt a strong desire for companionship, for someone to continue talking to me. But why was I feeling this way?

If you can't decide, things won't go how you think they should.

Rafayel brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, eyeing the entrance with his lips pinched into a thin line.

I couldn't help but blurt out, "My apartment is a mess because of my cat," as I wrapped my arms around myself and met his gaze. It didn't seem logical to me. Was I trying to tell him my place was a mess or that I had a cat? I furrowed my brow and shook my head, trying to rid myself of the strange fog clouding my mind.

Everything smelled like Rafayel, filling my senses with something clean. The sandalwood again. Was he wearing perfume? It was unlike any scent I'd ever smelled before—masculine and floral in an odd combination of unexpected opposites. I found myself fishing for my keys before my resolve fled completely.

When I turned on the light in my apartment, every corner was illuminated and exposed all at once.

Clothes were strewn over furniture. Books lay open on the floor next to the couch, dishes in the sink. Stale air hit me, mingling with the faint hint of coffee from this morning.

He'd clearly come to the right place if he'd been expecting a mess.

Rafayel had paused in the doorway. "Wow," he said, taking it all in, stepping inside and kneeling to study my pile of novels, flipping through one. "Computer science. Thrilling."

A frown suddenly passed his lips, transforming into a small scowl. His eyes had landed on the bed, on my cat, who hadn't bothered to stir but looked at the stranger with calculating yellow eyes.

"That's Void. Say hello to the new person in our lives, Void. " I introduced Void as if he could understand what was happening.

"Why did you name it that? Because it's a black cat?" Rafayel asked, suddenly moving across the room, his eyes alight with fascination as he kneeled by the bed, still keeping his distance but leaning toward the mound of fur lying on top of the covers. I'd never had a visitor who was afraid of Void before. But I never had...well, when was the last time I had a visitor?

"Yeah. But he's not a 'demon'. Don't judge him by the color of his fur," I said, giving him a sideways look as his eyes never left Void's.

"We'll see."

"Are you hungry?" I asked, keeping the thought of coffee in the back of my mind.

I needed some form of barrier—something tangible to force an emotional cushion between us. If he wasn't hungry, maybe the disappointment would snap him back to reality. If he was hungry, perhaps the feeling of embarrassment at my lack of real hospitality would bring him to his senses. Then maybe he would leave, and all the dirty thoughts I was having would vanish with him into the night.

A blush flared into my cheeks when I acknowledged the mental images in my head.

"I'm starving," he said quietly, finally breaking away from staring at my cat. This time, he met my eyes and stood to his full height. He didn't move away, but he didn't take a step closer either. Instead, the tension between us spread outward, extending like a flame.

And I didn't want to escape the heat.

But acknowledging it felt dangerous, I twisted away, turning toward the fridge.

A hand on my shoulder stopped me, and I looked back, the flush on my cheeks I wasn't sure I could explain away. My breasts grazed his chest when I whirled to face him, a quick puff of air coming from my lips in surprise. I hadn't meant to be so close.

He towered over me, making me feel small and indescribably feminine. As if he could read my thoughts, his lips curved upward in a tiny smile.

As we stood there, our bodies were almost perfectly aligned. I couldn't help but feel the warmth radiating from his frame, and it made me wish I wasn't so conscious of it. His arm was outstretched, fingers resting on the top of the fridge, creating an intimate cocoon that I had no desire to break free from.

Not even the fridge was safe.

How had things gone from normal to not normal to the way the hell was this happening so quickly? Fuck, he was hot.

I frowned, meeting his gaze, my head tilted up as he looked down at me.

Damn him.

His body leaned in towards mine, and I couldn't help but hold my breath in anticipation. This wasn't some fantasy; it was really happening. He was lowering his face towards mine.

"This is pretty stupid," he murmured, his lips inches from mine. His hand rested on the small of my back while the other still supported his weight against the fridge door.

Under any other circumstances, our first kiss against a kitchen appliance would have been disheartening. But at that moment, I was too elated to care.

"What's stupid?" I whispered, trying to contain my own desire and not give in to him too quickly. If I succumbed to his kisses now, there would be no turning back. We would lose an innocent part of our relationship.

"That I don't want to move," he confessed, capturing my lower lip.

Passionate.

His kiss matched the intensity that radiated from him, and I couldn't help but make a slight noise, somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Was it a sigh? My body responded automatically as I surrendered myself to him, parting my lips for him and letting him explore with his tongue. I tilted my head to deepen the kiss even more.

I could feel tingles where his hands roamed and a heat between my legs that demanded attention. It felt like we were creating our own steamy atmosphere. Or maybe it was just my imagination running wild. Either way, it definitely felt like the air was thickening with desire.

I had too many thoughts and needed to let go and enjoy.

Just as quickly as he'd pulled me toward him, he pinned me to the fridge and knocked down all the magnets as he unceremoniously wedged one of his legs between mine. A container of rice shattered when it hit the floor, and I groaned as he kissed me more fiercely.

His lips were insistent, demanding, as they moved against mine. One of his hands tangled in my hair, while the other slid down my to grip my hip possessively. I could feel the hard planes of his body pressing against my softer curves, the heat of his skin seeping through our layers of clothing. A moan escaped my lips, muffled by his mouth, as his tongue delved deeper, exploring and tasting.

My hands fumbled for purchase, sliding over the smooth fabric of his jacket before finding their way underneath, fingertips grazing the taut muscles of his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. He shuddered at my touch, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he nipped at my bottom lip. The sting only added to the growing ache -

No way.

With the last amount of willpower, I pushed him off with a flat palm. Rafayel's body followed the direction, stepping back and raising his hands as if I were pointing a gun at his face. My lips parted as I struggled to speak, to give some kind of warning for whatever was happening between us, but only air was escaping, and I could swear that it was too thick to breathe.

"I'm not that kind of girl." I managed weakly, even though the words tasted like lies.

He stared at me blankly, and my cheeks began to heat. I tried to read his eyes. But his face was an expressionless mask, betraying nothing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean -" He exhaled sharply, running his hands through his messy hair and tousling it even more. "This wasn't a good idea, I'm sorry."

The rejection stung more than anticipated and a hot lump formed in my throat.

"No, no, no, I don't mean it like that!" He quickly stepped forward, gently reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. "I was being greedy. I should be better than that; I just couldn't help myself." His hand dropped to my side. I avoided his eyes, shame eating away at me like acid.

What must he think of me? First I'd acted so cold and aloof, then practically attacked him and now... now I couldn't stop replaying that moment on repeat. His leg wedging between mine. My nails dug into his back. How I'd nearly... oh, the way I had writhed -

"Don't do that," Rafayel said softly, pressing a finger against my lips to cut me off mid-thought. It was then that I realized I'd been whispering something to myself, the words jumbling together yet falling from my lips endlessly, too quick and faint to fully comprehend.

"It's been a strange night," he continued, a small smile on his lips. "But that doesn't mean you can't spend more time with me."

His smile was contagious. It spread across his face, making it impossible not to smile back. The embarrassment I initially felt melted away, and a soft laugh bubbled up, taking me by surprise.

"Sure, sure," I agreed without knowing what he wanted. He hadn't asked for anything specific, but I agreed to something anyway.

"Really, Morgan... let me make it up to you this weekend," Rafayel's bright eyes scanned my face eagerly. "Let me apologize properly."

I raised an eyebrow at him, biting my lower lip nervously, wondering why I would even consider saying no to him.

"Alright," my voice came out as barely a whisper. I swallowed hard as a memory of his lips against mine flashed through my mind.

He retrieved a pen from his back pocket. My wrist tingled with anticipation as he delicately grasped it and jotted down a phone number. "Just send me a text," he murmured, his voice gentle and soothing. I avoided meeting his eyes as I nodded and shrugged, giving him the desired response. Instead, I directed my attention to my cat, who had perched across the windowsill.

MAEVE

Sylus firmly gripped my wrist while the other reached inside his coat. I heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked.

My throat tightened as I comprehended the gravity of the situation - whoever had barged into the club earlier did not do so by chance. It was a calculated move. And now, I was caught in the middle of it. But I had faced more dangerous circumstances before. In my line of work, I encountered all kinds of shady characters and dubious individuals. No matter their background, everyone had a bit of a thug in them when push came to shove.

As we ducked into another side street, Sylus paused, his grip on my wrist loosening slightly. The rain had started again, not heavy or torrential like before, but a gentle, persistent drizzle that coated everything in a fine mist. The droplets clung to his silver hair, making it gleam like polished metal in the muted light of the alley.

He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. The mist from the rain clung to his eyelashes. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his gun, the click of the safety echoing in the narrow space between us like a sigh of relief.

"You're shivering," Sylus observed, his voice low. But beneath the surface, I detected a hint of steel, a reminder that this was a man who didn't take no for an answer. The gun was put away, and he shrugged off his coat in one fluid motion. The dark fabric was heavy and well-worn, lined with deep red silk that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He held it out to me, an unspoken offer hanging between us.

I hesitated, my pride warring with the very real need for warmth. The possible implications of it. "I'm good."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be stubborn."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already draping the coat over my shoulders, his hands lingering longer than necessary. The fabric was still warm from his body heat, and I couldn't help but sink into it. The weight of the coat was oddly comforting despite the circumstances. The subtle scent of cologne clung to the collar, all rich leather and polished wood, but it didn't feel fake or try-too-hard.

The car was parked around the block. It was sleek, black, and undoubtedly expensive. It gleamed like an onyx in the dim light. The chrome trim seemed to shimmer with a subtle elegance, and I knew instantly this was a vehicle that cost more than most people's annual salary. As soon as I entered the vehicle, a wave of relief washed over me, and I sighed.

I noticed Sylus's body language shift as he settled deeper into his seat, his muscles visibly relaxing. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, giving away his attempt at nonchalance. But I saw it all—the subtle changes in his posture and the faint glimmer of relief in his eyes. Perhaps he thought I didn't notice. I felt a pang of curiosity. It made sense that he wasn't everyone's favorite person, but what had he escaped back there?

The soft hum of the car's engine, the dim glow of the dashboard lights, and the muted sounds of the city outside snapped me back to reality. I leaned back in my seat and observed how the car lights cast a flattering glow on his features and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

"Is this a normal night for you?" I inquired, adjusting my position and slipping my arms into his coat to cover up my revealing attire. The strong aroma enveloped me every time I shifted.

"This isn't your concern, but usually no. That wasn't even supposed to happen tonight."

Sylus remained unnervingly calm, his strong hands gripping the wheel with a firmness that belied his relaxed demeanor. His jaw was set in a firm line. I sat beside him, unable to look away from his focused expression and concentration. The droplets of rain and neon lights of the city were a vortex of color against the windshield.

"I live six blocks from here," I whispered, "I'll walk. You can just drop me off here-"

"I'm taking you home," his tone was decisive and final, hinting at a deeper purpose behind his actions. If I didn't know any better.

Interesting.

He focused on the road ahead, expertly maneuvering through the late-night city traffic precisely and efficiently. The scent of rich leather was in my nose—heated seats? It was a foreign concept to me—sheer opulence, a luxury.

Maeve, seriously?

"Just there," I said, pointing to the familiar building and smiling nervously at him. "Thank you." I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out breathless.

The car stopped. As I reached for the door handle, Sylus's hand gently wrapped around my wrist. I felt a shiver run down my spine from the gentle pressure. We held each other's gaze for what felt like an eternity, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart race. Then, he wordlessly reached into the glovebox and pulled out a sleek, black umbrella. Its handle was adorned with a silver design that shimmered in the dim light of the car.

As he handed me the umbrella, our fingers brushed against each other. In that brief instant, I saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a hint of exhaustion. It could have been my own tiredness coloring my perception. Maybe he was just as exhausted as I was. I quickly pushed those thoughts away; there was no way I would feel any empathy towards this man. Not towards anyone associated with Onychinus, especially him. They controlled everything from the glitzy skyscrapers towering over the skyline to the gritty back alleys where secrets were kept and deals were made. They called him "la sombra" - the shadow - in my neighborhood.

"Keep it," Sylus said, "You'll need it more than I will."

I hesitated, my fingers brushing against his as I held the umbrella. The energy between us was a crackling current that made the air feel thick and heavy. I knew I should leave, that lingering here would only complicate things further, but I could not move.

"I..." My voice trailed off, the words sticking in my throat. What could I possibly say to him after everything that had happened tonight? What was he thinking?

"My name isn't Luna," I said finally, the words tumbling in a rush.

Sylus's eyes widened slightly at my confession, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he quickly regained his composure. His hand remained on my wrist, his touch warm and steady despite the revelation.

"You didn't seem like the type to give your real name to strangers."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I met his gaze. "It's Maeve."

His fingertips trailed lightly over my skin as he pulled away. When he said nothing, my hand grasped the door handle, and I looked back one last time.

"Keep an eye on Onychinus—some of them seem shady as fuck." I said.

Sylus's eyebrows shot up in surprise at my parting words, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low chuckle, the sound rich and warm in the confines of the car. "Bold words coming from a woman who admitted to using a fake name."

I felt a smile tug at my lips in response, the tension between us easing slightly. "Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a saint."

With that, I pushed open the car door and stepped out into the rain, the cool droplets hitting my face and mingling with the coat's warmth—I guess he didn't expect that back, either. I opened the umbrella he had given me, its silver handle fitting perfectly in my grip as I held it aloft.

"Maeve. Interesting name." The man's voice was like a rumble of thunder from the car behind me, sending shock waves from my head to my toes. His reaction was anticipated, but at this point, I wasn't so sure of myself anymore. I just wanted to fall into bed and pass out—not to be hypnotized by a walking paradox.

Maeve. Maeve. Maeve.

Who's the mask, and who's the girl beneath it?

I shut the door of the car.

ATLAS

As I stood in the bar's bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but wonder what the actual fuck was going on. I looked like a mess, a tangled bundle of dark curls and wire-thin limbs. The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unflattering glow on my light olive skin, making the scar above my left eyebrow stand out like a beacon. My green eyes looked dull and tired, the gold flecks near the pupils muted. I rubbed a hand over my jawline, feeling the sharp angles and definition that always made me look like I was perpetually scheming something.

Who was I, really? A tech-obsessed, gadget-hoarding, restless bundle of energy with a penchant for getting into weird situations? Or was I just a guy who'd stumbled into a conversation with a stranger and now wondered what had just happened?

My phone chimed from somewhere in my jeans pocket. Again. I reached in and pulled it out with a sigh, looking to see a text from my dad:

Hey, kiddo, just checking in.

I stared at it for a few seconds before typing out a reply:

Yeah, I'm okay.

It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie, either. Not in that moment, at least.

When I left the bathroom, I shouldn't have been surprised to find the mysterious stranger gone because, of course. I wandered over to the bar, ordering another drink on autopilot as I replayed our conversation. He'd been intriguing, with an air of quiet confidence that drew me in. We'd only scratched the surface of small talk, but I'd caught glimpses of something more beneath his words. Hell, if I knew what, though. I glanced over at the empty space where we'd sat, my eyes lingering on the spot. It felt almost like I had...met him before? But that could be said about many instances, could it not? Sometimes, we just have that sort of connection... And what the fuck is that? I had no idea, really.

But there was no denying the faint pull, the faint impression of a long-buried memory I couldn't quite recall. My phone chimed again, making me nearly jump out of my skin. My hand went to the back pocket of my jeans, my fingerprint unlocking the phone to a message:

nice meeting you :)

The message seemed innocuous enough, but something about it felt off. I typed a reply, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard as I debated what to say.

Yeah, same.

I finally sent it, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in my stomach. I shoved the phone in my pocket, grabbed my jacket, and went to the door. The cool night air hit me like a slap in the face, and I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. What was it about Xavier that had me so tied up in knots? I couldn't shake the feeling that our conversation had been more than just small talk, that there was something beneath the surface that I hadn't quite grasped. I glanced back at the bar, half-expecting to see him watching me. But the doorway was empty, and I was alone and had to work in the morning.

I started walking home, my thoughts spiraling in circles. Was I being overly paranoid or overly hopeful? I had no idea. And I knew the answer to that question would linger until I saw the guy again—if I saw him again. Either way, I needed to stop dwelling and focus on sleeping. Maybe my head would be clearer, and I could sort through my tangled emotions. But just as I turned onto my street, the shoddy apartment building in my sight, my phone buzzed.

What was he doing, texting me again? And why did I feel excited about talking to him some more? He had ditched me, and I wanted an apology. Or maybe I didn't because I was overanalyzing things and—

Just open the damn message. You know you're dying to find out what it says.

With a sigh, I pressed my thumb against my phone, waiting for the faint vibration signaling that the code had been accepted. A little banner popped up.

had to run.

I responded quickly, my thumbs moving on autopilot.

no worries, had to run too

I waited for a response, my eyes fixed on the screen as the seconds ticked by. And then, just as I was starting to think he wouldn't respond, my phone buzzed again.

sry bout that

I smiled to myself. We both apologized for having to run as if our busyness had somehow connected us. I should have been mad; he had just randomly left, after all.

np, gotta do what you gotta do

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should add anything else. But before I could decide, my phone buzzed again.

yeah, exactly

As I walked towards my apartment building, lost in thought as I fumbled for my keys, I heard a faint "Hey" coming from the direction of the entryway.

I let out a jerk in surprise and turned to see Maeve, my neighbor from across the hall, standing under the awning, holding a closed umbrella and smoking a cigarette. But something was off about her. Her eyes looked sunken, and her usual laid-back demeanor was replaced by a nervous energy.

I took a step closer, my curiosity piqued, and that's when I noticed the glitter on her cheekbone like she'd been dusted with stardust. She had an expensive-looking black coat wrapped around her.

"You scared the shit out of me." I breathed, trying to calm my racing heart. "You okay?"

Maeve's eyes darted around the entryway, her gaze flicking from the doors to the stairs and back again. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice tight. "I just...I don't have my key, that's all."

"You don't have your key?" I repeated, trying to process this information. "What do you mean?"

Maeve shrugged, her shoulders barely moving under the expensive-looking coat. "I mean, I don't have my key, dumbass," she said, her voice flat.

A bubble of annoyance rose in me. I was already a mess of nerves and impatience, and here Maeve was, casually dropping 'dumbass' into our conversation. Maybe she had good reason to be so blunt. Maybe not. Either way, it irked me.

"Jeez, what crawled up your ass and died?" I shot back, unable to stop myself.

Maeve's fingers twitched, but she kept her cool. "Look, can you just let me inside the stairway?" she said, her voice still tight. "I'm just having a terrible night."

I raised an eyebrow, still feeling a bit annoyed. "A bad night?" I repeated. "You're telling me. You show up out of nowhere, and then you snap at me like I'm the idiot."

Maeve's eyes flashed; momentarily, I thought she would lash out at me again. But then her expression softened, and she looked away, tossing her cigarette and stamping it out with her heel.

Her apology was laced with a hint of desperation, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. "I'm sorry. It's been a bad night." The words were laced with a quiet vulnerability, a sense of defeat that seemed to hang like a mist.

I nodded sympathetically, recognizing the tone. "Hey, don't worry about it. Come on, let's get you inside."

She followed me silently, her gaze fixed on her feet as I unlocked the stairway door.

As we began our ascent up the stairs, I asked, "So, do you want to tell me what happened?" My voice was gentle and encouraging, but Maeve's response was immediate and curt.

"Long story," she said.

"I'm all ears," I said.

Maeve's gaze flickered, and momentarily, I thought I saw a glimmer of fear. But then her expression hardened, and she raised her eyebrows. "You're really curious, aren't you?" she asked her voice a little lighter now, a hint of irony creeping into her tone.

"I'm just trying to be a good neighbor," I said, forcing a smile.

"You're not very good at it," she snorted, her tone playful but with an undercurrent of cynicism.

I laughed. "Hey, I'm trying," I said as we reached the top of the stairs.

As I pushed open the door to the hallway, Maeve turned to me, her expression suddenly serious. "The leader of Onychinus pulled me out of a strip club so I wouldn't get shot and drove me here," she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact but with a hint of underlying trauma.

I stared at her, my mind reeling to process what she'd just said. "The leader of Onychinus?"

Maeve nodded, her expression still straight-faced, but her eyes bore into mine as if daring me to react. "Yeah. That's what I said," she replied, a hint of impatience in her voice.

My mind raced, trying to fit the pieces together and understand the truth, but I decided it wasn't worth it to try to determine whether she was serious.

So, instead of further investigating her encounter, I just looked at her until she snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I'm a real thrill ride."

I didn't know quite how to respond, so I laughed, relieved, and weirded out all at once. It seemed like I was finally starting to understand exactly what kind of strange individual lived in 11B with her kid and her grandma and, as I had just learned, worked at a strip club. Yikes.

"Help me get into my apartment," Maeve said, her voice firm and demanding. "I don't want to wake my grandma."

I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her tone. "Okaaaay."

I followed Maeve to her apartment door, where she stood with her arms crossed, looking expectant. I examined the door, trying to figure out how to get her in without a key. I checked the door handle, the lock, and the surrounding area, my mind racing with possibilities.

After a few moments of silence, I spotted a small gap between the door and the frame. I smiled to myself, thinking I might have found a solution. I pulled out my wallet and extracted a thin, flexible card, which I carefully inserted into the gap. I manipulated the lock with some finagling, and the door creaked open.

Maeve's expression changed from annoyance to surprise, and she raised an eyebrow at me. "Nice work," she said, her voice softer now.

I shrugged, brushed aside the praise, and gestured to the apartment entrance. "After you."

She stepped inside, turning and grasping the door before giving me a serious look. "Thanks. Just... don't ask about any of this."

"You can count on that," I assured her. "There are many things I've decided not to ask about regarding you."

Maeve cracked a slight smile at this, and for a second, we held each other's gaze before she nodded and pushed the door closed. I blinked and turned to walk across the hall to my apartment, still processing my strange encounters that evening. When I slipped off my shoes, my phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, expecting a text from a friend or a notification from an app.

But instead, I saw a message from Xavier:

wut r u doin this wknd?

[oddygaul]

The Boy and the Heron

God damn this movie is a hot mess. The pacing is all over the place; the tone is all over the place. It feels like it’s trying to be a metaphor for a dozen different things, but none of them come through particularly well, and it ends up being a big, unpolished jumble of ideas. Plus, in its eagerness to foreground those deeper themes, fundamental things like character motivations, goals, and narrative cause-and-effect are left by the wayside, leading to much of the movie feeling like a disconnected series of events with little tying them together.

I understand the desire for an artist to make something that’s solely for themselves, or to write a story with the primary goal of deeper thematic resonance; in my opinion, though, if what you're writing has gotten to the point where the basic A to B plot of your story doesn’t really make sense, I think you may have gone too far.

Now, a work that’s all subtext, no plot can work if the vibe is there - that’s pretty much the definition of a tone piece, and I fuck with a lot of tone pieces. In this case, though, I did not think the vibe was there. The tone bounces from a measured, somber meditation on grief, to a wondrous journey through a strange land, to a fast-paced goofy caper when the parakeets get involved… I didn’t feel much of a coherent tonal throughline.

Okay, so fine, the themes?

A lot of people are saying the whole movie is about Miyazaki’s struggle with leaving behind his legacy without a direct heir. While that’s a compelling idea, that subplot is introduced roughly… *checks notes* 5/6ths of the way through Boy and the Heron, so you wouldn’t exactly call the movie a very effective vessel for that message, would you?

Was it about Mahito seeing his mother again, to move on from her death? She miraculously appears but they barely talk. Is it about accepting his stepmom into his life? Well, she’s gone for half the movie. Is it about rejecting fantasy / escapism to live in the real world? Well, okay, but the stepmom is the one that went in there in the first place and Mahito hated it from the jump, so no one really changed their minds here.

Speaking of the stepmom, it’s weird as hell that Mahito’s process of accepting his dad immediately marrying his dead wife’s sister is treated like a personal journey. No, that’s a weird fucking thing to have happen to you, and you better believe a kid is gonna be fucked up about that for a while. I understand this isn’t out of the norm for the setting / time period, but it clearly bothers Mahito. I don’t see how a lonesome, magical journey to another world is the right salve for those feelings as opposed to like, a frank and open conversation with his dad.

—

Miyazaki once famously said that the problem with the modern anime industry is that no one draws from real life anymore - that character designers learn how to draw anime girls only by copying other anime girls, turning the entire industry into a grisly moe ouroboros devoid of any authenticity.

What the fuck is this, Hayao? Did you design this by looking at a real human being? Or is this a baachan based on a previous Ghibli baachan which was itself based on another Ghibli baachan? The moe ouroboros tolls for us all, Hayao. It tolls for us all.

—

Having vented those frustrations, there’s a lot of gorgeous stuff in this movie, of course.

The stepmom’s house is so neat - the modern, western-style house built straight onto the classical Japanese architecture, Winchester-mansion style.

As opaque as Mahito was to me, it’s funny as hell how aggro the kid is. It was fuckin on SIGHT with the heron, bro.

Everyone is so stoked about these birds shitting on them all the time

The world of the tower had a very different vibe to Ghibli’s classics that was pretty cool - a very Greek / Elysium feel to much of it, a place stuck between life and death.

This is the bougiest way I’ve ever seen someone drink water

these weird fucks

—

When taking the lore at face value, it’s wild how this movie is basically an Annihilation + Bloodborne lovechild. So basically an extraterrestrial meteor crashes from the sky, and begins terraforming the area around it; as it does so, it distorts not only space, but time itself. Much like the wildlife in Area X, the parakeets enter the tower and are drastically altered to serve their environment’s needs. The way the tower seems to hold onto alternate versions of people that have entered and keeps them there, stuck outside of time, is reminiscent of what happens to the Southern Reach trilogy’s research team.

And then on top of that, we have the great uncle calling Mahito’s stepmother inside the Nightmare of Mensis, excuse me, the tower, so that she can give birth inside, allowing the child to ascend and become the ruler of the realm?

Oh Amygdala, oh amygdala! Have mercy on the poor heron.

Just saying, ‘the Heron isn’t actually magic, it’s merely a lookalike biological simulacra of a heron created by the reality-warping crash-landed U.F.O.’ wasn’t on my bingo card going into this movie. lol

[kolbisneat]

MONTHLY MEDIA: July 2023

Summertime! Full of good vibes and a bunch of good movies I’ve yet to see. Here’s how I spent the month of July.

……….FILM……….

Barbie (2023) Just incredible. As an artist who works with existing properties overseen by a lot of people, I was amazed at just how deep, critical, and weird this movie was able to get. I truly had no idea where it was going. Funnier and sillier than I expected but am so thrilled that this wasn’t a generic cash-in.

Lupin the Third: The Mystery of Mamo (1978) Years ago I saw a poster by Sam Bosma and that was both my first introduction to Lupin and the reason I wanted to check him out as a character. Going in mostly blind (aside from knowing the main character is a master thief), this movie was weirder, hornier, and way more avant garde than I was expecting! Some really cool animation on display and while the pacing is up and down, I can’t recommend it enough. The main villain reminded me of a mix between Akira’s espers and Paul Williams and turns out Swan from Phantom of the Paradise was an inspiration! So wild.

……….TELEVISION……….

Jury Duty (Episode 1.01 to 1.04) The premise is fun and just when I thought it was starting to dip it turns out the fictional case is compelling too so I’m BACK! Very keen to see how the season ends and what Ronald makes of this in the end.

Mashle (Episode 1.01 to 1.12) This series seems to answer the question: what if Harry Potter was a meathead with no magic? It didn’t really hooked me and the characters are kinda thin but it has moments of wonderful goofiness that I’m glad I finished out the season.

The Bear (Episode 1.04 to 1.08) Just when I thought the show was getting less stressful, the characters pointed out that fact! Then the following episodes ramped up the stress again. But it never feels contrived or unnatural. Everything, from the humor to the stakes to the character interactions, feels wholly organic. Like we’re watching real people live out real lives. I dunno I guess what I’m saying is it’s really good.

……….YOUTUBE……….

Why American Cities Are Broke - The Growth Ponzi Scheme [ST03] by Not Just Bikes VIDEO (Title if needed) I’ve been watching a lot of videos about transit lately (like this series by Vox) but the above video is probably the most important one you can watch. His entire Strong Towns series is great and succinctly explains why north american cities suck and keep getting worse. Vote for elected officials that push for density.

What if We Had a GREAT X-Men Game? by The Cosmonaut Variety Hour VIDEO Real shift from bikes and cities but I keep thinking about this video. Speculative stuff rarely hits for me but this is really great and hits all the right notes for the series. Really wish this sorta stuff could get made.

……….READING……….

Bullshit Jobs by David Graeber (Complete) I think it was a mistake to keep the original article/essay that inspired this book at the beginning. I found the points made were clearer and more succinct in the condensed version and the book’s tone seems to waffle. There are some good ideas in here but I think it needed more time in the oven. If anything, read the article and the last chapter and I think you’d be good.

……….AUDIO……….

Lofi Covers of Popular Songs (Playlist) I’ve been writing a lot lately so I haven’t been engaging with a lot of music. HOWEVER this playlist on spotify has been on in the background and offers the perfect balance for me: not distracting but engaging if I focus on it.

……….GAMING……….

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The Mof1 Crew is currently on the run after the retiring couple they kidnapped escaped but I’m sure everything will work out just fine.

Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The group is still navigating a group of elves on the island and seeing what happens now that they’ve let their star-collecting duties slip. Big trouble. You can read about it here.

And that’s it. See you in August!

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

[katsukikitten]

In which Shoto is an asshole Oni and I am the author that wrote the majority of this fic tipsy, you’re welcome! Bnharemcollab masterlist found here

Warnings: Non con bruv. Claws horns? He's an oni bud

"And they say he's been stealing the hearts of beautiful women for centuries. So don't go talking to any ole handsome man that steps over a threshold." The tour guide adds to the end of her ridiculous story about some Demon King that drags women to hell before she leads the group onto the next painting.

Still there was something captivating about the art work, how the man has his back to the viewer and how women bow to him, foreheads pressed into the tatami mats with their own bleeding hearts held high over their heads. Blood drips from their hands, splattering on the mats like rain or tear drops. The man, who is assumed to be the Oni, is looking over his shoulder, hand reaching out for the nearest offering. Both figures are forever suspended in brush strokes and desire for more. The closer you inspect the other worldly looking figure the more your gut tightens. His elaborate kimono hangs loosely from his body but you can still see the broadness of his shoulders, the thick bands of muscle on his forearms, the apparition of elongated nails when you look closer and finally the faint strokes atop of his two toned hair that are in the shape of sharp horns.

A God among men or maybe you should say a Devil among friends. A sigh escapes you as you admire the work before the tour guide announces the title, artist and time period of the next piece. “Wrath of the Mountain God.” A large man, with long hair so deep in hue you first mistake it for black, stands in a Kimono. His chest on display as he stands giving the view his profile, his eyes glow red in the light of the full moon, in his arms seems to be a maiden, a flower crown falling from her hair. It looks as if his strong form had just taken a step, beneath his foot begins a nasty fissure that gapes the Earth for miles and miles. The painting feels charged and emotions practically drip from the ink painting and yet still your eyes flicker to the painting to it’s right. At this angle you can see a faint shimmer in his smoky quartz colored eye. It sends a shiver down your spine as you feel a faint breath on the nape of your neck. Quickly you turn your head, craning your neck to look over your shoulder but no one stands behind you. Just another painting, “Golden God of Destruction.” Red gaze glowering as his hair drips gold, while he walks over the hellish landscape of cooling and erupting lava. You swallow thickly before following the tour guide onto the next section.

The tour lasts another half an hour but your mind lingers on the shimmering eyes of the dangerous entity. The more you think of him the bigger the sinking feeling in your gut becomes, not to mention the more you feel as if something is stalking your every move. Another quick glance over your shoulder as you exit the museum while you ponder over why this particular Oni was handsome when all of the other artworks featuring a yokai or oni were depicted as ugly, grotesque even.

Maybe it was because he was the King? You couldn’t be sure, all you knew is that you could understand why the women would rip out their hearts and offer them up to him. He was hot as hell, no pun intended.

Suddenly the fall air smells of frost and the threat of snow, you wrinkle your nose before you jump out of your skin. .

"So you liked the "Oni King, stealer of heart’s'' piece best?" A smooth voice calls from behind you, you press your hand over your rapidly beating heart as you try to catch your breath. Startled, you turn around to see a handsome man opening the gate, stepping over the grass line onto the sidewalk. Instantly you feel heat rush you as a cool autumn breeze swirls around fallen leaves around your boots.

"How did you…"

"I come here often and no one has ever stopped and looked at that piece as long as you have." He seems stoic and you can just barely see the corner of his mouth lift up. You take a moment to really drink him in, his tall stature, his hair a shocking white with contrasting red and a scar that sits beautifully over one of his gem stone eyes. One a smoky quartz and the other a bright turquoise.

You swallow thickly as you stare at the other worldly man, finding little to no words as your heart beats into your ribcage. You grip at the fabric of your jacket over your heart, it pounds against your rib cage like a fluttering wild bird.

"Where are my manners? I am Todoroki Shoto. But you can call me Shoto." Again he offers his barely there smile, "And you are?"

It's laughable how you stumble over your own name, you have never had issues talking to attractive people before, what the hell was your problem now.

“It sounds lovely.” He says your name, it rolls off of his tongue like music makes you swallow thickly, your knees threatening to buckle and you can’t understand why you’re acting like a love struck teenager again. There is a contrasting air about him, just like his hair. Passion and reservation, raging power and quiet tranquility, and the feel of it is making you dizzy. Tipsy almost, drunk if you linger here too long. Just as you’re about to express how you’ll be late for dinner he smiles at you.

Fully this time.

And you think your heart was going to claw out of its calcium coffin but it stalls when you notice that it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Well since you have a good appreciation of art, would you care to join me in the garden, the Chrysanthemum are in full bloom this time of year.” You swallow as you look at him, a twinge of fear lingering in your blood that is soon lost as he steps over the threshold of the garden, waiting patiently.

“Uh, yea I think I can spare some time.” You smile nervously, he offers out his hand.

“Be careful, the step down can be quite steep.” A genuine small form on your lips now as you remember the first time you set foot into this garden and almost twisted your ankle. You step over the threshold, blinking against the late afternoon sun as you do.

Except when you open your eyes once more, you are no longer in the garden. There are no shrubs and bushes, no cinderblock wall of the old museum, something more sinister stands in its place. The sky is an inky black, the full moon hangs overhead shining down onto a small village that thickens the closer it gets towards a large feudal era looking castle. Fading sunlight filter behind you as you whip your head behind you. A giant Torri stands where the aging fence and garden gate stood before, a hazy image of an autumn afternoon in the shape of the gate rapidly begins to shrink. Panicked you lunge arm outstretched as if catching a full elevator as you’re running behind for a very important meeting.

If only your paralyzing panic was over something so trivial.

A strong set of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards a chiseled chest as hot breath whispers cooly in your ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep all of your limbs, love.”

Shaking you glance over your shoulder before you watch the portal to home close up.

Just like that the landscape that could be seen through the gate was endless night and rolling hills dotted with homes here and there. When you turn to face your captor his eyes narrow as he studies you. His gem stone eyes glittering in the rich moonlight, following your hands up to your chest. He stills as he listens and while he looks you notice the horns growing from his head. Thin and shaped into a deadly point. He tilts his head as if you are bewitching before he leans closer, capturing your hair between his fingers. Now that you were in the moonlight, in the realm he ruled, you looked...familiar and the feeling made his chest tighten.

“How does your heart feel?” He asks, eyes anywhere but yours. You try to jerk out of his touch but his warm hand wraps around your bicep keeping you well within arms reach.

“My heart?! What does that have to do with me standing in HELL!” You scream and it echoes across the chilled landscape. Some women in kimono pass by, keeping their eyes turned down as they pass but once they are a few steps behind this brute’s back, they send you withering glares.

Your attention comes fully back to the man in front of you, or maybe you should say demon. He presses his hand over your heart with a puzzling look. Your body heats from the contact and embarrassment, you were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding. All the while his brows knit upwards.

“Seems you aren’t affected…”He murmurs to himself, tonguing his cheek. Suddenly he tears your sweater, pressing his hand against your chest and part of your breast.

“Hey!” You protest until a burning sensation blooms on your skin, when he pulls away you see kanji puckering up, that reads “Shoto”

“That should keep the lower demons away...for now.” He grabs onto your wrist tightly, too tightly before your world bends and blurs. Folding in on itself as if Space and Time were suddenly a beautiful origami paper creased until the maker was satisfied.

The world is bright when you open your eyes next, cradled in an abundance of candle light as your stomach sours causing you to lurch.

“Ugh, not on the tatami!” A woman’s voice scolds, but her state doesn’t help the nausea that hits you in waves. She wears a beautiful kimono, embroidered with gold and silver thread on violet cloth, the chest stained a deep cherry and a hole is where her heart should be. Her hands stained blood red and you back up, panting as you try to keep a level head.

“Get her cleaned up.” Shoto snaps, “I will want her in my room promptly.”

The women in the room shake slightly, keeping their heads down, distantly you can hear the sound of a thousand thundering hearts, deafening in a sense. The stately woman gently guides you towards the bath in the large mansion, shock sets in as your gaze glazes over. Every hall has a woman, anywhere from the feudal era to today, all dressed in kimonos, most were dressed in the ones they obviously died in or dressed in old clothes with their tattoos and fresh wounds peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Every single person sends you a death glare.

You’re stripped of your clothes and dignity in the company of about twenty women, hands shove you into the steaming water, cupping the cloudy water to wash your skin.

No matter how often the woman dip their hands into the water, the blood never leaves their fingertips, forever stained in their sin.

“We gave them away, you know. Ripped them from our chests….” She looks up at you with a timid look.

“Kiyoko, hush.” An elder hisses as she straightens the thin piece of cloth you were going to wear once you were all pieced together.

“No, she deserves to know..” Kiyoko hisses back, “The story is similar for a lot of us, he appears in a doorway, he seems kind enough, and then we look into his eyes. Gazing too deeply before our hearts seize in our chests, flopping around as if behind your flesh was killing it and it should sit in the palm of his hand. The only logical thing was for us to reach deep inside of ourself and give him what he deserved.” A quite falls over the room before a heavy solem air settles on your shoulders.

“He stopped for a while….after he met you.” Your eyes flash to hers and the elder’s hand wraps into Kiyoko’s hair, pulling her away from you.

“Enough.” She snarls as tears run down her cheeks, down all the women’s cheeks and you swallow thickly.

After an hour of primping you find yourself in front of two sliding tatami doors that have Oni and other yokai decorating their sheets.

“Send her in.” A deep voice sounds from the other side.

“Yes master.” The women answer, opening the doors before one shoves you in.

Doors to the eqwaa are open as he lounges on the polished wood, staring at the moon. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and it eerily reminds you of the painting in the museum.

In an instant he is in front of you, backing you into the plush bed that sat in the middle of his room, you fall onto the raised futon looking up at him.

The lowlight plays tricks on your eyes, the square paper lantern and the moon painting him in strokes of kind, of hurt, not some beastly thing he obviously was. Even his horns seemed soft, but nothing was softer than his lips as he pressed them to yours. Embarrassingly ecstasy blossoms under your eyelids as liquid heat floods your core. His tongue probes yours as he leans over top of you, playing with you nipples through the thin cloth as you moan into his mouth. Your body arches into his his as your heart flutters, trying to pull you away from his addicting touch.

Maybe you could have gotten away, maybe….

If only his hand hadn’t slipped between your thighs where he teased your sex utnil you pruned his figners, singing like the song bird he knew you were. His hard cock presses against your thigh twitching with delight. He kisses down your throat before he shreds the thin white kimono away from your body. He groans audibly before he leans down, one finger pulling at your pebbled nipple while the other pulls it between his teeth.

“Shoto…”You cry and he moans into your supple skin. Taking off his own thin kimono to align himself up to your fluttering hole. Eyes glued to your heart, fingers tracing the kanji as he eases himself in inch by inch. Stretching you and filling you pleasantly. He sits for a moment, taking in your body and how you burn under his touch. Free hand roaming your body as the other prods your fresh burn. Tracing the strokes over and over as if he wrote it himself.

Well technically he did.

“Please.” Your mouth betrays, hips pressing up into his to get any sort of friction, his free hand comes down, slamming your hips into the bed.

“Say it again.” He huffs, “Say my name again.”

“Shoto.” It's a hushed, reluctant breath but your skin was icy hot, lifeforce feeling as if it were evaporating away from the heated tension that sat between you two. He watches your body wither, feels your cunt clamping down onto him desperately and it’s all he can do not to thrust into you widely.

“Again.” He barks, pulling at your nipple harshly.

“Shoto.” You moan, the sound is enough to make him start his harsh pace. Pelvis slamming into yours as his tuft of pubic hair glides across your clit. Your vision blurs with tears, it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve ever had or could ever remember as his claws ghost over your soft skin.

“You thought you could escape me.” He grunts, ramming himself into you harder, you moan in response, “I marked more than your flesh two hundred years ago, I marked your soul.”

“You couldn’t help yourself, coming back to the very piece of art you created.” He continues with a laugh, claws raking down your skin, slicing at your skin superficially. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you cannot fathom what he’s said. All that there is the feel of his hands, the pleasure that threatens to snap in your stomach.

He watches the way your cunt coats his cock in a silvery sheen that has his lips parting. Taking wanton ruts, the motion of it rattling the art on the wall. Pieces fall around you and any of the scrolls that try to block his view of you get shredded mid air. His thrusts turn sloppy as he comes down to bite at your neck.

“Shoto!” You cry out, vision going black as your body convulses around him, eyes rolling in to the back of your head as you forget your name and only cry out his.

“That’s right, tell me who you belong to. Who owns you love.” He pants, holding his own release for a moment longer just to hear your sweet voice scream his name over and over. Finally your milking cunt sends him over the edge. He grunts, staring into your eyes as he paints your wall a creamy white.

“Mine.” He growls, biting at your breast, at the skin over your heart. You feel his spilling cock harden again as your body melts into the sheets.

Most of the night is spent in mind numbing ecstasy and in those few short hours you forget you were ever brought here unwillingly.

You sit on a throne, overlooking the vast landscape of Yomi, Oni running the underworld as heartless women wander the streets. Their mortal heartbeats keeping time as they ceaselessly beat just beneath your feet. Mind’s eye miles away as you see a ghost of a hand before you. Memory playing out as you take careful brush strokes against your canvas, hoping this would serve as a warning for other women as you dab the brush in the deep colored liquid that stains the tatami floor of your home.

Ever the artist you wanted to add final touches even as you drew your final breaths, having thought it better to take your own life than to sit at the right hand of a demon, your chest was already mutilated with his name.

Irony weighs heavy in your stomach as you realize how futile it was to even make that masterpiece. It did not serve as a warning.

No if anything, it served as a beacon, drawing you like a moth to flame until you circled to close.

Burning up in the flames of the very thing you admired.

[translytherins]

ok fuck ik ur getting tired of the kuroo but kuroo x male reader where reader can animate and draw, shir like that and is a very well known manga / anime maker or whatever

A/n: Nah... It's cool! I don't really mind! This was kinda rushed so some of the parts might not make sense but I still hope you like it!

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I Like You For You

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsuro x Male! Insecure! Artistic! Reader

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News that a new male student spread like wild fire all over the school spread lile wildfire even more so when they found out that the new student might be the creator and illustrator of [manga series]. Sadly for the second, first years and some of the third years, the new student was a third year and in class 3-5 so every hope of being in the same class as him were nonexistent but some of them were still hopeful on being either friends or acquaintance with him while some of the third years that were in class 3-5  were bragging about the fact that they were in the same class as some famous (I have no idea what I'm writing or where this is going). Kuroo was not one of them. He wasn't as excited as everyone else.

I mean he was a little excited about having a new classmate but he couldn't understand why his classmates were bragging about being in the same class with someone famous. That just doesn't sit right with him but he can't really do anything about it because people are still going to do it anyways. So here he is, in class with his fellow classmates who were excited to meet the male illustrator was in their class.

They heard the door open and they excitedly, not including Kuroo, turned their heads towards the door only to be disappointed when they saw their teacher walk in the door.

"Alright class! As I'm sure most of you already know we're having having a new student today!"

And with that everyone perked up again.

"You can come in now"

The door slowly opened and in came a male with [hair coloured] hair and [eye coloured] eyes entered the room and instantly everyone's breath was taken away. He was much more beautiful in real life. His pictures did not give him justice. Kuroo felt like he was being put in a trance. His breath was taken away from him and his heart fluttering when he stared at the male that just entered his classroom. In all honesty, Kuroo has never seen his pictures before but damn... He was beautiful! Now he understood what all the hype was about.

"Please introduce yourself"

The male that was standing in front of the classroom was just fiddling with his sleeve before he spoke up, eyes never leaving his sleeve.

"My names (M/n) (L/n)... Nice to meet you all... I guees..." he mumbled the last part quietly.

"It's nice to have you with us (L/n)-san. Please take you're seat behind Kuroo-san. Kuroo-san you wouldn't mind raising you're hand would you?"

Kuroo snapped out of his trance and raised his hand.

"Thank you Kuroo-san. Go ahead (L/n)-san"

(M/n) nodded his head and quietly made his way towards his seat, still feeling the eyes of his new classmates on him.

He quietly sat down eyes glued on his table, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

"Alright class so today we will be learning-" the teacher spoke up, taking everyone's attention away from (M/n) and towards the lesson which (M/n) was greatful for.

-

It was currently recess and (M/n), somehow, managed to escape the clutches of his classmates and found himself under a cherry blossom tree behind school. There was no one there which he was thankful of because he just wanted to finish his education so he could focus on illustrating more. He was not here to make friends who were trying to be friends with him because he's famous. He took out his bento box that his mom made for him that morning and started eating. He was solely focusing on his food that he didn't realise that someone was approaching him until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped slightly from his spot on the ground and looked up to see his classmate and a male with pudding hair that was messing around with his phone.

"Sorry to intrude but you don't mind us sitting with you right? It's okay if we can't though"

(M/n) was a bit hesitant but decided 'eh... Why not... At least he asked first and didn't just sit down and decided to try and get in his good grace. He nodded his head, indicating that it was okay for them to sit down with him. Kuroo flashed him a smile, that made (M/n)'s heart flutter slightly but he chose to ignore it, before sitting down and pulling the pudding haired male with him. It was slightly awkward at first but slowly (M/n) began opening up to Kuroo and the pudding haired male, Kozume Kenma, because he felt safe around the two of them but he still couldn't figure out why his heart flutteres slightly nor why his hands are always sweaty whenever he talks to Kuroo but he just decided to not pay attention to it.

-

It was the end of the school day and (M/n) opened his locker and was met with a lot of love letters falling out of his locker making him sigh. It's been a few months since he joined this school and it was pretty uneventful for the most part if you dismiss the fact that most of his fellow students just wanted to be friends with him because he's famous or girls would confess to him because of the same reason. He wasn't really interested in a relationship with anyone especially with girls because he wasn't really attracted to them but his heart has been fluttering when he thought of a certain bedhead male. He came to term with his feelings after he was confronted by Kenma a few weeks ago about his undeniable feelings for the male and after a few minutes of denying it, he finally accepted his feelings after Kenma showed him evidence like he was in court or something and he doesn't know what to do with his feelings. I mean... Sure he could just confess but he couldn't shake off the feeling of being afraid of whether or not Kuroo was just using him for fame. He knew Kuroo was nothing like that but he still couldn't help thinking about it as a possibility.

As all these thoughts were running through his head when a letter caught his eyes among the other letters that he was putting in an extra bag he brought to put the letters in. He grabbed the letter and saw the name on the envelope that made his heart race.

❤︎Kuroo Tetsuro❤︎

(M/n), with shaky hands opened the envelope and took the note that was inside and read it.

-𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎-

After reading it, (M/n) carefully placed the note back into the envelope and put it into his bag and made his way towards the back of the school where the cherry blossom tree was located at. As

he approached the cherry blossom and as he approached it, he saw Kuroo waiting under the cherry blossom tree with his hands behind his back. He seems to be giving himself a pep-talk making me giggle slight which in turn made him look towards me with an embarrassed look on his face. I stood in front of Kuroo with a slightly amused but he was overall confused about the whole situation.

"So... What was the reason you wanted to meet with me here?"

Kuroo took a deep breath before he spoke.

"You know... Ever since you came to this school

I always felt my heart race whenever you were near me and I just wanted to say..."

He trailed off and pulled out his hands from behind his hands and he was holding a bouquet of flowers in one of his hand and a sketchbook in the other.

"Will you go out with me?"

(M/n) was speechless and wanted to say yes but the small doubt in his mind kept nagging at him.

"I... Don't know... I really like you but... I'm scared thay you're just using me... I know you're not like that it's just th-"

Before (M/n) could finish his sentence he was embraced by Kuroo and that was the breaking point for (M/n). He just broke down in tears and buried his face in Kuroo's shoulder. Kuroo just rubbed his back comfortingly. The bouquet of flowers and sketchbook forgotten on the floor as they embraced each other.

"You know... I don't care about you're money and fame... Because you know what I see when I'm with you? I see this sweet, caring and an insanely talented artist that I love so much and care about so much and I promise you this... Famous or not... All I care about... Is you... So let me ask you again... Will you go out with me? It's okay if you say no" Kuroo reassured.

(M/n) rapidly nodded his head, tears still falling out of his eyes, which made Kuroo nod and embraced (M/n) tighter.

"I love you... Don't forget that okay?" Kuroo said and kissed (M/n)'s head making him smile his tears no longer running down his face.

Maybe this will work out.

"Finally... It only took you a couple of years..." they heard a familiar voice spoke up and they looked towards where the voice came from and saw Kenma standing there with his phone.

"Haha... Very funny Kenma... But thanks"

"It's not a big deal but remember our deal" Kenma said before he left them alone.

"What deal did you make with him?"

"Don't worry about it"

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[pizza-feverdream]

Wow these are actually good tag game questions. Gotta say reading through I agreed with a lot of your answers but I immediately forgot which ones lol

Here we go

1.) describe yourself through the eyes of a stranger? Scared looking or spaced out, quiet and maybe snippy (if stranger in particular is a customer)

2.) what is a quality you’d like to change about yourself? I wish I didn't get angry and mean when I'm overwhelmed, and I wish I didn't isolate myself instead of trying to make friends

3.) what is your worst potential fear for the future? That's I'll be chronically by myself. And that it'll be my fault for not having learned enough about how to be with people.

4.) which television series do you use as a form of escapism? I could watch Gravity Falls on repeat

5.) share a secret about yourself? I used to have a problem with maladaptive daydreaming, but then I learned I could write instead so I do that now. It feels healthier

6.) if you could choose any place in the world to visit, where would it be? why? I want to go back to Pennsylvania, for various reasons, but somewhere new? I wanna see what Canada is like. In the winter. Even though I'm 99% sure I'd hate it, I've seen snow about twice in my life, and I just want to see SO MUCH OF IT like in the movies? Idk

7.) what advice would you give your childhood self? Don't attach yourself to one person, and not try to interact with anyone else. Also, a lot of the time it feels like you've always been in a panicked, or depressed state, but you gotta remember that it's temporary and had a cause. You're not broken

8.) describe how you envision your ideal life partner? Just someone who is genuinely kind and loves me. Hope that's not too much to ask for

9.) what is your favorite environmental season? why? Winter. Cause that's the only time in Texas we have pleasant weather (60-70 degrees(or 15-20⁰, spiderlad)

10.) what’s one book you’d suggest every person should read? The giver series. Not everyone even knows its a series. It's very well-done, makes you think

11.) what is one song that’s able to bring you to tears? When love takes you in by steven Curtis Chapman. Havent listened to it in SEVERAL years, but that's something my mom used to play a lot and it hits me like a ton of bricks when I hear it in the wild.

12.) describe your best friend? :D Don't have one

13.) what was the premise of your last dream? I think I was at the dermatologist and she was looking at my head and telling me how dumb I was for coming in here, nothings wrong with you

14.) what’s your favorite warm beverage? Apple cider, next question

15.) name one musical album that greatly impacted your life? why? So just this year, I've made MAJOR leaps in like, differentiating myself from my family and figuring out what I like. This has included watching things like dhmis and toh and even anything on Cartoon Network that I previously wouldn't have thought to, or wouldn't have been allowed to watch. Thats also included branching out my musical tastes, and the first example of that was when I stumbled upon Jack Stauber earlier this year. It totally rewired my brain and I've been having so much fun finding things like that and discovering, Hey! I like this stuff! Me!

16.) what’s your favorite form of flattery? When I'll be rambling on (rare) about something I love and the other person is actually listening (extra rare)

17.) what’s your favorite painting? and describe how it makes you feel? I don't remember the artist, but did you happen to see the post circulating about the guy who's paintings looked like bad cgi or something? Those were cool

18.) describe your personal style? This is something else I'm just starting to learn about myself! Just... not enough to describe it yet! :D

19.) what was the last concept that inspired you? This is gonna sound really stupid, but seeing brother sister relationships in media, especially dramatic ones (think dipper and mabel or something similar) is making me want to, and kinda helping me, improve my relationship with MY brother.

20.) who was your very first artistic inspiration? I think the thing that finally REALLY got me into drawing was watching the Loud House, actually. It's not even a style I've ever used, but idk. Made me want to draw (also several different animation youtubers, you know which ones I'm talking about)

21.) how long have you used tumblr for? how has your style changed over the years? I got it this July lol

22.) what was your first cell phone? A little flip phone my mom had to buy minutes for off of cards. Well... is that a smartphone? If that doesn't count, then it was an IPhone 5s. I had that thing for years. It has all sorts of good pictures on it. It's in my room, but the screen is unresponsive, after the little boy I used to tutor went to toss it to me when we were playing online pool together, and it dropped on their concrete floor

23.) what is your favorite fruit flavor? Blackberry or cherry

24.) whom would you resurrect from the afterlife? which 3 questions would you ask them? I would love to meet Bob Ross. I don't want to ask him anything, just vibe

25.) if you could choose only one meal to eat for the remainder of your life, which would you choose? In all honesty, I'm very tired right now and this question is stumping me. Maybe I'll think of something tomorrow (she lied)

26.) which of the 7 deadly sins do you struggle with the most? and which the least? Most, envy. Least, sloth (mostly just cause I feel an all-encompassing, choking shame if I'm not being productive in some capacity)

27.) your latest obsession? and why? The song Mary on a Cross. I've heard it on tiktok ofc, but I actually LISTENED to it the other day and audibly said "oh, this is fantastic" I've listened to it at least 3x a day since. I'm not okay

28.) if you could domesticate any animal as your pet, which would you choose? A squirrel. That would be fun

29.) what’s your least favorite smell? So a couple years ago for my biology class we did a bunch of disections, but even those weren't as bad as the time in that class we blended up peas and mixed them with hand sanitizer. That was 3 years ago and it still haunts me.

30.) favorite mythological creature? and why? It's been a long long time since my pjo days, but I remember liking satyrs

31.) name a scene from a movie that makes you cringe? Anything family related, especially siblings. They CANNOT WILL NOT ever be able to replicate what that's like. It's impossible.

32.) favorite piece of memorabilia you own? I don't really have any? I made a Red Guy crochet little doll thing a while ago but idk if that counts

33.) your personal favorite oddity about yourself? One time a mutual told me in one of those "is the person you rb this from" polls that I was star coded, they said "cause she sees media she likes and NYOOOM she's off to go make fanart" and that has stuck with me

34.) favorite concert/show you’ve attended? I haven't been to any concerts, but when I was like 10 I went to see Frog and Toad the musical. That was fantastic (or I remember it being fantastic)

35.) what’s one thing you would tell to the last person who betrayed you? So far, luckily, no one had betrayed me, but there's someone who thinks they did, and I want him to know it's okay. Really.

36.) your favorite mantra to live by? Adam Savage said in Mythbusters one time "I reject your reality, and substitute my own!" Which I started saying as a joke, not actually taking a second to think about what it means. Then I thought about it, related it to mdd, got scared of it, then realized it didn't have to be about that. I still live by that, but now to me it means that yeah, the world is a shitty place, but I can make it nicer for myself.

37.) do you have any strange habits? When I come back from bringing a customer their food, I'll slap the little number tent thing against my hand, between my thumb and finger. Also, when I put socks on, if I don't turn the socks inside out and shake them off, and dust off my feet, my feet will feel dirty all day. Also I excessively flex my wrists when I get stressed.

38.) what’s your favorite white-noise to fall asleep to? I sleep with a powerful box fan every night, even in the winter

39.) what is your favorite gemstone? why? I've only seen a little bit if Steven Universe, but it made me look up what bismuth looks like irl and. I mean. Look

Wizard of Oz type shit. Lovely fantastic 10/10

40.) how do you choose to cope when you’re upset? I isolate myself, shut out sounds with headphones if possible, and if I feel up to it try to draw

41.) what are you currently trying to accomplish? I need to buy a car, and apply for a different job.

42.) what’s your favorite item you’ve purchased secondhand? I don't do a lot a thrifting, but I've found some decent things at goodwill

43.) describe your personality is only 3 words? Anxious, funny, tired

44.) how is your relationship with your parents? Very good, fortunately

48.) which animal would you be the most terrified to encounter? Polar bears. We watched a docu-series called Soemthjng Bit me. They're TERRIFYING

45.) an instrument you aspire to learn how to play? I don't actually see myself learning, but I used to play the piano and I would like to do that again

46.) relate yourself to one movie character? Paul blart, next question

47.) least favorite music genre? why? Country. You meet people who make it their whole personality down here and it sours it for me

49.) name a public figure you find to be overrated? why? Mr. Beast. I think he exploits people in low places for clout, under the guise of "charity"

50.) what purpose do you get out of using tumblr? It lets me connect to people when I otherwise never have the opportunity to

Let's see.. @mackthecheese @sebwritesstories it's a lot a lot so no pressure

50 Q’s

1.) describe yourself through the eyes of a stranger? 2.) what is a quality you’d like to change about yourself? 3.) what is your worst potential fear for the future? 4.) which television series do you use as a form of escapism? 5.) share a secret about yourself? 6.) if you could choose any place in the world to visit, where would it be? why? 7.) what advice would you give your childhood self? 8.) describe how you envision your ideal life partner? 9.) what is your favorite environmental season? why? 10.) what’s one book you’d suggest every person should read? 11.) what is one song that’s able to bring you to tears? 12.) describe your best friend? 13.) what was the premise of your last dream? 14.) what’s your favorite warm beverage? 15.) name one musical album that greatly impacted your life? why? 16.) what’s your favorite form of flattery? 17.) what’s your favorite painting? and describe how it makes you feel? 18.) describe your personal style? 19.) what was the last concept that inspired you? 20.) who was your very first artistic inspiration? 21.) how long have you used tumblr for? how has your style changed over the years? 22.) what was your first cell phone? 23.) what is your favorite fruit flavor? 24.) whom would you resurrect from the afterlife? which 3 questions would you ask them? 25.) if you could choose only one meal to eat for the remainder of your life, which would you choose? 26.) which of the 7 deadly sins do you struggle with the most? and which the least? 27.) your latest obsession? and why? 28.) if you could domesticate any animal as your pet, which would you choose? 29.) what’s your least favorite smell? 30.) favorite mythological creature? and why? 31.) name a scene from a movie that makes you cringe? 32.) favorite piece of memorabilia you own? 33.) your personal favorite oddity about yourself? 34.) favorite concert/show you’ve attended? 35.) what’s one thing you would tell to the last person who betrayed you? 36.) your favorite mantra to live by? 37.) do you have any strange habits? 38.) what’s your favorite white-noise to fall asleep to? 39.) what is your favorite gemstone? why? 40.) how do you choose to cope when you’re upset? 41.) what are you currently trying to accomplish? 42.) what’s your favorite item you’ve purchased secondhand? 43.) describe your personality is only 3 words? 44.) how is your relationship with your parents? 45.) an instrument you aspire to learn how to play? 46.) relate yourself to one movie character? 47.) least favorite music genre? why? 48.) which animal would you be the most terrified to encounter? 49.) name a public figure you find to be overrated? why? 50.) what purpose do you get out of using tumblr?

[foxsimthings]

Zehra Balik & Luca Batista for @buglaur ‘s Calloway Twins!

Zehra Balik | She/Her | Bisexual Creative | Paranoid | Daydreamer Aspiring Author

Luca Batista | He/Him | Closeted Homosexual Hot-Headed | Loner | Practical Not Good For Much

This remote, dodgy campsite has seen more of Zehra and Luca than it would probably truly like to. A year ago, Zehra was attacked by a wild animal while have a romantic vacation with her then boyfriend, Seth, who turned out to be a total loser. It was her ex boyfriend Luca that came to pick her up after the incident, following a call from her mom. The two hadn’t seen one another since their breakup six months prior. They didn’t expect to see one another much after, either, but Zehra was... unwell.

She was losing time, particularly around the changing moons. Her once vegetarian diet became almost completely carnivorous. Zehra was changing.

A year later, the two have returned searching for answers. Of course, flat-out explaining that they’re back hunting for a werewolf might make them look a little less than reliable, so arriving to find a pair of bachelors hosting their challenge at the same site will be a perfect alibi. Until the full moon, that is.

Luca:

He’s dated many women over the years and been unsuccessful at actually maintaining a relationship with any of them. He and Zehra’s mom were always close, considering he was raised without his, and it’s one of the relationships he holds dearest. Luca isn’t sure why he broke things off with Zehra, she seemed like the only one that might be able to put up with him for good, but it just wasn’t right. Maybe getting to know a strapping young lad will reveal some truths about himself?

Ultimately, Luca is a simple young man with simple aspirations. Namely, to get a good job, to move out of the shitty trailer park he’s been stuck in all his life, and most importantly to Not Be A Waste Of Skin. For once.

Very much remembered as a school bully, most of the folks that knew him when he was younger don’t have much good to say about him. Luca wouldn’t even be able to defend himself; he was a hurt young man, and hurt people hurt people. That doesn’t absolve him of guilt, however, and he’s issued many apologies over the years.

Luca’s love languages are gifts and acts of service. He doesn’t talk very well, usually fairly quiet unless it’s to say something sarcastic or be grumpy about something. He’s more likely to quietly present someone he likes with a thing he overheard them mentioning they needed or wanted offhandedly a month ago, or drive them to that appointment he knows is important to them, than he is to actually speak words of love. Word hard, present easy.

He owns one pair of shoes. Why does anyone need more than one? Until his toes are sticking out the bottom, he won’t get another pair, either.

Secretly really into art and painting. He used to draw comics when he was a kid and loved it a lot. He’s a talented artist, but according to his father, art isn’t a valid career, so one is more likely to see his work in the margins of library books than any galleries. For now.

His truck is his pride and joy, and his truck sucks. It’s falling apart, held together by duct tape, dreams, gum and paperclips, but he loves it. For him, his truck is a an escape, the way drawing is an escape. He can get out of his life and go somewhere else, visit a new town and say his name is Steven and have nobody know who he really is. And he dreams, often, of being Steven. Or Jason, or Trent, or Marcus - anyone but Luca.

Luca doesn’t genuinely laugh often. He snorts, or chuckles. In part it’s because he’s a crabby lil guy, but in other part it’s because he has the goofiest laugh in the world and would be ASHAMED if anyone found out. But when he really gets going, he’s been known to snort, often.

He’s terrified of moths. Spiders? Cool. Scorpions? Great. Snakes? Neato! Moths? He’s shitting and screaming and crying. The bigger and hairier they are, the scarier they are, and he will not argue that point for any reason.

Luca is extremely allergic to kiwi. He doesn’t know that yet because he’s never eaten kiwi.

Zehra:

Zehra does actually have a very small amount of internet fame! Miniscule, actually - actually, she doesn’t have any fame, except for being known as the girl whose brother is that one heavyweight wrestler hell bent on being the first wrestler in his weight class to win a championship on a diet of shawarma. It hasn’t happened yet. 

She spends most of her time in her own head, and can be a little hard to get the attention of when she’s drifted off in some fantasy world. Her favourite genres to read and write about are primarily fantasy and mystery. Now, of course, she doesn’t love those werewolf harlequin romance novels so much, but they used to be a favourite of hers.

Everything about her is Aquarius. She’s generally very go-with-the-flow, Zehra can stand up for herself but if it’s not hurting someone else or directly impeding her ability to live her life, she lets a lot of stuff just roll off her back for the most part. 

She really, truly thought she would marry Luca once upon a time. Her mom still asks if they’ll get back together. 

Zehra and her family are generally very close. She does most of the publicity for her big brother(the wrestler) and handles his social media, working as a receptionist for a local newspaper the rest of the time. Unfortunately reading about handsome cryptids and taking pictures of her brother eating his tenth meal of the day don’t actually pay the bills.

And speaking of meals, she will whip up the meanest shawarma of your life. The Balik family are all foodies, and she primarily only ever worked out to counteract her love of pita and falafel.

She’s a chronic goldfish murderer. She doesn’t mean to! Zehra takes the best care she can of her little fishy friends, gets them the biggest tank she can afford, the cleanest water, the yummiest food; and they still kick the bucket. She’s begun to take it personally.

Zehra is the queen of creative dates. She loves a nice coffee date, or a movie, but consider driving two towns over to check out that drive-in theater where you watch Jaws in the pool? Or donning some medieval garb to take part in Ren Faire? Wouldn’t it be romantic to pick out groceries blindfolded and have to cook a meal for one another with the ingredients selected?

The prospect of turning into a werewolf is... understandably nervewracking. It feels like time is ticking and this stupid campsite is the only lead they have on anything even close to answers. While getting distracted might keep them from finding a solution, it might also be the last hurrah she gets before, you know, wolfing out. Might as well enjoy it, maybe?

She broke her arm falling out of one of those little red and yellow push cars as a child and, since then, has refused to drive herself. She’ll run, walk, bike, bus, hitchhike, anything and everything BUT get a car and drive it. It’s the only real childhood trauma she has.

[cacoetheswriting]

for you and i

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: honestly just pure fluff, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, implied smut (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.2k Summary: A small collection of moments throughout reader’s and Spencer’s evolving relationship that features their song. A/N: this symbol ~~ signifies a time jump.

A/N: i finished my rewatch of bones last night (im hella emotional), and one of my favourite “running gags” from the show is hot blooded being booths and brennans song, and how the writers reminded us of that from season to season. it definitely definitely inspired me to write this. also i did this instead of working on my assignment as a birthday gift from me to me lmao ENJOY

-

The plane trip back home was completely silent.

Morgan and JJ were catching up on much needed sleep. Emily, lost in thought, observed the night sky through the small window. Rossi was reading, as Hotch worked his way through some case files.

Spencer sat next to you at the far end of the jet. You were listening to music while his nose was buried in a book. Although you could tell he couldn't really concentrate on the words as the page remained unturned for the last fifteen minutes.

“Why don’t you let your eyes rest for a minute?” You suggested, carefully taking out one earphone. “A short nap could be good for you. It doesn’t look like you’re retaining any information anyway.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with you. He shut the novel in his lap and tilted his head to look at you, his lips pursed into a thin shy smile. “You should get some sleep too Y/N.”

“I’m okay.” You replied. “Plus someone has to keep watch in case the jet gets abducted by aliens or something.” A sly grin appeared on your face as Spencer chuckled softly. He rested his head against the chair and gradually closed his eyes.

You watched him for a moment. Examining his perfect features. Your innocent crush growing by the second - something you would never admit out loud in fear it would ruin your friendship.

When you were about to place the earpiece back in your ear, his eyes shot back open. He sighed heavily.

"I actually don’t think I can.” Spencer said quietly and once again turned his attention to you. His gaze briefly landed on the phone in your hands before travelling up to your face. “Did you know that in addition to aiding relaxation and helping with falling asleep quicker as well as improving sleep quality, playing music before bed can improve sleep efficiency? Which means more time you are in bed is actually spent sleeping.” You raised a curious brow waiting for him to continue, but he just asked: “Can I ask what you are listening to?”.

Instead of answering his question, you wiped the dangling earphone against your blouse and handed it to him. He took it, a little hesitantly, and placed it in his ear - the two of you unconsciously shifting closer to one another.

You could tell by the expression on his face that he didn't know the song currently playing, nor did he particularly like it, but he didn't protest or ask you to skip it. In his eyes, you were kind enough to share your source of entertainment therefore he would never push to change what you were clearly enjoying.

The song ended, another began, and another, and another. Eventually Spencer closed his eyes again. The two of you continued to silently listen to the various songs on your playlist - a wild mix of different artists and genres, definitely showcasing your weird music taste.

Touch Me by The Doors began to play.

“I like this one.” Spencer muttered, eyes still closed. “I didn't peg you to be a rock fan.” You stated curiously. Spencer chuckled softly. “I wouldn't call myself a fan per se, this is just a very good song.” “This is actually my favourite song of theirs.” You proclaimed.

Sinking deeper in your seat, you quietly sang along. “What was that promise that you made?” To your pleasant surprise, the young doctor joined in. “Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?” 

Lost in the pure bliss of the moment, you gently rested your head against Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at you and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

~~

“Watch it!!!” You shouted and rudely gestured after the vehicle that overtook you out of nowhere, almost sliding right into your car. Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair before placing them on the wheel again. A deep sigh escaping your lips in the process.

Spencer chuckled next to you. “Maybe next time I’ll drive.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, tone of your voice changing completely for a moment. “People are just so fucking stupid.” The groan was full of annoyance, and it only made the young doctor snicker louder.

“How about we turn on the radio?” Spencer suggested. “Cool you down a little since we have another hour drive ahead of us, and I would preferably like to get there in one piece.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but didn’t protest.

Taking your silence as a yes, Spencer fumbled with the car radio.

‘Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe’

Voice of Jim Morrison blared through the speakers. Instantly, your whole body loosened up. No longer feeling annoyed or angry. Driver’s rage dissipated. The frown circling your features was replaced by a happy smile.

‘Can't you see that I am not afraid?’

Stopping at a red light, you looked at Spencer who was lightly bopping his head to the beat of the music. His gentle curls bouncing with his every move.

“You know, the universe is telling us that this is our song now.” You noted. The young doctor met your gaze, and the grin present on his face made your heart skip a beat. A faint hit of nerves cascaded through your body as you anxiously waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a good song. The universe could have wished us a lot worse.”

As the light ahead turned green, and you were driving once again, the two of you burst into the chorus as loud as you possibly could: “Now, I'm going to love you! Till the heavens stop the rain!”.

~~

The bar was filled to the brim with people wanting to unwind after a long week of work. That included the BAU team.

“One more for the road!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. He motioned to Hotch for assistance and the two of them briskly walked off in the direction of the bar. “While they’re gone, I’m gonna hop to the loo.” Penelope chimed. “I’ll join you.” JJ spoke up and they hurried off.

Spencer sat beside you, shoulder pressed lightly to yours. He was sipping on the remainder of his drink and you were about to open your mouth to say something, engage him in conversation, when you heard it. The song. Your song.

Your head instantly snapped up at him and a mischievous grin spread on your face. By the time Spencer realised what was going on, you were up on your feet grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him onto the self-made dance floor.

You began to sway along to the music. The alcohol currently flowing through your veins definitely made you that much braver. It also gave Spencer the confidence boost he needed to join you with no objections.

Despite the questionable looks you were undoubtedly receiving, the two of you jumped around like kids. Singing the song out loud to one another. It was as if the world around you disappeared. Like you and Spencer were the only people left in the bar.

‘Till the stars fall from the sky’

And when the night concluded, when everyone said their goodbyes, Spencer continued to hum the melody of your song as he waited with you for the taxi. It was then you chose to make the first move - colliding your lips with his in a carefree kiss.

They were softer than you ever imagined. 

All at once, the attraction between you two and the tension that built up over the years burst. You grabbed onto his jacket pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the cold night air didn’t feel so cold anymore. It was hot, burning like a flame. Your body was on fire and so was his. 

Spencer’s long arms wrapped around you, trapping you in the fire. One of his hands moved lower down your back, while the other tightly gripped your hair. The sensation that he felt was unimaginable. He always imagined what you would taste like, although he never expected anything would happen. He imagined how your body would feel against his. How your lips taste. But this, this exceeded all expectations.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He said in a smoky voice after pulling away, his hands now holding your face. “That’s what I was going to say.” You managed to whisper before his lips landed on yours again. Your heart pounding hard inside your chest, it felt as if it was about to explode.

~~

Spencer huffed as he placed a heavy cardboard box down on the ground. He straightened himself, flattened down his crinkly t-shirt, and turned to you with a smile. “That’s the last of it.” He stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips.

“My hero.” You ambled towards him and pecked his lips. “Thank you.” His arms made their way around your waist, pulling you in close. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead before glancing around the room.

“I can’t believe we’re officially moved in together.”

“It’s been a longtime coming.”

“That it definitely has.” Spencer smiled kissing you. He let his arms fall and shuffled around to start unpacking. 

Having planned ahead, you removed a speaker from your handbag. You quickly set it up, connecting it to your phone, and pressed play to ease the process that would carry on into the night.

Starting with the kitchen, and the more fragile items, the two of you made your way through the new apartment. 

Hours passed. It was getting quite late as tiny yawns continuously escaped your lips. However, the hard work was paying off because space started to feel more and more like home.

You decided to finish up for the night - tomorrow was another day. Yawning, you leaned into the arms of your boyfriend. Spencer kissed the top of your head and began to sway you slowly from side to side.

Right on queue, the guitar intro you both recognised well began to play through the speakers. You smiled into his chest before breaking free from his embrace. 

‘Yeah! Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Can't you see that I am not afraid’

Sharing a knowing look, you both started to dance. Not wanting to disrupt any neighbours you both chose not to sing along like you usually did. Instead, you mouthed the words in sync as if you were competing in a lip-sync battle.

‘What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?’

The two of you circled happily around one another. It wasn't long before the air guitars came into play. 

And as the song concluded, Spencer cupped your cheeks. “I love you.” He muttered, gazing deep into your eyes. “I love you too.” You replied smiling.

Without another word, Spencer’s lips crashed against yours. Both your heads tilting hungrily from side to side to vary pressure. Hearts hammering loudly. Your hands made their way up his muscled back as his hands traveled down your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He suggested, his face still only inches away from yours. You lifted your hand, and brushed some of his light curls away behind his ear. “I do believe I read somewhere that it is considered bad luck not to christen the bed on the first night of living together.” You stated giggling. 

Spencer raised an interested brow. “What else does the article say?”

“How about I just show you.” And like that, your lips were on his once again as he blindly led you to the bed.

~~

“And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Dr. & Mrs. Reid, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”

Spencer turned to you, that warm kindhearted smile you loved so much circling his lips. He offered you his hand. “Mrs. Reid.” You took it gladly. “Dr. Reid.”

He led you to the middle of the dance floor and swiftly wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close, while the other hand intertwined itself with yours. Music started to play and the two of you swayed elegantly from side to side.

“I have a surprise for you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before briefly pulling apart and twirling you around. 

Suddenly the music stopped. Sounds of disappointment echoed through the watching crowd as you shot your husband a quizzical look.

A melody you knew all too well filled the space.

Your mouth parted slightly in shock as Spencer let his arm fall from your waist. He spun you around once again and began rhythmically banging his head to the beat of the song. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight before joining in.

Excited screams echoed through the crowd as they cheered on. Even though you heard them, you knew people were watching and documenting this moment, you felt as if there was no-one else around - déjà vu.

Spencer pressed his forehead lightly to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His lips twirled into a smile. A big smile that you reciprocated. Feeling as if you were on cloud nine, you looked deep into each others eyes and whole heartedly sang along with the song. Your song.

‘I'm going to love you Till the heavens stop the rain I'm going to love you Till the stars fall from the sky For you and I’

-

masterlist