#felt like this was horribly long and aimless

[not-rigel]

I'm listening

Rating: M

Warning: description of depression, depressive spiral, self loathing, soft sevika, sevika comforts you, sevikas love language is gift giving, words of affirmation is a very close second, I wrote this to cope with my emotions I hope that serves as a BIG WARNING, literally didnt sleep because I was writing this.

WC: 1.4

Darkness embraces you, literally and mentally, while you sit in your room. It's the dead of the night, the worst time for thoughts like the ones crowding your mind to exist. Each horrible thought stacked one atop the other, increasing in cruelty. 

A knock comes at your door and you're ready to pretend you're not home but you hear a familiar voice calling your name. 

“Open up. I got your fancy knife you asked for,” Sevika says on the other side of the door. 

You remember you mentioned wanting a specific knife, and Sevika offered to find it for you. But you didn't expect her to show up at your door in the middle of the night and you certainly didn't want her visit to occur in the middle of a spiral. You'd ask her to leave it by the door but you don't want any of your neighbors to help themselves to your new weapon. 

Shelving your self hatred, you make the exhausting walk to your door and open it for her. Sevika hears your footsteps approach and has the knife held out for you to take. She couldn't wait to give it to you, excited to see your reaction. 

But when you open the door and glance down at the knife in her hand, you don't look delighted. Instead you're indifferent. Sevika suddenly questions if she somehow misremembered which knife she was supposed to get you. 

“Did I get the wrong one?” She turns it over in her hand, checking the engraving on the hilt. She confirms it's the one you wanted. 

“Nothing like that. It's beautiful. I'm just too tired to appreciate it. Haven't been able to sleep tonight,” you half-lie. You gingerly take it from her hand and try to close the door but she holds it open. 

“Wait, I got you something else too,” she digs into her back pocket and pulls out a lighter. “For your candles,” she explains. Months ago she noticed you kept a candle lit inside your home so she brings you a new one whenever she can. A nice lighter felt like a long overdue addition. 

Still, you don't react and it worries Sevika. This can't just be because you're tired. She's been around you enough to know what you're like when you're sleep deprived and this wasn't it. She knows better than to outright ask if you're okay so she tries a different approach. 

“Is there something going on that I don't know about? I can tell you're not just tired,” she pries. 

“Personal shit. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the knife and lighter. I really do appreciate it.” 

“Can you talk to me about it?” 

“I don't know. You probably won't understand.” You're trying to reject her support but Sevika won't stand for it. 

“Try me,” she urges and for a reason you cannot decipher, you pull your door wider so she can step in, shutting and locking it behind her. She's been in your home several times, walking over to your couch and taking a seat like it's her own. You timidly sit next to her, picking your cuticles and holding a staring contest with the floor. It takes a while for your words to find you. 

“I uh… Just keep having bad thoughts. It starts out small like… I'm not going to get enough sleep in time for work tomorrow then it becomes I'm not good enough at my job because I can't get enough sleep at night and it makes me perform badly. Then it's just… I'm not good enough period because no matter what I do, I'll mess up in some way and I'm just running around aimless. Trying one thing after another like it'll ever work out. All I could think before you showed up was I'm a failure,” you unload a few of your thoughts to Sevika and she listens intently. 

You're a bit caught by surprise when her strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. She gently pulls you across the couch and into her chest. Her right hand cups the back of your neck. 

When she speaks there's only softness in her voice, “I understand. I can't stop you from having those thoughts but I understand. Tell me more,” she soothes, determined to help you through this. She's never heard you speak like this, never heard such harsh words from your mouth. And it killed her inside that they were about yourself. 

You pull back to look up at her. Sevika was usually so stony, expression steeled into a scowl. But all of that roughness was gone. It's too intense and you look back to the floor. 

“I feel ridiculous and repulsive and stupid and worthless and hopeless and empty and like there's no fix for it. It's like I'm remembering every bad memory at once.”

Her hand moved to your chin, tilting your head upwards gently so she could look at you properly.

“I'm going to tell you something, but I need you to look me in the eyes okay?” she asks you, knowing she's asking for a lot at the moment. Even if it's a gesture as small as eye contact. You frown as you fight to pull your gaze from the floor. Sevika watches the struggle heartbroken but she knows you can do it. Eventually, your eyes meet hers and she sighs in relief. 

Her fingers move from your chin to your cheek, holding you to keep your gaze on her, “Listen closely, okay? I need you to not look away. Can you do that? For me?” 

“I'm listening,” you promise, now that you're looking at her you're not able to break from her hypnotic stare. She takes a moment to think of what to say. 

“You’re a good person. Not just a good person, a great person. You don't deserve the blame you give yourself,” she affirms and you listen to every word. You face twitches, lips trying to pull into a frown and brows trying to pinch into a furrow. The words aren't enough to get past the wall but they weaken the foundation. 

“You still listening?” She checks in, making sure you won't shut down. She knows she would try to tune out every word to avoid feeling their weight. 

You nod, eyes welling with tears and sniffling up the snot that drips from your nose. 

“Good. Keep listening,” she continued to hold eye contact with you, “You're smart, you're resourceful, you're good at what you do, you're appreciated, and you're loved.” 

You can't stop the tears now. Sevika avoids lying, feeling like people only lie when they have something to gain and there's nothing she wants from most people. If anything, Sevika felt using the truth is what earns the most. With your tears streaming down your cheeks and falling onto her thumb, she earned the sight of seeing you vulnerable. Sevika has never held something so fragile before. You were so frail, looking up at her with glassy eyes that made her afraid if she moved a finger you would shatter. But when she wiped the tears from your cheek, you remained intact. 

“I- I'm loved?” you heave between cries. Love is a strong word and it's rarely uttered in the Undercity so it's hard to know who really cares about you. You felt guilty for doubting Sevika's words, knowing she's trying her best to comfort you. 

“You're loved by me,” her confession is groundbreaking. Her thumb moved to feel the stream of tears, not wiping them away but allowing them to exist. 

“I never said it but I love you. And I have so many reasons to. Because you're more capable than you believe yourself to be. Because you're resilient. Because you mean the world to me. But mostly because you need love and I need to be the one who gives it to you.” 

Sevika needs to give you everything you need, needs to be the one to hold your face like this every time you cry. Needs to be the one to tell you how beautiful and wonderful you are. She needs to be the one you seek. Be the one to bring you gifts because she can't help but think about you.

“I love you too, Sevika. I'm sorry but … I wish I knew the person you're describing,” you sobbed. 

“No, don't apologize. You are that person, you might not see it that way but you are the person I'm describing. You'll see it one day. I promise. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, convince you that you're any other than the person I'm describing. Are you listening to me?” 

“Yes, I'm listening.” 

[jezebelblues]

don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

*

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

[veintrry]

I'VE DONE THE MATH

there's no solution.

synopsis: love with scara is hard

an: have you guessed this is a laufey ref, I just felt like writing something lovey but I like angst too much. also... hey teehee also shoutout ayame for getting me out of my slumber <3

Scaramouche and you have always held a complicated relationship. Even your friendship was confusing, in the sense that it was deeper than most. Maybe not necessarily romantic, but it certainly wasn't exclusively platonic. You two relied on each other, and you understood one another in a way that went past words. You didn't need to speak for himbto know what you thought. It was seamless. You and him had gone through hell and back together, so when your connection bloomed into that of something more than friends it was practically nothing but perfection.

It was beyond that. You had glee on your heart each time you saw the indigo of his irises and knowing that someone loved you. It was fulfilling having an anchor that kept you at the bay that had grown so familiar. The joys of not needing to say those three words, and the feeling that everything is going to be fine, as long as you have each other. And you were content. You believed he was too. But, you felt his attention drift. And the acts of affections, the gifts, and touches you attempted to make to maintain what you had, or what was left of it, were fruitless. You wrote endless words of expression, trying to make him see that emotion between you two once more, but nothing would come back. At best, acknowledgement. At worst, ignored. Practically forgotten like you were nothing.

You don't know when it started, or why. You don't why that anchor that had once been the one thing keeping you on your feet was keeping you stuck in place, unable to move on. Even though you two were dating it was like you had never once spoken in your entire lives. You'd say that you still felt that joy when he looked at you, but he doesn't even glance at you anymore. It was like you were erased without an answer. And with desperation you clung. For once you had attained a love you didn't know your body and mind craved and you wanted it back. It made you feel alive in the most cliché sense. So you continued to try, to become more persistent. But it's like he only cared when you did everything, when there was no one else but you to fall back on.

Then it dawned upon you. You had become merely the thing that comes last to everything, the thing he kept around just so he never is fully alone. It all felt so aimless. All you wanted is to see the hue of his eyes again rather than being met with the back of his head, the only sight are his silky straight strands. It was as if his face was obscured. So, you stopped. You stopped being the first to come to him, to display your love - if you can call it that anymore - first. To be there. And you waited. You couldn't help waiting internally, for that day he'd come back, the day he'd speak to you, tell you he's sorry and he loves you. And foolishly, you'd forgive him as you've done countless times. But that day never comes.

You fought for what you wanted. You allowed yourself to be pitiful. You let your fingers write him honey sweet words till they began to mean nothing to you, and you had to search for new sentences, new phrases, just so you can be refreshing - less repetitive. But it didn't matter. It did not matter what letters you strung together, how you ordered a sentence, how neatly you tied a gift, how long you spent picking it, how gentle your touch was or even its warmth. Because he didn't love you. And worst of all, he didn't care. He didn't care despite your long history and you were left for nothing.

So, you told yourself you'd get away. Distance yourself. There was nothing for you here, not with him. But it hurt. It hurt not being anything. Because despite how horrible it felt when you had something, at least it existed, at least you can say it's there. But now, nothing was left. Your memories were just that; Memories.

[judasgot-it]

Hey! I Hope You’re doing well, I just wanted to request a prompt real quick!! :)

If it’s not too much of an issue, can you do Ango when he gets home to his s/o after a really rough and long day, and reader just offers comfort to him, making sure he’s alright and he ends up crying.

If you don’t think this is a really good idea you can disregard it, anyways, thank you and have a good day/night! <3

DW if you think your idea isn't 'good' - this is an x reader blog, this is the writing equivalent of going to wafflehouse at 3 am and being served by a raccoon. There are no bad ideas here <3.

But back on that angst GRIND sorry bout the late response btw I was traveling and then I had college but >_<

Scenario: Comforting Ango after a long day at work. TW: Men crying, Dark era

Ango felt his eyes burn in his sockets from exhaustion. His neck strained to keep his head up as he stared ahead at the screen.

This was his usual if anyone asked.

He was one of the best there was. He had memorized almost every file he had come across - it was frightening, considering he only needed it for a moment. He could work like a machine.

But it had to eventually catch up with him.

He wasn't ready to stop working. He could type with his eyes closed - which he was currently doing so they could rest, if just for a second.

When the next thing he'd known, he was there. There.

The smoke, the heat on his skin. There was a voice he knew but couldn't make out the face of.

Someone was shaking him, vaguely he was aware that it was a dream but he couldn't open his eyes. He felt completely frozen.

Ango was stuck.

There was a man telling him that he had trust in him, with brown hair and blue eyes - older than he should have. Ango remembered him looking like a child.

He missed how he smiled like one - here, he was only able to give him a small tilt of the lips. He trusted Ango though, clearly, from how close he was. Burning.

The shaking had gotten rougher, there was a voice he couldn't place. A young woman who didn't belong in a bombing, who wasn't there at the bar.

Ango knew she didn't belong there. Her hand shook his shoulder, which rocked the glasses that sat on the bar.

He was back at Lupin's.

The man from the bombing wasn't there. He was supposed to be - a seat was there for him, with a drink he knew he loved. Whiskey, with ice that was melting too quickly.

But instead it was Ango, alone -

, and Dazai.

Dazai was saying something, angry at him.

He remembers how his face had twisted so horribly that day. Like out of a horror movie he had watched you once -

But Dazai wasn't saying the words he had said.

It was that woman's voice.

The next thing he knew, he was up.

He had stepped into reality, seeing a young woman staring at him, rather concerned.

She wasn't Dazai.

She was staring at him, blinking at him with large, doe-like eyes.

Her long dark hair was in a neat bun, and her clothes were actually appropriate for the government building they were in.

A normal person. Who for some reason was waking him up, concerned about him right now.

"Ango. You need to leave, there's a fire evacuation right now."

Oh.

He never registered that noise until now.

That wasn't the bomb.

Just a fire alarm.

Ango rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling how his eyes were wet. Was he crying? His hand pulled away days worth of dead skin on his oily skin.

He needed a shower.

"Ango."

"I know, I know. I'm leaving. I think -"

Ango stood up, his vision spotting as he stared around the room. It was nearly empty, with his computers and the damn ringing surrounding the two of them.

"I think I'm gonna go home right now."

"What?"

The intern looked at him, trying to hide how baffled she was. This was most likely the first time he has voluntarily left his desk since she had started working there. This would be shocking for her.

"Just let everyone else deal with it. Don't worry."

"Oh. Well um. Have a good day, then?"

Ango stared past her, his walk down the hallway was aimless. Automatic. He knew the way, but only through muscle memory.

"Yeah. I hope you do as well."

That's the response he knew he should give. But he could barely croak it out of his throat.

Really, he just wanted to scream. Maybe cry. Something more than the monotone feeling he was locked in.

-

The ringing never left his ears. Tinnitus had never left him, which didn't do him good as he walked alone. Even as he stepped into his empty apartment, all he could focus on was the high-pitched wail - like a radio he could never shut off.

It was thanks to gunshots, which he really hadn't had the luxury of hearing in years.

He hadn't held one properly in a while. There wasn't a real need for him to shoot when he was good at his job. It was cushy compared to what he did in the past.

But today felt like years ago.

"Hey."

Ango wouldn't admit that he jumped at hearing your voice from behind him.

Your arms were happy to hold him, your face burying itself into his shoulder. He forgot how cold he was.

"You're home early."

Ango nodded, staring down at his feet as he toed off his shoes. He didn't want to think anymore, not as his face felt a little too hot.

Your hands reached up, pulled at the fabric around his chest.

"Did you decide to finally give yourself a break for a change?"

Your breath was right against the shell of his ear, making it burn.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

He turned around, looking at you. He tried to smile from behind his spectacles, covered in so many smudges he forgot how to see clearly.

Ango could still see your eyes.

"Do I look that miserable?"

He gave a weak laugh, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"You look awful. When was it the last time you slept?"

"I can't remember. Doesn't matter now, does it?"

You shook your head, holding onto his waist firmly.

"No. I think it does. To me it does."

Ango nodded along. A part of him didn't believe you.

That part was burning him alive from the inside, threatening to spill over from his eyes. His throat felt tight, making him eat his dry tongue.

"Let's lay down."

He followed you like a doll. He let you drag him to your shared bedroom, coddling his head to your chest like a prized stuffed toy. To the best of your ability to encircled your body around him, your legs warming up his cold skin.

You took off his glasses, putting them to the side. Gently you tugged your thumbs along his skin, gently massaging his brow bone and the wrinkles you could see slowly forming.

"I love you."

To you it was lighthearted, your voice light as you were more focused on curling your fingers along his hair.

To Ango, those words allowed him to curl into you fully, his face burying into your chest - and despite him trying to stop them, he felt his face get wet and hot with tears, his throat stuttering as noise desperately tried to come out of him.

He was burning.

His scalp was burning as you ran your nails along it. His skin burned as his clothes felt tight and rough in the wrong places.

Somewhere his chest burned, as he held in his sobs. Bile wanted to come up from how hard he held them in, nearly convulsing with the force of them.

He felt you lean down, kissing his forehead.

"You can cry, you know? You're safe here."

Ango forced himself to take a deep breath in before he muffled his scream in your shoulder.

Ango let himself burn, just for a little while.

He was here, and not there.

He had to tell himself that as he forgot the sound of his own voice.

Guess who's back babyyyy >_> anyway I kinda experimented here hope it was jarring I feel like I write a lot of intimacy but no action and such so I wanted to try some variation so excuse it if it's rough, I've never written a dream sequence before

[candyskiez]

I like hearing ppl infodump n u seem like a cool bean. would u be willing to talk abt shou from mp100(?) a bit with just a lil context added in for someone who only has a passing familiarity with the show. side note: plural mob be based

SLAMS DOWN ON TABLE. Before I get into this I want to say this is not a Serizawa hate post. Because I am reading what I wrote and it sounds like it at points. It is not. I was writing what I think Shou feels about him. I love Serizawa and I love them being friends, this is me talking about Shou having complicated feelings about his trauma. Okay? Okay.

Okay okay so. Shou is the son of a guy who tried to take over the world, and his entire life was spent trying to stop him. And then someone did. Someone stopped Claw. His dad got locked up. And Shous whole life had been built around trying to stop him, he had zero time for anything else other than occasionally visiting his mom (who left when he was a kid. We don't know what happened. We don't know if she tried to take Shou with or not. All we know is that Shou kept her presence hidden from his dad. We don't know how Shou feels about his mom or if he lives with her after his dad gets locked up. We know he had adults who were also rebelling in claw (the organization his dad ran), and he seemed to trust them a lot. I like to imagine they're a weird family and like. I imagine there's some Shit there. I like to imagine at least one of them was kinda giving up on everything, not really caring one way or another about what happened to everyone because they're just. Done. But then this wide eyed idealist of a kid comes by and he wants to stop his dad, holy shit the boss has a kid, and the kid is taking all this on himself. Maybe they didn't think they could fix anything but they had to save this kid. Did they believe Toichiro could be stopped at all? What were they like? We don't know much about them. How many of them were just in it to protect the kid? In hopes that maybe that idealistic, weird little boy that stumbled over to them would come out of this still a good person? God. I'm sorry I'm emo about found family. Don't mind me.

And I'm just. Okay. Okay. I think so much about how we get to know what other claw members are up to after everything, but...not Shou. Besides in fan books and stage plays, we uh. We got very little. And that makes him very interesting to analyze.

I just. Always think about how Serizawa stopped Shou from hurting Toichiro and how Serizawa got a happier life. Does Shou ever resent Serizawa? I think so much about their potential claw dynamic. Maybe he was one of the few who was kind to him, but was so disgustingly *loyal* to his dad it made him feel sick to look at. Serizawa would bring him snacks if he looked upset but would always respond to any criticisms of his father with the same unwavering Faith in him. Serizawa would comfort him after he lost a training session, Serizawa shielded the man who hurt him the most. Serizawa was a victim, Serizawa turned a blind eye to him. He needed to save Serizawa, and Serizawa never saved him. Did he feel responsible for Serizawa?

I think he felt like it was his responsibility as Toichiro's son to be the one to stop him. He needed to save everyone. He needed to make things right. He wanted his dad to go back to being who he was before things got really bad. I feel like. At first, Toichiro was an okay dad. And that's why it hurt so bad when everything went to shit and he started being so fucking horrible. Because Shou knew he was fully fucking capable of not sucking and he CHOSE to treat them like this anyway. He couldn't recognize him. He was a stranger with his dad's face and he had no idea what he did. Did he ever think if he could just fix Toichiro his mom would come back? Everything would go back to normal if he could just make Toichiro be a good person again? How long did that thought last?

I just. I always think about how aimless Shou strikes me as being the few times we see him in season three. He doesn't know what to do now. He had this whole purpose and plan. And then it didn't work. He didn't stop his dad. Mob did. His dad's alive. His dad changed his mind, but he's arrested. His mom and dad aren't together. Everything feels like it's tied up in a neat little bow for everyone except for Shou.

Of course we know that's not the case, but Shou doesn't know. Shou doesn't know that Serizawa was fucking panicked about disobeying Reigen even when their lives depended on it, Shou doesn't know that Mob's haunted by that battle. So from his eyes, it's very likely that he thinks he's the only one who hasn't moved on.

He goes from being always so dramatic sounding in all his lines in s1 and 2 to in season three just sounding...so much less? I don't know how to describe it. He sounds so much less...well. Everything was over for him, y'know? He built his whole life around carefully avoiding his dad and saving everyone and being the hero and then. Everything's done, and he didn't have a plan for what he'd do after. It all seemed like the end of Everything, and that'd be it! Nothing after that. But it's all over and he still has to live. Now what? Now what does he do?

How is Serizawa a functioning adult with a JOB now? Minegeshi joined when they were a teenager, how are they just...okay now? How did everyone, EVERYONE else get to move on, but Shou couldn't? Everyone else got their nice little ending, and Shou has nowhere to go. Does he tell his mom everything? That his dad tried to kill him but suddenly decided fine okay murder is wrong now, not soon enough to never have done that to him? Does he ask if he can stay with her? Will his lackeys want anything to do with him? Will Ritsu Everything's done and nothing's over, not for Shou, but everyone just fucking moved on. Everyone seems to be a better person than him now. Everyone seems to be fine in a way Shou just isn't.

Not to get back on my Shou and Serizawa bullshit but. Do you ever think about Shou seeing him again. And having no fucking clue what to think. Serizawa is just ...fine now. Suddenly he's no longer the guy who trailed after his dad and did horrible things for his dad without a THOUGHT. Suddenly he's smart and responsible now. Suddenly he's soooo good now. Where was all that when he needed it? Where was this functional, kind guy when he was TWELVE and trying to stop fucking terrorists. Where was this guy he would've done ANYTHING to have on his side when he was trying to save everyone from the man who raised him. Where was he. Why did he change now. Why had EVERYONE changed now. Why was Minegeshi trying for Mob, not Shou. Why was Serizawa trying for Mob, not Shou. Why was Toichiro trying for Mob, not Shou. Why didn't he MATTER. Why had NO ONE cared that he was in hell, that he wanted things to be okay. What's that one line. "If [Serizawa/Toichiro] has truly changed, it means he was ALWAYS capable of change. It means that I just wasn't worth changing for." And like. Objectively that's not what happened, objectively there were other factors and Serizawa and Toichiro are on very different levels, but Shou is like. Barely thirteen. He's BARELY thirteen. He is a child and all he's gonna see is that nobody cared when he needed them to. And now he's lost and has no idea what to do and everyone's just fine. Like he didn't almost die. Like his dad didn't try to kill him. Like he wasn't in hell for twelve goddamn years. Like he hadn't tried to save everyone. He's thirteen. He's not handling this well.

I feel like he just. Has no clue how to be normal. He doesn't know who he is now. He doesn't know what to do. His whole life orbited around stopping his dad and now his dad is different and locked up and he can't see him all the time, and things were so much worse back then so why does everything feel worse now. He doesn't know who he is now. He doesn't know what he wants now. I think so much about he says hes never using his powers again. Is he just trying SO hard to be normal. That's what he decided he wants now. He wants to be a normal kid who has friends and that's the only way to do it. He didn't have a Reigen in his life who'd tell him like he told Mob that powers are just another attribute. Maybe one day he'll talk to his lackeys, and maybe they'll hold him and tell him that that's his choice but that his powers aren't a curse or a weapon, they're just a *trait.* Or maybe he won't. I don't know. It's just so fucking. God. Shou, man. Shou.

Maybe one day he comes to spirits and such for Ritsu and sees Serizawa. Maybe they fight. Maybe they don't. Maybe they'll talk. It's just. God. Shou has so many loose ends in his life. Is he just trying to leave claw behind by never using his powers again, like he might think everyone else did? He went from "I need to save the world" to "I need to be a normal person." Did he shave his hair to look normal or did he shave it after he had a long talk with a friend that made him reevaluate things. What happened to him. If he has the spirits and such crew still, maybe he'll end up realizing that his powers are just another part of him. Maybe he'll realize they're not a curse or another thing his dad shoved on him. God. Aughhh. Sorry for being ill about Shou and possibly ooc about him but. Aughh.

Once again this is not an anti Serizawa post. I love Serizawa. Shou however probably has some Issues and I like to address them and try to give him more closure. Because I love him. Again, sorry if this is ooc, I'm still trying to get a grasp on him. If anyone who has a better grasp on him wants to add anything PLEASE let me know. I do not fully understand this guy yet but I would love to try to

[gayofthefae]

Here it is. The Mike Wheeler Playlist Post.

So I finished it. What seems to be the end of season 4, at least. I am avoiding spoilers for myself. All 28 songs from Smalltown Boy to Mad World. Here is what I have deduced:

Mike got over El after she left and started liking Will, but when she came back, he got with her motivated by the grief of “what could have been” but once they got together he felt that the relationship was aimless, only staying because it was familiar. He pursued getting back together with her because he didn’t want to lose her, despite feeling that the spark wasn’t there anymore. His fight with Will makes him question their relationship again but he ultimately doesn’t believe Will reciprocates and regrets even going back down that path. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Will moves. He can’t get Will out of his head and, though secrecy is the only safe thing, he’s getting worn down with it and is increasingly considering taking action in his relationship with El because his feelings for Will make him happy and don’t seem to be going anywhere. He’s getting anxious as it gets closer but Will talking to him in the van gives him a lot of security, but then the moment comes and he lies and feels absolutely horrible about it. He feels like he’s just running in circles. More inaction. Over a year now of just inaction.

There are 19 songs left which feels like a lot for one season as I've said before but in defense of that on top of just the consistent alignment with plot points in the playlist this far, season 5 is going to go back in and reveal a lot of this stuff with some very complicated emotions and much more focus on him, his feelings, his trauma, and his overall relationship with Will. So there IS a lot there to fill songs with. If you would like to read my original semi-chaotic notes from the past 5 hours(you read that correctly. You're welcome. And yes I know the full playlist I didn't even finish is only 3.5 hours) listed by song and including bits I skipped over so that it wouldn't be horribly long, lyric quotes, and one link to a cover analysis, you can do so under the cut.

Scared closeted gay kid in a smalltown in the 80s (confirmed by the songwriter, widely known in this fandom)

He sees Will everywhere.

This girl’s really cool and knows about things I don’t

Alien abduction - ET Parallels.

This song is an instrumental but the title “In The Face of Evil” is self-explanatory

El heroically sacrificed herself for everyone. She is a hero because she is the type of person to make that choice.*sweet that his love isn't hero worship, that's just how he conveys it.

He’s haunted by the memories of El, seeing her face everywhere.

Over time, “absence makes the heart lose weight” and his feelings for her fade

He’s starting to experience a new and scarily tempting, intoxicating kind of love. (based on context…for Will)

This song is an instrumental but the title is “Beta Girl Lost in Forever”. There is a great cover art analysis by @digestionsack at #20 of the post linked here but I could not find anything on the original meaning of the song or album. I couldn't find like anything else on Google of this one's meaning there were under 300 results when I searched in quotes.

This song is a duet that looks back on the relationship of a boy who helped lift up a girl from a very low and helpless place but the girl is now gone and he wants her to need him again and a girl who always had ambitions not dependent on him from the start and appreciated the time they spent together but needed independence now.

He feels an uncontrollable love that’s taking all his focus that he “can’t shake” but “makes [him] feel so blue” (for Will given the last love song)*this is to say nothing of his self awareness. (though could have convinced himself he got over it as opposed to never having known? *consistent with the s3 fight words)

A song about teenage love. Kinda horny.*He's in love and a little bit horny in the season checks notes...without El?

It’s “Ghostbusters”. It makes sense in a literal context but for the record this song is actually very 80s-under the radar-horny like “Barbie Girl”. Probably literal in this case but I’m sure the Duffers know about the second meaning and so maybe it shouldn’t be put right after Teenage Kicks if they aren’t trying to make me at least consider the possibility that they’re meaning to say Mike is jerking off to Will, possibly while he’s possessed. I didn’t need that, Pete Duffer. (Although 13-year-old boys definitely do. I remember the back of the bus conversations on middle school jazz band trips. I'm all for openness and sex education but I know too much about your masturbatory habits, Ben.)

El comes back and he reflects on how their relationship ended so suddenly and she branched out into independence but now that she’s back he’s not gonna let her get away again.*seems like he wants to fix the past vs take action in the present. What could have been. Acting on behalf of his past self.

Their relationship feels aimless to him, but he stays because it’s familiar. “I’ll carry on with what I know”.*her dumping HIM was an important push for him.

Making mistakes is human and a natural part of relationships. He stays in the relationship despite the spark dying out of a larger, more general love for her and because he doesn’t want to lose her. “If not so in love, it’s not so wrong, we’re only human after all.”*feeling an obligation to get her back because while not dating, she's gone completely (at first)?

He left Will/his feelings for him behind but he’s reminded of them by their fight (“little deals and S.U’s”) and he questions the nature of their relationship again but he doesn’t think that it means to Will what it means to him. “A sly touch at times; I don’t think it meant anything to you”. He regrets even going down that road again. “And I should never have tried”.

He’s going to miss them when they move, seeming to specify Will with “seven years went under the bridge”. He doesn’t know what to do without him now.*this song might sort of also explain why he didn't call if he didn't but it's not sure and there are no other songs about it, so he still could have called("if you leave don't look back, I'll be running the other way" but not every lyric has to apply and it could mean something else)

He’s now set/stuck in his desire for Will and can’t get him out of his head. (I considered an angle of this being for El, but the constant thinking about the lover + the interpretation of unreciprocated a love/a pursuit didn’t fit)*one of the interpretations I read also said they think it's about a gay guy which is a great addition, though not an "official" interpretation.

He feels safest in isolation/secrecy (car=closet?) “It’s the only way to live” but he’s wearing down and feeling lonely/alone in this state so he’s starting to consider “leaving” it.

He definitely still has feelings for Will that don’t seem to be going anywhere. They’re kinda…baffling “You got me so I don’t know what I’m doing”. He’s losing sleep over them. But…he’s not mad at it “don’t ever set me free”.

He criticizes himself for his inaction and starts to seriously think about making decisions for himself.

He’s in love. (very simple lyrics: “I saw your eyes, and for a little while/though it took a while, I was falling in love” repeatedly with minor variation)

He’s worn and broken down but still wants love. He’s holding onto Will in the chaos of his mind and the world and trying to keep out of preying eyes. Also it is apparently written as tribute to Stranger Things after season 1, which is cute. “Just stay close” “You can’t stop this feeling.” “They won’t pull us down”. This song is also called “Vale of Shadows”.

Instrumental Synth called “Dead of Night”

He’s full of uncertainty as seeing El gets closer but Will talking to him in the van comforts him and gives him more security; Will’s love makes it all better. “And she pulling the strings” definitely fits this idea of the situation with Will (especially if he is aware)

He feels horrible about lying to El (The song is “Mad World”). He feels like he’s just “run[ning] in circles”.

Notable lyrics: 

[pre-season 2-season 2]

When Love Breaks Down "Absence makes the heart lose weight yeah, til love breaks down, til love breaks down" "When love breaks down, the things you do to stop the truth from hurting you. When love breaks down, the lies we tell, they only serve to fool ourselves." I really thought it would say “grow fonder”, which fit and was cute and I was fine with, but nope. And my jaw went slack and it made me want to write this whole thing.

Love is a Stranger "Love is a stranger in an open car to tempt you in and drive you far away." "Love is a dangerous drug. You have to receive it and you still can't get enough of the stuff." "Comes in like the flood and it seems like religion" "And I want you so, it's an obsession. It's guilt edged."

[season 3]

Something About You “If not so in love, it’s not so wrong. We’re only human, after all.”

Are ‘Friends’ Electric “A sly touch at times. I don’t think it meant anything to you.” “And I never should have tried.” “For you see, it meant everything to me.”

[season 4, volume 2]

Mad World “When people run in circles, it’s a very, very mad world.”

[dolphin1812]

Boulatruelle is one of the ways Valjean could have ended up if he hadn’t met the bishop. Like Valjean then, he’s “too respectful“ to everyone around him, “trembling and smiling” around soldiers; as we can assume he was in prison as well, these behaviors are likely part of the same trauma response we saw in Valjean when he reached Digne. He was exceedingly polite to everyone regardless of how scornful they were towards him, and to this day, he is very respectful of law enforcement even as he’s terrified of them, as we saw with his attitude towards Javert when he came to arrest him by Fantine’s bedside. As an ex-convict, he also struggles to find work, further encouraging this meekness and isolating him from society and a chance at recovery. His alcoholism is likely a way to cope with his past trauma and his current suffering. Moreover, as we saw with Valjean, it’s pretty easy for this constant desperation and stress to fuel further “crimes” (Boulatruelle’s robbery is less blatant, since he’s seeking to take something buried in the ground rather than in someone’s house, but it is another parallel to Valjean).

Of course, there are still differences between them. With Valjean, we saw moments of anger and frustration that simply aren’t visible in Boulatruelle. It could be that we’re not seeing them now because we’re spending less time with him, but it could also be that, after all of these years, that anger has been drained out of him. Rather than the “violent criminal” alternative Valjean viewed for himself when he robbed Petit Gervais, Boulatruelle represents a life of hopelessness and aimlessness that comes from being denied opportunities to seek a better life after being thoroughly rejected by society.

It’s also interesting to see how vulnerable Boulatruelle is because of this? Valjean was offered kindness first by the marquise, then by the bishop, both of whom were genuine in their compassion. Boulatruelle is met by Thénardier and Montfermeil`s schoolmaster. We know Thénardier is horrible already, but watching the way these two casually joke about torturing him for information is especially revolting. Their “hospitality” doesn’t compare to the bishop’s, as it just consists of trying to get him drunk, but given how people avoid him, it may have felt like kindness to him even though there intentions are actually awful. After being scorned for so long, it may be difficult for him to tell when people are manipulating him because he never expects any form of kindness or decency; he might not reach the point of contemplating their intentions if he’s shocked to receive company at all. Valjean, for instance, hadn’t been able to comprehend the bishop’s hospitality, even trying to prove why he didn’t deserve it. If Boulatruelle is like him - and everything we know so far indicates that he is - then he’s very vulnerable to Thénardier not because of his alcoholism (drink might have loosened his tongue, but he barely speaks even when intoxicated), but because his ability to judge people has been skewed by abuse.

[constantvariations]

I remember someone saying "there's no such thing as a good racism allegory" and it's been bouncing around in my head for a while. I'm someone who typically thinks anything can work if given the right circumstances, but then I really started thinking about it and I believe they're right

Because if you want to talk about racism, you should just talk about racism

(This is unpolished and ramble-y, so strap yourselves in)

Racism is deeply ingrained into our society, no matter where you live. Imperialism and colonialism has ensured that no corner of Earth has been left untouched. Choices from hundreds of years ago are still being felt today. There's practically no end to the discussion of its effects on the world and its people

So, why should anyone feel the need to dress it up in cat ears?

I've consumed a lot of media where writers have consciously echoed in part some aspect of racism in their fantasy story: Bright 2017, Dragon Age, RWBY, the MCU, Harry Potter, Detroit: Become Human, etc. The biggest thing they have in common is that the narrative is told to side with the victims, but it somehow always ends up against them

It always sides with the status quo

It's confusing, maddening even, because the narrative oft goes out of its way to show how horrible the system is and how these folk don't deserve their treatment, so why are we going back to normal as if it's a good thing? Why are the people actively working to improve the system decried as annoying at best and monstrous at worst?

Then you look at the people who write these storylines. The beliefs they hold, the people they vote for, which charities and organizations they give to, and it all makes sense. Centrists (at best) trying to look progressive are the ones who need to dress racism up in cat ears and rainbow freckles. They set aside the long, brutal histories and crushing systemic realities to play pretend that racism is Not That Bad and is only done by Those Bad Individuals

That's why Velvet's ears are tugged instead of culled. That's why the Mantle drunkards say mean things to Blake instead of attempting to assault her. That's why everything surrounding the SDC's labor practices is so vague as to be useless while the biggest evidence of their malice is hand-waved away by a writer who says the victim "had it coming" as if someone can deserve being branded by being too much of a brat

These stories aren't meant to make the audience question why our society works off the bloodied backs of the exploited or demands we take good, hard looks at ourselves and how we've been duped into believing so much garbage about entire swathes of people. They're meant to satisfy the people who only feel bad that these things are happening because they (white folk) look like the bad guys. It's a self-congratulatory wank about how "I'm not like THOSE guys, therefore I'm a good person!"

And then there's the characters meant to convey this story in the first place: always inoffensive, mostly aimless, "not like the other girl" types that pander to that delicate palate. Blake - a conventionally attractive, pale skinned girl in fashionable clothes - used to be passionate about equality but only in the right way, and demonizes anyone who does not conform to this mindset despite having no reasoning to back it up while never once demanding better of the privileged people around her even when they do racially insensitive things

The biggest downfall of these racial allegories, be they about cat girls or orcs or elves or robots, is that they do something that marginalized folk have been forced to endure since the dawn of time: literal dehumanization. There are tangible differences between humans and whatever the allegory is, which undermines the very fundamental fact that black/asian/queer/neurodivergent/disabled/whatever folk are unapologetically, undeniably, exceedingly human. By dressing up their plights in cat ears or spottled blue skin, you're creating theater not for the people who actually live through these struggles as a means of connecting with them and providing them a safe outlet for their feelings, but giving the people who benefit from passively allowing the system to enforce said struggles a pat on the head for not being the grand wizard

I don't really know where I'm going or how to end this, so I'll just sign off with if you're going to talk about racism, just talk about racism

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

To Catch a Thief

Featuring one Detective Tim Rockford and a certain thief

Words: 1, 985

The thief had eluded me once more, outsmarted me like a fox. I’ve been staring at the board for hours now, hoping a clue would call out to me, but nothing was popping out.

Normally, I wouldn’t give robbery my time, it just being some petty thief liberating rich assholes of their treasures. But rich assholes are loud and make one hell of a fuss about their property being stolen. I would’ve written this off as some Robin Hood type vigilante except they skipped the give-to-the-poor part.

This thief has proven a challenge to me. He’s like a flowing river; always running, being one step ahead of me, and stepping into its current would surely sweep me away, so I have to stand on the shore and hope to build a dam in time. He’s stolen from all the big-name families, no rhyme or reason to his method. No evidence: not a fingerprint or even an eyelash left behind. It’s like he’s mocking me, a spectre always behind me.

Fuck, I’m tired. I’ve been staring at this board for too long. I should take my mama’s advice and sleep on it, come back to it with fresh eyes. Driving back home, I’m running on autopilot. The darkness greets me as I open the door to my empty apartment. Not bothering to even take my shoes off, I’m out like a light as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The morning wakes me up with her horrible city noises. I slept on my bad shoulder which I regretted as soon as I moved from my slumber. Not even a scalding hot shower could each the eternal ache. It just makes the ugly scar stand out further.

Arriving at the station, I walk into a hurricane of chaos. Another robbery in the night. Once again, the thief has gone under my nose, tickling me with that feather of mockery. There was not enough cheap coffee in the world to deal with this shit storm.

“Rockford, it’s bad. The Ashford’s were hit this time.”

“What was taken?”

“All contents of their safe.”

“Don’t these people use banks anymore?”

Of course, they were making an even bigger storm in the kettle of the interview room. Priceless jewels stolen; family heirlooms gone forever. These rich snobs have all the money in the world and yet they go for the cheapest security because who would dare to steal from them? I’d never say they were asking for it, but you get what you paid for. When you pay for nothing, you end up with nothing in return. I’m sure once their insurance kicks in, they can buy new family heirlooms.

I added this case to my ever growing board and wait for another clue to call to me, but my captain was on my ass about catching this guy. His wife must be friends with these high society types. He’d always brag about the fancy parties he’d attended the night before, sipping on champagne while the rest of us have to deal with cheap instant coffee.

Sipping this cheap swill, my team formulated a plan to set a trap. The Montgomery’s were having some fancy shindig, unveiling a new work of art they purchased for some amount of money that would’ve bought be hot meals for life. Art was the first thing stolen, must’ve had a love of it before going onto things much shinier.

The whole place was swept over like a vacuum cleaner, picking up any bugs of contempt. Security cameras installed and several officers placed around the party scene, uniforms apparently being a downer in the festive atmosphere. And because my captain was attending, I also had to be on alert.

I never understood the rich lifestyle, too much spending money on things that don’t make sense. Who needs a bathroom with two bathtubs? And who enjoys the salty crap of caviar served on a cheap cracker? Give me a roof over my head and a bottle of something alcoholic to ease my pain and I’m happy.

I had to admit my heart wasn’t in it tonight, not completely on the job. I felt more of a thrill in the chase rather than waiting for a mouse to fall into an obvious trap. I was sure nothing would come of this aimless escapade. I was handed a glass of something fancy, so I settled myself down on a chair out of the way of the noise and partook of my gifted libation. Well, liquid gold does have a taste to it.

“Detective!”

I don’t remember falling asleep, the only thing I do remember was being shook awoke by a passing officer. The thief struck again. The easel empty of its work of art. The only thing left was a note.

The first clue and it was deliberately left to mock me. So either he got cocky, or we were so useless at finding even a crumb, he had to start leaving us whole meals out for us. Again, no fingerprints, not even a cobweb was disturbed. Security footage returned nothing, the phantom flying through once again.

Until next time.

“Take this to get the handwriting looked at. Notify me as soon as you have something” I managed to pass the note to an officer, the lad managing to get out before my captain came barging in, all hell following in his wake.

“Rockford! What the hell?”

I quickly rubbed the sleep from my face, hoping he wouldn’t notice I was out in the land of nod when it happened.

“Rockford, how in the hell did this bastard manage to get past us again?”

“Honestly, I only have theories. We were the only ones who knew the plan. Someone must have ratted us out or, it was an inside job. I’ll have to question everyone in the team.”

“An inside job? What kind of crazy are you talking here?”

“It’s the only theory that makes sense.”

“Sense? Tim, when was the last time you looked in the mirror?”

“I avoid it when I can.”

“Well, you look like shit is what you look like. You know what? You’re off the case.”

That hit me like a freight train running a red light.

“Boss, you can’t take this case away from me. I’m close, I know it.”

“I’m sorry but, you haven’t been the same since the accident.”

“I only got shot, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“No, I made a mistake bringing you back too early. I thought a minor case would ease back in, but it’s spiralled out of control.”

“It hasn’t”

“Ten thefts! In the last three months! Ten families robbed of their valuables.”

A dark thought crossed my mind, but thankfully my mouth had control of itself before I could say they deserved what they got. Instead, I just stood there, head hanging in shame and anger.

“You need a bit more time off. Take a vacation somewhere nice.”

I would’ve told him where to take his vacation but decided drowning my sorrows to be a better use of my time. I grabbed a bottle of something on my way out. These rich folks neither minding nor caring whether they had a bottle less in their collection.

My apartment was still empty when I returned; the sunshine reminding me of the loneliness I was set to face. Half a bottle of alcohol in my bloodstream would soon cure me of that, making my brain forget the world existed. I welcomed the darkness like a hug from my mama.

Until I was rudely awakened by thunder. The night greeted me with a display of a thunderstorm Frankenstein would’ve welcomed in his madness. And a creature was on the prowl, making me aware that I wasn’t alone in my apartment. The goosebumps on my arms prickled, alerting me to a presence close by. Drawing my gun I proceeded to hunt down this bastard once and for all. He was a sneaky one, I admit, slithering away out of sight while tempting me with that Forbidden fruit. I swear I would just see him out of the corner of my eye, only to have him disappear as soon as I turned the corner. This twisted cat and mouse game was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of my phone.

“What?”

“Detective Rockford? I have the results.”

“Results?”

I nearly forgot what he was talking about.

“Yeah, we did a writing analysis on the note left at the crime scene.”

A sudden movement caught me by the corner of my eye.

“The handwriting doesn’t match any known criminals” he continued while I slowly approached the shadow, “All we know is that it was done on a notepad found in the house and used with a pen also found there. It’s one of those fancy fountain pens that leaks so the culprit would have smudges on his fingers but sadly no fingerprints.”

I had him now, I said I’d call back and hung up before getting a reply. He was here now, right in front of me. I raised my gun.

“Settle down there, don’t go shooting in here, you could hurt yourself.”

I slowly lowered my gun and stared him square in the eye, something about them strangely familiar to me.

“I have you now.”

“Yes, you do. But let’s have a drink first before you drag me in.”

He held up the once empty glass of mine, in smudges visible on his fingers.

“For a man who hates the rich, you sure do have excellent taste.”

“Cut the drabble, tell me how you managed all those thefts.”

“You know how I did it.”

The man in front of me was talking in riddles. Giving me puzzle pieces without showing me the picture.

“How’d you get in here?”

“You know how I got in here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

Lightning flashed, showing his full form. I dropped the glass from my hand, it shattering on the floor. I didn’t remember being handed one and raised my hand in confusion, noticing ink smudges on my fingers. The thief raised his hand and I looked back into his eyes.

The puzzle pieces in my head were slowly being put back into place.

“Are you me?”

“No, I’m me, you’re you. We just, how do you say it? Have a lot in common.”

It was like looking into a mirror, literally. I’d been avoiding my reflection for months since I got shot, too ashamed to look at myself. My reflection must have taken a life of its own.

“There you were, defending some rich couple getting into their car, being held up by some petty thief. Then you, the good detective goes and gets shot defending their honour. And what do you get in return?”

My scar burned at the memory of it. I scratched away at it, so did he.

“All that pain and suffering, and not even a thank you. In fact…”

“They blamed me for letting him get away.”

The puzzle completed now; the picture came flooding back into your memory. All the pain and humiliation I was put through.

“A desk job was all I was good for when I got back to work.”

“A smart man like you being made to sit the day away in boredom? No wonder your mind started to wander.”

“A challenge was needed.”.”

“Only one you could solve. It was a fun challenge.”

“Fun indeed.”

“And you happened to get revenge against all those rich fuckers who left you to rot in the gutter.”

My smile was demonic now.

“It was fun to see their faces.”

“All to see that smile on your face.”

His smile matched mine. I thanked him with a nod, and he nodded in return. He raised a new glass and brought it to his lips. The whiskey tasted divine on my tongue.

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Rarepair Halloween Story Pt.6

Pair: Malleus x Idia x Azul

Prompt: Under the moonlight

Warning: This part contains gore, body horror and blood

Disclaimer: this part contains chapter 7 Spoilers

He was running... Just like in his nightmares.

Except that this time... It was real. As real as it could be. It hurt, it was wobbly and his weight felt much more different. It was difficult to move around, to breathe. Everything was painfull and he could only cry.

But even that he couldn't do, because he was scared he will be seen. No one could see him like this. No one should ever see the horrible being he was. He was big, yes, but the forest had tall trees, enough for him to hide and wait for everything to calm down.

And he only ran in there, aimless, only the thumping of his feet on the ground and the shuffling of the leaves and grass filling his ears.

Splash!

Slipping a bit, he caught himself in time as he looked down. He stepped in water, in a river. Taking some breaths, he looked down, at the water. The moon was reflecting everything with it's delicate light and he could see a bit blurred his own image.

Except as the water gained again a steady flow and the image became less blury, Idia saw his own face, scared and confused. 6 eyes were looking back at him, all of them being his and his only. His hair returned to the blue flame, although dim, weakly swishing around. His lips were black, stained and dripping with blot. Gently, he touched his own cheek with his hand, which was covered in blot, the long Claws threatening to tare up his pale skin.

What happened to him? Was this the moonflower's doing? So many questions were swirling in his mind. His sides ached and he could only look at his reflection. At what he had become, all because of an accident. So many unanswered questions and currently, his mind was shuffling in all parts to even figure out what question should he put first.

"Malleus! This is ridiculous!" a voice. Idia felt how his body was overcomed by pain, shifting yet again into something else, covering his mouth with his hands as he felt the world around him getting smaller. His vision was hazy again, he felt dizzy and his limbs felt as if they were on that stretching torture device. Everything felt wrong again and Idia bearly scrambled to leave his initial place, hiding behind some more wider trees, looking at the said newcomers.

Malleus was holding a green flame in his hand as Azul holded his other arm, both wondering through the forest. "I am certain that beast has our darling. I can feel it..." "Malleus... What if it kills us?!" "What if it kills Idia? Maybe he's alive! I have hope!" Malleus mused. It was clearly on the verge of snapping, given the situation, but Azul was worried as well, hugging the fae's arm tightly.

Azul feared that he won't only lose Idia. Malleus feared that Idia would be gone if he wouldn't act up.

And Idia looked and listened. He was touched. For a moment, he was willing to just go to them. His body again was twisting and his pain was trying to subdue itself, but Idia again was reminded of his current form. In his current gaze, Malleus and Azul both looked not even bigger than 2 hamsters, going around the forest aimlessly.

And also, a hunger was creeping in. An urge to eat, as if he didn't eat anything in months. His mouth felt watery and Idia only backed up, in fear of fulfilling those animalistic needs.

Crack!

"what was that?!" Azul asked as Malleus immediately turned to face the sound. "perhaps a much smaller being... We should investigate..." The Fae declared. "Malleus... I'm scared..." Azul mumbled. "We will find Idia... I will purge that blasted creature and get our darling back. I promise..." Malleus reassured.

Idia only scurried away. Back! Back! Back! He had to hide and go back! Don't let them see him. Don't let anyone see him like this. All because of his negligence. All because he wasn't careful and wanted to try out things.

Really, Idia seems to never learn his lesson.

At least this time, he is the one paying.

As he should.

Splash! CRASH!

Again stepping into another part of the river, Idia wasn't fast enough to catch his fall, meeting harshly the ground as he groaned. Everything was on fire, way too hot! It hurt and it was blurry and wet. His tears were just staining his monstrous face as he whimpered there, no more strength to lift his body again.

Was this... How he's going to meet his end? Well... At least it wasn't a boring death. Something wierd to think in your last moments, but Idia wasn't picky now. He had no right to be.

He made out 2 figures approaching him, so he tried to curl up more, despite how the pain increased with each limb moved. The 2 figures stopped and whispered in between them, before one came closer. Of course Idia tried to scurry back, roll or do something to put more distance.

But it was his inevitable end.

He closed his eyes shut, hoping for everything to be swift and painless. He doubted it would be like that, seeing that already his whole body was ablaze with pain. But he waited, until everything would just fade. The silence was overwhelming.

"Fae of Maleficiene"

Idia blinked, not thinking that he heard that right. But he immediately found himself somewhere else.

It was still night, but the moon was shining gently, bathing him in it's veil like light. He was in a field, all alone, silence taking over everything.

It was calm... Oh so calm that Idia simply laid down, closing his eyes and smiling as he took in the calm. He was normal again and the grass was like the softest mattress he ever laid on. Was this how heaven felt like?

"Idia..."

Oh...

Jolting back up, Idia was met with both Azul and Malleus. The shorter of the 2 immediately slammed himself into the fire head, hugging him tightly. "Idia... You're alright..." He mused. Malleus smiled as he joined in the hug.

And Idia started to cry. It wasn't cold, it was warm and cozy. It was safe and Idia couldn't believe it. It had to be a dream. He had to be dead and this was just an illusion. "No... This isn't true..." He pushed aside. "Idia... Please... In the real world... You are-" "A monster! That's what I am..." Idia snapped, flames gaining an orange tint.

"Darling... I... Cannot hold this too much..." Malleus reasoned. "Please... Calm down..." "Calm down?! CALM DOWN?! I killed someone! I attacked people! I-... I almost hurt you 2! Ortho... Oh gods, Ortho! What if I hurt him too?!" Idia stammered out.

In response, the world was staring to shake, the ground cracking up slowly. "This is horrible..." Idia again teared up, blot crawling at his leg. Azul tried to reach out to him, but Malleus grabbed him by the shoulder, panting. "I can't hold it anymore." He mused.

And for everyone, the ground cracked and all 3 of them were engulfed by darkness. For Azul, it felt like a splash of ice cold water. For Malleus it was like falling on concrete. But for Idia, it was just numb. He didn't know where he fell, on what he fell or if he even hit something.

All he knew was that it was black.

~~

Next Part

Previous Part

[local-fanfic-addict]

The Bad Ending

<Previous | Part Two.1 | Next>

(Destiny Forsaken angst. Can be read as a self-insert, but was written with an OC. Not an X reader.)

Inspiration: Guns for hire - Woodkid

Trigger warning - Suicidal thoughts, feelings of betrayal, unhealthy coping mechanisms, general angst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Vanguard meeting had left Vlairyn-3 feeling… Empty and cold. Her Exo mind was still trying to fully process what had happened, all the new information she had learned from her last trip into Savathuns throne world. The Traveler had left The Fallen, The Eleksni, behind. Why wouldn’t it leave humanity? It had tried once before and failed thanks to Rasputin… But now it had another chance to run and hide. She had been right all along in her theory, and she absolutely hated it. She didn’t want to be right. If there was ever a time she wanted to be wrong, it was most certainly now. Was it even possible for an Exo to not fully process something? Her breath was staggered, she sounded almost out of breath. She knew that wasn't technically possible but there she was anyway. 

Numb.

With trembling hands, she removed her helmet, casting it aside with reckless abandon. Her eyes were glued to the ground as she took one aimless step after the other, her feet carrying her to an unknown destination as her circuits flooded with uncertainty. 

She started to run, run as fast as her legs would take her, run as fast as she had ever ran. Like running away would help at this point… There was nowhere to run to!

If Vlairyn had been human, the sudden collision with the railing of the wall would have knocked the wind out of her, but all she did was bend it a little, her hands clutching onto the cold metal with a vice-like grip, like if she let go she would fall apart. Her eyes slowly looked out over the city behind the wall, like looking out over the vast expanse would bring her a sense of calm to know it was all still there. The glowing lights shining like stars fallen to earth under the shadow of her once infallible creator. It couldn’t have been all for nothing… right? It couldn’t have been. The Traveler was like a god to her, she had followed its will since before the tower had even existed, she didn’t know anything else but now… Now she didn’t know at all. The Last City had been created with the help of the Traveler, surely it didn’t want to leave what it had created to the darkness? To leave the guardians helpless against the Witness? It couldn’t be that selfish… 

With trembling breath, the Exo lifted her head to look at the Traveler and her resolve immediately shattered, all the talking she had done to try and keep her faith strong was gone. She had nothing, and she felt nothing. Nothing but a horrible emptiness. A void where the warmth of faith should have resided. The cold clutch of darkness had curled its fingers around her heart. 

She leaned over the railing, her body shaking uncontrollably as she unleashed a long, anguished cry into the city below her feet. Her voice seemed amplified with its metallic filter as she spilled her soul and purpose out to be lost alongside her faith till only a shell of a guardian remained. She continued to scream in anger and hopelessness and to lament all the things she wished had happened until no sound came out at all and she was left clinging to the metal of the railing, shaking with strained sobs though no tears fell from her eyes. 

“Why us… Why me… Why Cayde, why Sundance, why Osiris, why the Hive?! Why did I have to be right, why are you so cruel, why did you lie, why did you pick us, why do you want to leave us, why why why why…”

The inner voice of her mind rose up to the endless sky and crowded out any rational thoughts, leaving only a buzzing in the ears as her own screams echoed faintly behind them. 

Vlairyn slumped from the railing onto her knees, stumbling back until her hands grasped for purchase at the gold embellished memorial plaque of the fallen hunter vanguard, her metal fingers feeling the raised image of Ace as if it would materialize in her hands and bring Cayde along with it, like everything would be better if only he were there to talk to her.

She sat in anguished silence for what seemed like several lifetimes before her face hardened as her jaw set with finality, feeling the cold prickles of ice being called to her fingertips. Her gaze reached up to the white orb as it seemed to be getting further and further away. 

“I’ll no longer be a pawn to any deity or paracausal being! Not you! Not The Darkness!” She yelled, hearing coolant rushing around her ears, roaring and echoing the same rage she had cried with. How she wished to be anything but a guardian of the light in that moment. 

Dead.

Death would be better, she thought, looking down towards the bottom of the wall so many hundreds of feet below her with the city resting at its base, so many people probably unaware of what had taken place in Zavala's office only minutes earlier… 

Too bad she was immortal. 

She wouldn’t kill her ghost, the one being she thought might understand her now.

“You’ll pay when these walls come tumbling down. And mark my words, they will.” Her voice was cold as she stood against The Traveler, feeling the cold grip of The Darkness finally setting in around her, all traces of warmth- of light- gone. 

[hazydaisyglaze]

Trigger Warning; Bodily Harm/Blood.

(Synopsis) Before Leo reaches Mikey's portal home, it flickers away, leaving him alone with Krane in The Prison Dimension. Narrowly he survives, though far from safe. He must continue to survive in this strange world as both he and his family work to bring him home to them.

For better, and for worse, they are not alone.

(Author's note) I'm hoping I can myself make this into a series, but boy am I rusty at writing. Eventually once I get my AO3 invitation it'll be up on there looking more official with tags and the like.

Any thoughts, advice, or ideas are welcomed ^^

(Name not decided yet) Chapter 1,

~Prison Dimension~

     Leo hardly heard the Krang screaming after him, not over his own heartbeat ringing inside his head. There was a bright orange light, and for a moment he could have sworn he heard his brother's shouting after him. He could feel the wind on his face, he felt the sun; and he swore he felt hands reaching out to pull him in.

Then nothing at all.

"Creature, you cannot escape my wrath!"

Leo looked back, Krang was speeding toward him, and there was nothing he could do; he was floating near weightless, aimless. All he could do was cover his face as the Krang grabbed at his leg and threw him down, toward an old war machine.

Leo cried out as he plummeted into the armored shoulder of the machine. He didn't even notice the cracking sound, not over the reverberating thud his shell made against the metal. Something in the back of his mind, some instinct, told him it must be hollow under the shoulder blade.

He snapped his head up, and the Krang caught himself, practically ontop of Leo with him stuck between his claws. Leo frantically crawled away, with the picture of his family still clutched in his hand. 

Krang raised his claw as he shouted, "Do you regret what you did yet, Pest?"

Leo tried to speak and give some kind of retort, but nothing but a nervous laugh came out. He had been so content to die moments ago, but his family was out there, trying to get him back. He couldn't break their hearts twice.

Leo darted up as he laughed, and ran down the shoulder, torrid the giant metal hand of the deadly machine. He dove down just as the Krang made a swipe at him. Just as he suspected, there was a crevice between the armored plates and the machine itself.

The grin that spread across his face was quickly wiped off as Krang swiped again, slashing his arm. Leo bit his lip and screamed into it. He was swung up into the air and would have gone flying if he hadn't been gripping on to the plating.

He yanked himself inside the crevice, barely able to avoid being yanked back out. Leo squeezed himself as far back into the tapering space before glancing back at the Krang. His claws were swinging for him and scratching the metal with a horrible shriek.

"You'll suffer! You'll suffer, Pest!"

Krang's screaming echoed inside the little sanctuary. Leo covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, but that did little to stop the sound.

It wouldn't be until long after Krang's voice grew shrill that he'd stop. With a croak, he warned, "You can either starve there, or I can hunt you down." Either way, you'll be miserable, and I, for one, will be glad. Farewell, Pest."

Leo didn't move, not until he heard Krang step away with a clanging noise and then propel himself off the machine's chest.

Leo muttered between deep, slow breaths. "About... took you long enough."

He looked down at the photo and nearly shrieked. His arm was covered in blood, and droplets hovered around him. How long had they been frozen in place and bleeding for?

He moved his attention upwards, to his bicep, where three very deep wounds greeted him. The center one appeared the deepest, though it was hard for Leo to tell just how bad the damage was with all the blood in the way.

He pulled the wraps around his forearm up, whispering. "Well, that might be bad."

He looked over his body for any more wounds that had been hemorrhaging without notice. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw none, though his body was horribly bruised, and his foot was maybe 5 degrees more to the right than it should have been. He tried to remember when he had sprang it, though looking back, he really couldn't recall most of what he had just endured. 

"Probably shouldn't worry, right guys?" He smiled down at the crinkled photo with tears in his eyes, though most of it was covered in blood. All he could see of his family was Raph's face, smiling at him.

Leo strained to smile at it, then let out a sharp, painful breath. Had it always hurt this much to breathe? "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry.

He set the photo down between his feet, and wiped his eyes. It was only when he reached down to find the photo that he realized that he was sitting on top of a rusted vent.

Of which the photo had slipped into.

"No! Hey!" Leo tried to pry it open with his bare hands, sending painful shots up his wounded arm, but he didn't care. He didn't stop until the corners of his eyes saw black that he stopped. He wasn't like Raph, he wouldn't keep straining himself until he passed out.

That memory made him smile. Raph trying to lift up a school bus on his own. Fainting not once, but twice; yet Raph felt Leo was the stubborn one.

It had made him warm for a moment, but even as a strange hollowness crept over him, his smile remained. He wiped his eyes once again and scooted away from the vent. He examined it for a moment. The grate was so rusted that it made Leo wonder if he could simply hit it apart. He raised his fist but stopped himself mid-swing. He did not need tetanus on top of everything else.

 "Look at me, thinking things through… Maybe Donnie and I are twins," He chuckled to himself as he crawled out of the crevice, wincing at each little move. "Ew."

Hesitantly, he poked his head out. There was no sign of Krang, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. He questioned if the photo was really worth the risk.

He pulled himself out before he could allow himself to think about it any further. 

He glanced around, first for Krang, then for a rock. Thankfully, there were plenty, though they were all inconveniently far away from him.

He jumped up—much higher than he ever could on Earth. He might have marveled at the experience had he not been so terrified that Krang would swoop him out of the air and drag him away.

"Like a hawk!" He swore he heard Donnie say.

As he reached for a rock that was nearly the size of his head, he recalled another memory from when they were kids. Leo had been minding his own business, playing with dolls he made from cardboard, when Donnie burst into their room, frantically waving his arms.

"Hawks are going to eat us!" 

Leo rolled his eyes and threw one of the dolls at Donnie, but it practically dropped out of his hands instead. "No, they won't!"

"They well! I saw it on the TV. They pick up turtles," Donnie said, raising his hands dramatically in the air, then throwing them down. "And then they drop them from the sky so our shells break open, and they eat our guts!"

Leo made a face at him and shook his head. 

   "But we're fine! We live in the sewers! There's no sewer hawks, Leo went wide eyed and nervously asked. "There are no sewer hawks, right?"

Donnie matched his wide eyes and whispered, "I do not know."

Both brothers didn't sleep well for a couple of weeks. Not until they had set up scarecrows around their home. Made from trash that had been flushed away or that their father brought for them from above. Both brothers vowed not to tell the others of these dangerous birds. 

"It's better they live in ignorance than in fear. They couldn't do much if a hawk grabbed them anyway." Donnie told him, as they were setting up the final scarecrow, made primarily from glued together soda cans.

Leo didn't quite know what 'ignorance' meant, but it made enough sense to him. They kept their secret, though less because of the vow and more because they had forgotten all about the hawks a couple weeks later.

The memory did little to comfort Leo now.

 He grabbed the rock, and to his relief, began to slowly descend back down.

  "A little, but not no gravity... Got it."

He made sure to land on his right foot, and opted to crawl back into the crevice. better than putting pressure on his rolled ankle and likely faster than hopping. though it didn't feel very good to move at all, let alone move quickly.

Leo tossed the rock in front of him and squeezed inside. He took a moment to breathe, to allow himself to be relieved he wasn't out in the open, like a turtle sunbathing on a boulder, ready for a hawk to swoop down and snatch it.

Leo reached for the rock and, with all his might, began to beat it against the grate, sending bits of rust floating everywhere and sending pain up his arms and through his spine. Leo held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the rust pieces began tapping his face. He kept throwing it once, twice, five times, until he threw it down and felt it hit nothing. Nearly the whole thing had crumbled into pieces that kept tapping at Leo's face like a swarm of gnats.

Leo reached in, still with his eyes closed and breath held, for the photo. After feeling nothing besides himself becoming lightheaded, he pulled himself into the vent. He was glad to not feel so much of the invasive rust in his face that must have floated to the top.

He opened one eye first, which was beginning to swell shut. He grinned when he saw the photo and finally let himself breathe as he half crawled, half floated, toward it. It lay perfectly flat just a few feet away on top of another rusted gate with a dim, red light shining through it.

Leo paid that little mind as he reached for the photo. But when the opposite hand set on the grate, his entire front half, followed by the back, crashed down. Sending him through the grate and tumbling to the ground.

He felt and saw nothing. All he could hear was the sound of an entire section of the ventilation system crashing down around him.

Before he blacked out completely.

 ~Earth~ 

   Raph stared at where the portal had been moments ago, where Leo had been. His fist was still up, ready to mystic punch that monster away from his little brother. He glanced at Donnie, who was in a similar position as him. Crouched down, with mystic power flickering away and a wide eyed look of horror on his face, he was also staring at what was now the sea.

His glance went down to Mikey, who was still holding out his hands with tears in his eyes, trying to summon another portal with all his might.

 

It was then Raph saw what was happening, it looked as if the magic was beginning to tear away at Mikey.

  Raph slowly leaned down to Mikey's eye level and whispered. "You have to stop." 

 Between sobs Mikey shouted back, "I can't give up on him! I can't!"

Donnie covered his ears, and stepped away from his brother's, as Raph pulled Mikey into a hug, forcing Mikey's powers to stop.

"No one's giving up on, Leo. We're The Mad Dogs, remember? We don't give up on eachother, not ever."

Mikey's sobbing only got worse, and in response Donnie Backes away further, still staring at the sea with that same expression.

 "Th-then why are you telling me to stop!?"

"Because you're hurting yourself, Big Man… We'll try again here soon."

"B-but he's with that monster!"

Ralph flinched, as did Donnie, but still Ralph did his best to sound calm. "If anyone can handle him, it's Leo. Okay?"

Ralph wanted to believe it, maybe to an extent he did, but more than anything he just didn't want to lose two of his brothers. Not in one day, not ever again.

Mikey said nothing but hugged him back, continuing to cry and sob. Raph patted his back, and looked up at Donnie. At first he wanted to offer him a hug, but quickly realized nothing he said or did would do anything but hurt him now.

Donnie was standing in place; his hands still clenching the side of his face; and now squeezing his eyes shut as he muttered gibberish to himself.

 

Raph normally had all the patience in the world for his brother's melt downs, and over stimulation, but today all he wanted to do was go home, but he couldn't leave him alone, and he loved him too much to try to force him out of this.

With a heavy sigh he continued to try to soothe Mikey. He was surprised at how well he was keeping it together, but even he wasn't stubborn enough to last. He felt so many different emotions build up behind his throat, and he wanted to scream them out. 

But he knew that wouldn't help now, nor would it really get rid of them.

 Raph wasn't sure when it happened as he was lossed in the blankness heat occupy his mind. It could of been a few minutes, it could of been a few hours. But at some point Donnie had begun rolling on his heels, humming to himself in an attempt to sooth. Not long after that, Raph was pulled out of his head when he felt Donnie hug him.

He looked down at his brothers. Mikey had nearly cried himself to sleep, and Donnie was trembling, still fending off a panic attack.

Ralph slowly brought his arm around Donnie, and stood there for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I'll call Dad, make sure everyone's alright… and then we'll go home. Okay?"

Mikey only nodded, as for Donnie he made a small noise that almost sounded like a defeated, 'okay.'

 "Okay," Said Raph, mostly to himself as he glanced back at where the portal had been. "Okay."

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

05/19/2024 – 05/25/2024

Sunday

Week 15 of missing Cipher Academy

Had to head out on a day trip, but before I did I quickly read the new Undead Unluck chapter. This was mainly a set-up chapter, disseminating the information we’ve learned from the Language fight and preparing for the next arc, but wow I never expected that we’d see Fuuko’s parents… I have a feeling that the next arc is going to be pretty emotional…

Monday

Oshi no Ko 149: I think Kana and Akane should just get together instead. Seeing Akane pull her Machiavellian schemes is funny, though.

Dandadan 152 and 153: Dammit the mangaka has got me again with the tragic backstory. I think they’ve really perfected their craft in this regard – they don’t get too long-winded about it, instead focusing on presenting specific images and moments that tell a much bigger story. Seeing the myriad of stickers in the apartment on the doors and counters at kid-height was so…the place just felt really lived in and realistic, making the tragedy hit even more as Zuma’s mom begs to stay. Zuma covering his little brother’s ears was also a nice touch, and we understand right away what their brotherly relationship must’ve been like. But then the silence as his little brother loses his umbrella…and we just see Zuma’s desperation and the aftermath… His mom’s cold grip around his wrist and then those last few panels are just so so horrible, especially the one where you can see Zuma trying his best to hold his mom back… I also appreciated this thematic thread of “people placing the blame on individuals rather than the lack of support infrastructure and the ways modern society crushes the less fortunate under its heel”, it makes sense why Zuma would feel angry towards the entire world and how it’s failed his family.

Magilumiere fine. Feels like textbook final fight stuff.

Chainsaw Man fine. The narrative just feels so…aimless and vague.

Rewatched some Succession episodes just to feel something. Season 3 episode 5 will always be a favourite for the absolute chaos it brings, but this time I really enjoyed Tom likening him and Shiv to sorority sisters whose cycles have synced up…he’s so girlcoded it’s insane. And then I watched season 4 episode 7 for the satisfaction of watching Tom and Shiv’s marriage blow up – I have their argument almost memorized by now.

Tuesday

Against my better judgement, I stayed up and read The Unusual Suspects by Michael Buckley in pretty much one sitting, and was fairly underwhelmed. As with the first book in this Sisters Grimm series, I love the premise and setting of this story, but the actual writing leaves a lot to be desired. Finding out that Buckley’s writing career started in TV makes so much sense, because his book writing is so bland and uninspired. The characters are fun and have decently enjoyable dialogue, but the descriptions lack any real finesse or artistry. Things just happen one after another like a TV writer marking out a beatsheet, and the comedic bits are the kind of wacky hijinks you’d find in the platonic ideal of a 2000’s Saturday morning cartoon. At least Sabrina had a semblance of an interesting arc, I guess…? In that she has to grapple with racism LMAO? And I guess Prince Charming’s gesture and her realization that her anger/racism was literally powering up the bad guy was a decent resolution, but I do hope the narrative stresses the importance of seeing “the other” as people in future instalments (and maybe throw in a human culprit for one of the mysteries). Also, I remembered the Puck/Sabrina romance as being more of a slowburn, but here they basically fall in love with each other on the flimsiest of basis and are doing the whole bickering/flirting thing right away…I think kid me was really excited at each crumb of ship content, but adult me wishes their romance had a subtler hand.

Wednesday

Went outside and had a life event, heh

Thursday

Read a lot today, mostly just bits and pieces of various books in my search of a good one, but the only one I started in earnest was Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman. The hook was immediately gripping – a horror story set during the Black Plague – and I’m happy to find that the writing is evocative enough to match. The prose sets me in the time period and atmosphere immediately, and there are so many striking visuals that have stuck in my mind thus far. Unfortunately, in an inverse of Buckley, the dialogue writing is so bad it nears comical at points. Some of the passages literally read like bad sitcom banter, and it completely takes me out of the moment with its anachronistic tone. The only saving grace is that the conversations are usually short, I suppose.

Friday

DunMesh with leftover stir-fried lamb from a restaurant I went to on Wednesday. Episode good! Food good! Fun to see the Canaries make their anime debut at last.

I got fully invested and finished Part I of Between Two Fires. The dialogue still grates on me at times, but the wonderful prose keeps me going, as does the dreaminess of the plot – it really feels like an early canon work in how it moves between different locations and their self-contained stories, and while I saw some people say that they didn’t like the episodic nature, I think it really fits the tone. I was pleasantly surprised to see the priest join the party, I was really expecting the story to just revolve around Thomas and the girl, but the priest’s presence is welcome for how it adds another dimension to the group dynamic beyond the girl annoying Thomas with her innocent and inscrutable actions. I also didn’t expect so much gayness? I can’t tell if it’s just being used as a way to cast the priest as a sinful man (like with his drinking), but I’m going to enjoy the fujo crumbs regardless. Thomas’ fight against the river creature and the men’s stint in the illusory castle felt truly hellish, and you really get the sense that their world is pulling apart at the seams.

Saturday

I started reading She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan today because I like to have a few books going at once, and I’m becoming cautiously optimistic that some actually good adult fiction books exist in the world. After some deliberation, I think I’ve come to the realization that what I really want in a book is for things to happen. As in, I’m sick and fucking tired of the 340523rd treatise on the fucking “human condition” – I’ve been through enough human condition and I don’t need to read 400 pages of melodramatic waffling as characters talk and talk and talk but actually do very little of consequence. But if I want to find a book where an actual journey occurs, my best chances are in the fantasy or sci-fi genres…which I also kind of hate reading lol. I hate being bombarded with impenetrable names and countries and factions before I even get the chance to care about them, so I usually avoid high fantasy/high sci-fi like the plague. But She Who Became the Sun is set in historical China, which I’m already familiar with and interested in, and the fantasy elements have been fairly light so far, so I’ve been greatly enjoying it. I especially like Parker-Chan’s prose, and how they build Zhu’s inner turmoil in Part One and her struggle between identity vs body and the central thesis of greatness vs nothingness. But once again, I’m floored by just how good the writing is when compared to some of the other books I’ve tried reading this week. I used to think that maybe adult fiction as a whole just wasn’t for me, but now I’m regaining hope that there are good books out there, I just have to find them…it’s a process, to be sure, when literally no other critics or BookTubers I can find share my tastes, but I’ll keep trying…

[mediaevalmusereads]

Archivist Wasp. By Nicole Kornher-Stace. Big Mouth House, 2015

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: YA sci fi

Series: Archivist Wasp Saga #1

Summary: Wasp's job is simple. Hunt ghosts. And every year she has to fight to remain Archivist. Desperate and alone, she strikes a bargain with the ghost of a supersoldier. She will go with him on his underworld hunt for the long-lost ghost of his partner and in exchange she will find out more about his pre-apocalyptic world than any Archivist before her. And there is much to know. After all, Archivists are marked from birth to do the holy work of a goddess. They're chosen. They're special. Or so they've been told for four hundred years.

Archivist Wasp fears she is not the chosen one, that she won't survive the trip to the underworld, that the brutal life she has escaped might be better than where she is going. There is only one way to find out.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: violence (including violence against children), blood, abuse

OVERVIEW: This book has been on my TBR pile for ages, so I figured I should get around to picking it up. The premise was intriguing, and I was in the mood for something a little weird. Unfortunately, I don't think I can give this book more than 3 stars because there was a lot about the plot and the characters that looked good on paper but didn't come to life.

WRITING: On a sentence level, Kornher-Stace's prose is fine. It's a little more complex that what you might expect of YA, but it flows well and balances showing and telling.

I do think, however, that the pace can be slow. The meat of the plot doesn't really get going for some 100 pages, so everything felt a little aimless until then.

PLOT: The plot of this book follows Wasp, an "Archivist" who lives in a post-apocalyptic world. Wasp's job is to hunt ghosts on behalf of the community's deity, Catchkeep, and hopefully piece together information about the past. However, when Wasp encounters a ghost who wants her help finding someone, she abandons her post in hopes of using the ghost to earn her freedom.

I personally had a difficult time getting invested in the story, in part because it felt like Wasp's world and motivations were unclear. I wasn't sure how the deities worked or whether Wasp was a true believer, and it wasn't made clear from the onset that she had tried to escape her abusive priest multiple times before the ghost came along. The deities meant very little to me; I had no idea what some of them were deities of, and most of the time, their names seemed to be dropped in at random to make the world seem different from ours. I also had no idea why the religion would mandate the Archivist to battle to the death every year - wouldn't that severely slow down the accumulation of knowledge? And on top of that, how could the institution last 400 years and be horribly abusive without anyone questioning or challenging it?

On top of that, Wasp didn't seem very invested in helping the ghost; she neither seemed all that interested in what happened in the past, nor did she have a clear plan for escaping the priest (she mentions trading the ghost's "healing device" for money but later says that no matter how far she runs, she'll either run out of food or be caught). To me, it didn't feel like there was a point to helping the ghost other than the plot said she had to, and I would have liked to see Wasp be more invested. Maybe she is truly interested in the past or maybe she is devoted to her deity (only to have her beliefs challenged during her journey).

I also struggled with this plot because it did not seem like Wasp was all that useful for a majority of the narrative. Once Wasp agrees to help, it seems like the ghost is more knowledgeable and competent than her in every respect, and it's only once they accidentally figure out that her weapon gives her a special ability that she becomes invaluable. This frustrated me because it made no sense for the ghost to seek her out unless it knew about the weapon's power (which it didn't). I wanted to see Wasp either use her tracking skills to help or offer something more so it didn't feel like a dead weight for 60% of the book.

On top of that, the lack of trust between Wasp and the ghost made for a stagnant relationship. Wasp seems to mistrust the ghost from day one, and the two don't really start to see themselves as partners until the last 100 pages or so of the book. This was frustrating for me for a number of reasons. First, it meant that when big, emotional moments happen, it didn't feel all that impactful because our two characters don't seem to like each other anyway. Second, it made Wasp seem especially hostile, which got tiresome and repetitive. Their relationship doesn't evolve with time, and I felt like Wasp's hostility went counter to the compassion she had for ghosts at the beginning of the novel. If the two had grown to be friends or partners, then some of the more shocking revelations would have crested more emotional tension.

Still, there were things I liked. I liked the descriptions of the "underworld" and the different areas that reminded me of Dante's Inferno. Not only were these areas creative and otherworldly, but they seemed real in the way Hell is real in Dante's work. I also liked Foster's story and the connection between Foster and the ghost. Once this thread got going, I found myself curious as to what Foster's deal was and why the ghost wanted to find her so badly, and I kept reading mostly to watch the pieces fall into place.

CHARACTERS: Wasp, our protagonist, is interesting on paper, but ultimately feels a little flat. Her main goal is to escape the priest, which is all well and good, but she doesn't seem to have a good plan for doing so, even with the ghost's help. She also seems prickly and hostile, which is fine, but she doesn't soften over time, which made her feel stagnant. The author also tries to shove some complexity in towards the end by having Wasp be frustrated that she always breaks everything she tries to fix, but we don't get the sense that she was a screw-up for the entirety of the book. On the contrary, she seems hyper-competent in that she's one of the longest-lived Archivists, so it seems weird that suddenly, she's so concerned with trying to "fix" things.

The ghost isn't much of a personality in the present, but he gains some complexity through visions of the past. Part of why it was so hard to connect with him is because he remains nameless throughout the book, and he is cagey in a way I found frustrating. As the past became more clear, however, I was invested in his connection to Foster and the conflict his past self endured.

Foster was perhaps the most interesting character for me though we never really meet her in the present. We primarily encounter her through memories. I liked that she seemed to have her own moral compass and was willing to go through great lengths to do the right thing. I also liked her connection to the ghost and the comraderie they forged through a lifetime together.

The Catchkeep-priest and the upstarts were fine, if a little flat. The priest was horrible and abusive, which is fine in am antagonist, but his motivations aren't as clear as I would have liked. I also don't really see why the upstarts would go along with his rules for as long as they do, though I guess a system of control explains a little of it. Still, I would have liked to see more secret alliances or friendships in spite of the priest's efforts.

TL;DR: Archivist Wasp is an imaginative genre-bending book that ultimately doesn't seem to know what to do with its world or its characters. Though the mystery of the ghost was enough to keep me reading, I would have enjoyed this book more if character motivations made more sense and the two protagonists had a much more gradual arc in which they came to trust one another as partners or even friends. Doing so would have made the emotional moments resonate more and would have echoed the partnerships we see elsewhere in the book.

[themanwhomadeamonster]

how about alone + desire + wound for carrion if you want!?

OHOHOHO BRING ON THE EDGELORD ANGST BABEYYY

Alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Carrion is very used to being alone, but he doesn't necessarily like the feeling of it. The only time he had been truly completely alone was on Bitterblack Isle after his Arisen died and he got lost in the labyrinth. Pawn or human, he always longs for some sort of interaction with someone else even if it's hatred because the deafening silence of being alone stresses him out. He needs some sort of human connection for direction, and Carrion's last direction from his Arisen to help them was something he disobeyed, which left him really confused and aimless for a while until his main objective was just to survive the Isle.

Desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

To die on his own terms. Carrion's tired and wants out especially since his Bestowed soul is of someone he resents, so in DD2 he becomes the Arisen to prove to himself that his life and choices are his own and not that he wants to die because his Arisen's soul drives him to. He knows there are two options from here: he dies at the hand of the Dragon a pathetic vessel of man at least as dictated by the Dogma rather than his own Arisen, or he bests the Dragon and proves that his will is his own, so he can die knowing that it's not his Arisen driving him to do so. Hopefully something along the way convinces him otherwise c:

Wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

He's a bit weird about it. He likes the feeling of physical pain, it's a reminder that he's a human and not a Pawn even if the pain is temporary. He has a scar on his left rib that he doesn't know where it's from, and it feels weird when he touches it. Slightly pain, slightly ???? . Also has bites on his left shoulder from siren and succubi constantly attacking him (need to update the ref sheet to include this lol).

By far the worst and actually unpleasant pain he'd experienced was his heart being removed, along with the feeling of "Oh God my chest is empty again this feels uncomfortably familiar". The reminder of what it felt like to be a Pawn was horrible, and he considered this possibility when facing the Dragon but didn't think it would be as bad. I think this was the biggest mental/emotional scar he experienced post-BBI.

Thank you for the ask I love talking about Carrion's relationship with the Dogma \o/ Ask game here!

[yournewlodger]

O and Z for the fandom alphabet meme?

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of. I did a few randomizations on my main playlist until I found a song that I had an association with. For me it chose Do You Realize?? by The Flaming Lips. This song unsurprisingly has a lot of association for me. Most recently this song was used in my Data/Riker playlist, but the song gives me huge Star Trek vibes in general. It was also used in an AMV I made last year with Doctor Who! The AMV was mostly about the Doctor, like... in general, and their companions, and all that. So I always think of the AMV when I hear the song. Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go. You know, usually people would use this spot to talk about their current hyperfixations or whatever else they’re thinking about in relation to like, a character or how much they love a show, but mine’s a little different. It’s fan-related as in related to fandom. So basically, I joined tumblr in the wake of Superwholock. I saw the Mishapocalypse happen in real time. Tumblr University, Dashcon, in and out of all kinds of fandoms. Although my url was originally theofficialblogofofficiality (I know) my primary username on most websites was what it is here, yournewlodger. So, as you might have guessed, I came to tumblr thinking primarily about everyone’s favorite science fiction television series (not really.) The ‘who’ in Superwholock. I was obsessed, as most people were, from middle school to early high school, only really dropping out when the Ponds left and Clara came in, and completely fizzled after Matt Smith regenerated. Not necessarily because of Peter Capaldi, but I was thirteen so this old guy in a young man’s shoes certainly didn’t help. Now the Whovians certainly got up to mischief back in the day. We were always the first to hijack posts with *jumps into the TARDIS and flies away* on posts we didn’t like. We had infighting about ships and showrunners and all that. But it was all really lowkey compared to the Super and the Lock in my opinion.  After the video essay about The Johnlock Conspiracy and the re-awakening of Destiel, we’re all remembering our days in old fandom, namely Superwholock, with a much more critical lens. But I’ve joked with my friends for awhile now that Doctor Who ‘won’ the Superwholock race, because while it definitely had its faults, the fandom never got as intense as it did with the other two. Or did it? I really want somebody to do some deep diving. What were the trials and tribulations of the Doctor Who fandom during the Superwholock Era? Were we more subdued because we were steeped in much older lore and a much more mainstream show? Or was there something I missed because I was thirteen and didn’t understand the internet? Obviously I’m not asking you. This is a rhetorical call to action to any of us involved back then. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about recently with all the old tumblr nostalgia floating around. This was horribly long, but I hope you enjoyed regardless.