#it's in the past and i truly thought i needed to go in so in that moment i was doing what i thought i needed to do to take care of myself

[cokoakeostuff]

Legend, Koholint.

i’m not real

He’s a talented and experienced hero, someone who has faced countless challenges and saved everyone more than once. But the spark he once had has faded. His adventures stopped being exciting and began to feel like a burden.

The events of A Link to the Past, Oracle of Seasons, and Oracle of Ages left their mark on him, but what truly shook him was his visit to Koholint Island.

There were no kingdoms in danger, no imminent threats, no grand destiny awaiting him. For the first time, Link had no one to save. And the more time he spent on the island, the more attached he became to its people, especially to one person: Marin.

He fell in love with Her and with the peace of the island. But he couldn’t help to continue in his journey to uncover the mysteries of the place. The monsters that arrived with him seemed to be trying to stop him, and the warnings were clear: if he kept going, he would only bring misfortune. Yet Legend continued.

In the end, he discovered the truth. Everything he had lived through on Koholint was nothing more than a dream created by the Wind Fish. Waking the Wind Fish would erase the island and all its people.

And what else could he do? He completed his mission, because that’s what heroes do, right? But this time, it didn’t feel like a victory. Nothing about it made him feel like the hero he once was. Even if Koholint wasn’t real, for Link, it felt like sacrificing an entire village just to save himself.

And if it was all just a dream… why does losing Marin and all those people hurt so much?

Koholint was a reminder that not all adventures end with a "happily ever after."

——

I just need to talk about him, he has been living in my mind rent free, Im gonna post this later but it’s 4AM and I can’t sleep because IM THINKING ABOUT HIM, anyway, short comic about Legend, his thoughts and what he is going trough. And come on, he is a teenager, nothing hurts more at that age than a broken heart.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Looks like I haven't. Okay, well, let's see. I'll just give highlights, but it'll be long, so let's do a readmore.

So, in mid-2022, I dared to age past about 35 and therefore started withering bodily. Of course, this is partly my fault, because I do not get enough exercise, but also (shakes fist at uncaring universe, pulls muscle in fist) Life Hates Me

So, I started getting muscle pain between the shoulder blades. In my case, this is actually one of those annoying to-avoid-one-disability-you-created-another things, because I've had problems with my lower back since I was in my mid-20s thanks to never using proper lumbar support. Therefore, my standard spot to be in my living room became the sofa that stretches away from the TV, because then I could lie on the sofa and prop my head up on the arm to watch, but that means I spent several years as a recreational candy cane and NOW HERE WE ARE. I remember desperately trying to find a massage therapist that could see me that day before I went away to Edinburgh in August that year, and there was nowhere at all available. I had to get one in Edinburgh when I arrived, which was lovely, but also about £20 more expensive, because Edinburgh.

And then! In November! Of 2022!

I must have wished really hard. Because around the corner from my house - so close I could forward roll that distance, if it weren't for, you know (gestures at body, pulls muscle in arm)... a massage parlour opened.

Except. Here's the thing.

It had a name like "Swansea Oriental Massage" or "Thai Lotus Massage" or what have you (real name not given for privacy reasons.) The kind of name that makes you go "Ah. An independent business, likely staffed by workers fresh from abroad, with a name that implies exotic women to a certain type of client. This may be entirely what it claims, but it definitely Fits a Profile."

And to be clear, I have no issues at all with it being a brothel! I truly, genuinely don't. But for obvious reasons, I do want to know if I'm booking a session with a masseuse or a sex worker, because those are very different types of happy endings.

So Steff and I tried looking them up, which became almost a game in itself. We were like "Right. It has a legitimate-looking website that offers three different types of massage: Swedish, Chinese and deep tissue, complete with a disclaimer that deep tissue is not recommended unless you have good pain tolerance. A brothel would probably use more euphemisms, right? Intimate massage, full personal, that sort of thing. But maybe those are euphemisms?"

And then we'd be like "We have found a review. It says 'Very relaxing, beautiful girl.' That could either be a clumsily worded review from a gross orientalist marvelling about the massage, or it could be a subtle nod to them being sex workers."

And we went back and forth for weeks, until in the end I was like, no, enough. I am in pain. There must be someone, in any brothel, who can give a genuine massage - if you hide behind the phrase 'massage parlour', you MUST get people turning up occasionally looking for a back, neck and shoulders. It's the seamstress/needlewoman thing in Pratchett. They must be able to go 'Tracy, this one's for you.' That's who I need. I need Tracy. I need to be able to enter and go "Trace, what it is, it's my neck - no, no, Trace, leave your clothes on. Or, don't, I don't know your process. At this point I don't care. You know what? You do you. Mash my neck, don't worry about the happy ending."

(Well, unless it's reasonably priced as an add-on. I'm bisexual and I love a bargain.)

So one particularly painful day I thought fuck it, and I rang to book.

It did not clear anything up.

"Hello!" I said, when the lovely woman on the phone answered. In the interests of avoiding embarrassment on all sides, I decided to be Very Clear. "I currently have pain in my neck and shoulders, so I'm after a massage."

"Of course!" said the nice lady. "When would you like?"

"Tonight?" I asked. "About seven? If you can fit me -"

"Of course!" she beamed. "We will see you at seven!"

And she hung up. That was it. She did not take my name, or anything further; there was no indication as to how I would make sure I could, you know, actually claim the appointment on arrival. That was it.

"Hmm," I thought.

And then the phone rang. I picked up.

"I forgot to ask!" said the woman. "Do you want a male or a female?"

This, I thought, could still very much go either way.

"Well," I said. "I don't mind. As it's for getting knots out, I suppose -"

"Ah!" she said delightedly. "A male! See you later!"

And she hung up again.

"Hmm," I thought.

And so it was that I went to the massage parlour that evening, still none the wiser, waved off by my husband telling me to take the happy ending if it's offered, because he didn't mind at all and didn't want me to feel unsatisfied. This was very kind, but also qualifies for a "He's a little confused but he's got the spirit" meme, because I cannot tell you how little I was thinking about sex and how much I was thinking about the Gordian situation in my trapezoids and the way it was making me move like a T-rex.

Anyway. I was met by a lovely man who took me to a private room, gave me a towel, and told me to call him in once I was undressed and settled on the bed. This I duly did.

And then, what followed ended up being an hour and a quarter of the best massage I have ever had in my entire fucking LIFE.

I paid for an hour, to be clear. But this guy put his hands on my shoulders, frowned, said "Hmm," and then proceeded to work me over like I was meat for a tenderiser. It wasn't sexual. I just ceased being a person in his eyes. I was just muscles to him. Flesh to sculpt. I became a personal challenge. I watched as he passed into a state of intensive hyperfocus, time slipping away from us. He was like a fucking truffle pig after those knots, Tumblrs. He found every one. I could literally hear them clicking as he pressed them.

It was also, and I cannot stress this enough, the closest I have ever come to achieving enlightenment. There were points where I thought I was no longer in residence. I think I purred.

Eventually, he remembered the time, and left so I could get dressed. Then he sat me down in a chair and spent a final bonus ten minutes on my neck and shoulders, during which we chatted. His UK name is Chris (it's not, but both his real UK and Chinese names are here redacted for obvious privacy reasons), and he told me all about how he wanted to be an architect, and how his parents were hoping he would go back to China but he likes Wales and wants to stay, and which is the best Cantonese restaurant in Swansea. It was great. Transcendent experience. I walked out pain-free for the first time in months. He told me to drink water because it would remove the toxins the massage might have unleashed, and I thought that is not true, Chris, but I will do it for you.

I got home. "It's not a brothel!" I told my waiting husband and friends. "It's a legitimate massage parlour!"

"Hurrah!" they all said. "Perhaps we should get massages too."

And so, I went weekly. One time he had to reschedule, and so I received a message saying "Hello, this is Chris the massage boy", which is the most endearing sentence anyone has ever said to me, just absolutely delightful. Such a nice guy.

And then, one day, Steff thought maybe he'd go and get a massage.

And; well.

It turns out, Tumblrs, I had drawn a conclusion from too few datapoints; it turns out, Tumblrs, if you are male, in addition to the Swedish/Chinese/deep tissue options, you also get to order off the Forbidden Menu.

I had been ushered into a room where I was given a towel, and Chris would leave and only return once I was under the towel on the bed, so that he never saw a thing. But the first major difference we discovered was that, when Steff arrived, he was taken to a room and the woman who took him in then watched him expectantly until he stripped naked in front of her.

He did so, and got on the bed. She said, "Do you want two hands? Four hands? I can bring someone in."

"Oh," said Steff. "Um. Just a massage, please."

She stared at him.

"But," she said. "You don't want...?"

She mimed, very graphically, the act of wanking him off.

"No thanks," said Steff, voice getting higher.

"No??" she said, dumbstruck.

"Just a massage, please!" squeaked Steff.

They stared at each other.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Okay."

She gave him the massage. It was very good. He's been back a few times. He's offered the menu every time. Every time, they are baffled by his refusal.

And then tragedy struck after almost a year - Chris the massage boy became Chris the no-longer-massage boy and moved away to Cardiff. Devastating. Horrifying. I was inconsolable for months. Why do bad things happen to good people.

Which meant I started seeing the other workers there. I don't think I've ever seen the same one twice, so immediately, there's an issue of never getting to a point with anyone where they know how much pressure I like/can take or anything like that; but also, every damn one of them has been a waif of a girl I could bench press with one hand with no ability to do a proper deep tissue massage.

Mostly, this has not been a problem. They do very nice massages regardless, though it turns out they really do just wait for you to get naked in front of them, and Chris was very much an outlier in that regard. But a few months back I did get one who checked the file they apparently had on me, and got out her language translation app on her phone, and spoke into it. In English it read, "You want me to go hard? Deep?"

"Well," I said. "Just on my back, if possible?"

Her phone translated what I said into Chinese, for her to read. She nodded, and said something back, and held up the phone.

"My me is very small," it read. "But I will try."

And then what she did, Tumblrs, was channel every ounce of rage and hatred and inter-generational trauma for the British that she possessed in her heart straight into into her hands and, by extension, my me. Have you ever seen someone, like, scrub at a bloodstain that won't come out, and is going to send them to prison? Ever seen someone scrub so hard and so fast and so desperately that they start grating off their own fingertips, and yet they just keep scrubbing? Ever seen someone scrub like their life might literally be depending on it?

How I still have skin baffles me. I'm astonished she didn't buff off every mole on my back. She fucking pummelled me. And the worst part was, she didn't let up once she moved away from my back and down my legs, and I couldn't communicate that she was now going far too hard, because she didn't speak English and her magic phone app was put away, and also I'm a wimp who never tells tradespeople when I'm unhappy. It was an endurance session. I paid her £30 for it, and thanked her once she was done.

Anyway. All this brings me to today.

So I managed to jar my back by falling off a Ninja Warrior cheese-shaped board just before New Year, which, naturally, jarred right between my shoulder blades. Super painful, now passed, but the stiffness has remained and seems reluctant to leave; so, I thought, it's massage time.

And

Well

I think that was the worst massage I've ever had from that brothel.

Not bad as in painful! It was not bad as in "This is actively painful." But it has never been clearer that this girl was a sex worker cosplaying as a massage therapist, and was sort of guessing at what to do.

Like, she started on my back, and normally that's the focus of a massage. I would say you normally get about two thirds of the session on your back. Not so today. Today, in a half hour session, she spent maybe five minutes, if that, just loosely running her hands up and down my back. Just loosely. Sort of skimming her hands over the skin, if you will. A sort of extended stroke, like I was a flighty Thoroughbred.

Then she moved on, whereupon she she spent, conservatively, about TEN FULL MINUTES on the backs of my legs. Some of that was doing a sort of pressing pinch, where she was squeezing big handfuls of flesh. Some of it was a massage stroke. And the rest of it - quite a lot of it, actually - was her attempting that thing where massage therapists do the smacking with the sides of their hands, but she hadn't understood it, so it was actually about ten minutes of being softly but rigorously karate chopped on the thighs and calves.

(No overlapping strokes, mind. I appreciated the transferrable skills on display.)

Next, she told me to turn over, so I did. At this point, she attempted to put a towel over me. I'm unsure why, since I was bollock naked and had been the whole time; perhaps she wanted me to stay warm? I don't think it can have been for modesty, though, at least not entirely, because I KNOW the kitty cat was not wholly covered. I think there was a good centimetre or two of labia poking out the base, two happy little hills, peeping out at the room as the session progressed.

And progress it did, but with one change - she used absolutely zero oil to do my front. From this point onwards, this encounter was was done dry. That is probably making some of you wince, but honestly, it actually wasn't that bad, for reasons of there was very little massaging that actually required it from here on out.

She sort of pulled on my fingers first of all. Really very firmly too, one of them clicked. She started with my left arm, and pulled every finger in turn; then she raised my hand up above my elbow, pressed her thumbs into the centre, and then quite literally punched my palm. Then she laid the arm back down, held my shoulder down with one hand, and then used her other hand to grab my arm at different points to sort of half squish it, half grind it into the bed. And then she yanked on my shoulder, karate chopped a bit more on my forearm, and then that was it for Arm 1. Arm 2 was much of the same, except she added in a fun lil move where she sort of waved it about a bit from the shoulder a couple of times.

Then she went back to my legs. No more oil, so she sort of half-heartedly prodded and karate chopped my shins a bit, but to be honest I don't think her heart was in it by then.

But THEN she had a brainwave, so the last five to ten minutes were an attempt at a face massage.

Except when I say a face massage, I mean:

Well; she started well?

She did the fingertips on the temples, thumbs on the forehead, rotate gently thing, which lasted maybe 15 to 20 seconds. But then she got bored, I suspect, so she smooshed my cheeks a bit and rotated them vigorously like a cartoon character. And then she decided that I carry my stress in my forehead, so she started gently pinching my eyebrows and spider walking her fingertips left and right across them. And then she massaged my forehead for a moment

and then

she went back to karate chopping. On my forehead. Where my skull is. Repeatedly.

And like, don't get me wrong - it didn't hurt. But there's only so pleasurable and relaxing you can find "softly yet rapidly struck on the head in a rain of blows for two minutes straight."

Also, and I probably should have led with this, but she had her tits out the whole time.

Anyway it's my favourite place to go for a massage. I mean I now have to go somewhere else tonight to get my back sorted, admittedly, because I in fact carry my stress in the shoulders and not the eyebrows and they were the least attended part of me. But absolutely 10 out of 10 experience, no regrets.

Search is turning up nothing, but that's Tumblr even if there is something, so:

Have I told you guys about my many adventures with the brothel massage parlour around the corner from my house yet?

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Greedy Little Thing

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong. 

You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment. 

All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.

You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it. 

“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at. 

“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.

He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation. 

Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer. 

You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself. 

Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it. 

It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts. 

The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down. 

Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.

“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Your displeasure is blatant across your face. 

“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”

You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.

Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving. 

The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours. 

“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.

“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold. 

“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.

His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks. 

“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.

Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you. 

“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly. 

This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting. 

Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are. 

There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.

You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.

With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you. 

You’d have made a piss poor military wife.

It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.

That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.

But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get. 

You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.

Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.

It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.

You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living. 

It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.

The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.

“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.

He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.

And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.

Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.

You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it. 

John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.

“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more. 

“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.

“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.

John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it. 

“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch. 

Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.

“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck. 

You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.

One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair. 

“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now. 

“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.

The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.

You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.

Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.

You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.

The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.

Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers. 

You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.

"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.

You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."

You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.

The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog. 

When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs. 

God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.

"John, please!"

"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.

He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.

There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events. 

His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking. 

You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.

 You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.

"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.

It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.

 After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.

You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.

"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.

Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.

Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.

Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.

Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are  muffled to his standard. 

When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that. 

However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"

Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.

 "We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants. 

God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience. 

Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.

"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately. 

Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him. 

But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way. 

"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you. 

"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.

Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.

His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.

Oh, you like that noise.

You want to hear him make it again.

"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.

"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care. 

You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.

"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.

"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?

"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.

"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.

"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.

"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.

"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel. 

A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.

"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.

“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks. 

He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.

For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.

That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.

“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.

You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.

You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[superficialdomina]

Down Under - Part 1

Series masterlist

Part 1

“The epicentre of the outbreak,” Steve was saying to his bleary-eyed team, “appears to be here.” His long pointer made a thwack as it struck the wall map somewhere in the south of Australia. His accompanying PowerPoint ticked over to a slide showing a photo of a single road running through a smattering of houses, deserted save for a large mob of kangaroos. Nice shot, you thought, as you covered a yawn with the back of your hand.

 “The village of Hall’s Gap,” Steve continued, “population 496. The Victorian Premier’s Office has been in touch with us tonight – that is, this morning –"

He pulled his wrist away from his face and blinked rapidly in an effort to check his watch. 4.30 am.

“Ahem. What I mean to say is, the local government has asked us to investigate what seems to be an outbreak of an unusual contagious illness. Fortunately, the remoteness of the locale means that the infection is so far contained to this small township. However, speed and discretion remain of the utmost importance.”

Your sleepy mind began to catch on. A contagion outbreak? In Victoria? An Australian mission... You nervously tried to blink away some of the fatigue. You were the obvious choice – a local, an ex-pat. Am I about to be sent home?

Bruce stood, drawing eyes to him in the semi-light afforded by the projector. “Ah – yeah,” he said. “Sorry to get you all up at this hour. But the faster we get in, find the source, and treat the patients, the better chance we have of eradicating it.”

“Hang on,” Barton interrupted, rubbing an eye, “hang on. Just back up a minute. What exactly do you mean, “unusual illness”?”

“Ah – yeah,” Banner said again, his face pink. “I’ll - I’ll just show you.” The PowerPoint ticked over again, and Steve averted his eyes.

This time it was footage. The scene was grainy and captured from above, as though on a cheap security camera; it looked like the front room of a bank. Clusters of bodies, dozens of them, writhed on – or against – every surface. There was no sound, but there was also no mistaking what they were doing.

The conference room was suddenly wide awake.

“Wait...” Natasha spoke to Bruce without moving her eyes from the scene. “Are they?...”

“Involved in coitus, yes,” Steve answered instead, his gaze still resolutely at the floor. “The major symptom of infection is what you see here: an insatiable… desire. For copulation.” He swallowed. “For sexual intercourse.”

Voices broke out across the room. “Brother,” you heard Loki chuckle, “does it not remind you of that party we attended on Vanaheim?”

Rogers spoke over the noise, having overcome his embarrassment. “The repercussions of infection are serious. We mean truly insatiable; patients are forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep. We believe several lives have been lost.”

Muted respect fell over the room, and Bruce spoke again. “I need to get in there and collect a sample in order to prepare treatment options – ideally a vaccine.”

You finally found voice to speak. “Can’t Australia just send you a sample? Why do we need to go in?”

“Great idea,” Tony broke in. “Except that no one who’s entered Hall’s Gap in the past week has come out.”

Steve took over again. “We suspect this is a Hydra bioweapon pilot, possibly released from a hidden location in the nearby national park.” Another slide, this time of picturesque wilderness: mountain streams and gushing waterfalls framed by towering eucalypts and sheer rockfaces. “To that end, our objectives are two-fold. Collect a sample for analysis, and find and neutralise the Hydra base.”

There was a brief silence before Clint spoke again. “Alright, Cap. Who’s going in?”

“It will just be four of you at first; a small group will move faster.” Steve looked directly at you. “As our resident Australian, Agent, I want you on the ground.” You had been expecting the order, but a pit still instantly formed in your stomach. “A local SHIELD operative will meet you and guide you in. Banner will obviously join you… As will our Asgardian brothers here.”

Thor rolled his shoulders back and gave a pompous nod, but Loki narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked.

“You never get sick,” Stark cut in again. “Remember that flu that ripped through here in February? The two of you didn’t even sneeze. We don’t know what this is, but you’re the safest bet when it comes to any degree of innate immunity.”

“The rest of us will wait here for your signal,” Rogers continued. “Any sign of Hydra – any suggestion that you might need support – we’ll be on our way.”

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Steve checked his watch again. “An hour.” He squinted. “Make that – forty-six minutes.”

You always hated take-off. The familiar plummet of your stomach as the Quinjet rose into the air; the crushing embrace as it accelerated to full speed. But once you were safely at cruising altitude and could move about again, flying wasn’t so bad. You sat next to Banner as he skillfully piloted the aircraft across the Pacific Ocean, feeling your apprehension grow with every passing mile of open sea.

Focus on the mission, you thought.

“Bruce, if no one has made it back out of Hall’s Gap, how do we know what’s going on there? How did we get that footage?”

“It’s a cloud-recording. When State officials realised no one in town was answering a phone, let alone leaving the area, they accessed the bank’s security footage.” He grinned, but it was mirthless. “Bet they weren’t expecting to see that.”

“So, what – it’s a virus?”

“More likely a fungal pathogen,” Bruce replied. “There’s a cordyceps fungus that does something similar to ghost moths in the Himalayas. I’ve got some generic antifungal meds that we’ll all take as a precaution, but I can’t develop a proper vaccine until I’ve got a sample.”

“How do you get a sample?”

“From infected brain tissue,” Bruce said grimly.

You were interrupted by a deep yelp from behind, and you turned to see Thor shaking out his right hand as though stung. The brothers were passing time with a game that looked like a combination of rock-paper-scissors and bloody knuckles. Loki leaned back in his seat, his cat-got-the-cream expression widening. One long, leather-clad leg stretched out into the aisle; the other bent at the knee so that his foot could rest on the seat in front. You could see the raised outline of his quadriceps. He lifted his arms to settle his hands behind his head, the card of his slender fingers through his own hair making you squirm. Why are the pretty ones always such dickheads?

You mentally shook yourself. Loki’s smarm and sex appeal were irrelevant. People were dying.

Rage flared within you. How dare they. Hydra had targeted Australia not because it posed a threat, or because the location gave them a tactical advantage. It was because a test release of a bioweapon in a place like Hall’s Gap was easy to hide.

Remote. Wild. Dangerous.

You pushed Loki’s long limbs out of your mind. Without your full concentration, the mission could be deadly.

It was after midnight local time when the Quinjet began descending.

“Ten minutes, guys,” Banner said, as the altimeter rapidly ticked down.

Loki stood, making a big show of stretching, his leather armour creaking. He caught you watching him and gave a wolfish grin, then a small shrug of his left shoulder.

You almost jumped in surprise. Green light licked up his body, and the black leather was replaced by sensible, climate-appropriate clothing: a lightweight collared shirt open over a tight, V-necked tank top, and moleskin hiking pants. A small triangle of pale flesh was visible at his shoulder where his layers left a gap. You had to make a conscious effort to close your mouth. Sensible, but hot as hell. I bet those pants make his ass look amazing.

He winked at you from under the wide brim of a dark-brown Akubra, resplendent with what looked like kookaburra feathers, as Banner landed on a grassy flat at the fringe of the Australian desert.

“We’ll sleep here the rest of the night,” he said, as the group descended the Quinjet ramp into the warm, moonless night. “There’s a local guide meeting us in the morning, then it’s a day’s hike into Hall’s Gap. Can’t risk flying any closer and being detected, in case Hydra really is nearby. We’ll stay off the roads for the same reason.”

“When you say, ‘here’…” Loki looked around the rough clearing distastefully.

“Loki, you must learn to tolerate the lesser comforts!” Thor’s jovial voice was louder than ever in the abandoned night. “Remember the time you stole away from the Queen’s retinue at Mimisbrunnen because the baths were too cold…”

You followed the sound of running water to a nearby stream, surrounded by the scent of eucalyptus and tea tree. As water trickled into your canteen, leaves rustled; the movement of some large marsupial, disturbed by your presence. It was unexpectedly comforting.

It’s been too long, you thought, as memory flooded your senses. But then, once upon a time, I didn’t think I’d ever be back again.

There was a slapping sound from the group, and a swear word in a foreign language. “What in Hel?!” Thor spluttered. “These biting insects are the size of small birds!” The hiss of an aerosol can quickly followed, as Banner generously doused him in mosquito repellent. You grinned to yourself.

The Quinjet’s lights shut off, leaving the four of you in darkness. You rolled out your sleeping gear some distance from the others, stripped out of most of your clothing, and lay flat on your back in your sleeping bag. Sleep might be a big ask, you thought, as you gazed upwards. The arm of the Milky Way stretched overhead, like a hug from an old friend.

You’d always secretly thought this hemisphere had the superior night sky. You were mentally cataloguing as many southern constellations as you could remember when Loki appeared out of the night beside you. Is he… topless? It was hard to tell in the dark. Maybe he’s just wearing really tight sleepwear. The thought made you press your thighs together.

“May I?” he asked, polite but vaguely entitled. “Thor, of course, is already snoring loudly enough to disturb Valhalla.” You could indeed hear the deep rumble.

“Ah - sure,” you said, surprised. In general, Loki didn’t speak to you. Or anyone, besides Thor, if you didn’t count barbed quips and snarky commentary on the day-to-day operations of the team. You weren’t even sure he knew your name.

He spread another of SHEILD’s high-tech swags out beside you.

“This is your home, yes?” he asked, as he slid into his bedding.

You let out a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, um, not here here. On the coast.”

“You are lucky to be able to return,” he murmured.

You risked a quick glance at him, struck by the sadness in his voice. “I guess so.” He, too, was gazing up at the night sky. “Do you... miss home?”

“Ceaselessly.”

You felt the silence stretch, disconcerted by his honesty. “Um - can I tell you about our stars?”

“I am very familiar with the Midgardian sky.”

 “But the sky here is different. Everything’s upside down, for a start.” You pointed to the constellation of Orion, clearly head-down. “See?”

You heard the slight smile in his voice as he said, “I see. What else?”

Speaking quietly, you pointed out all the familiar sky-marks you had found when you’d first laid down. "It's a pity the SHEILD tactical goggles don’t work very well for the sky – too specialised for detection and warfare, I guess,” you said. A thought occurred to you. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of binoculars in that magic pocket of yours?”

Loki either smiled or grimaced – you could only see the glint of his teeth. “I can do better than that,” he muttered, almost to himself.

With a faint fizzling sound and a flash of silver, the entire night sky blossomed into colour and light.

It was as though you were lying under an enormous telescope dome. Your eyes could discern individual stars of the Omega Centauri cluster, or the spectacular colour and shape of the Carina nebula, or any of a hundred other astronomical wonders suddenly visible to you from horizon to horizon.

You glanced at Loki again. His sky was casting enough light to see him clearly now; he lay with his arm under his head and a serene smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“My pleasure,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the scene above.

You lay there, the two of you, gazing upwards in silent wonder. You thought about what it meant to be home, why you had left so many years ago… How it might feel to have no home to return to. Until finally, just as Loki’s breathtaking illusion began to fade, you fell asleep.

Part 2

Tags in comments xx

[anincompletelist]

2025 wips!

hi all! :D

very low pressure tag to everyone (open tag as well!) to share what you're working on in 2025! I've hit a bit of a wall and need to get organized, and even though most of my fics are impromptu 4am ramblings, I figured I'd hold myself accountable here and make it into a game of sorts for anyone who might be inclined to do the same.

I hope you've all had a lovely new year so far! x

*obligatory slightly nsfw warning*

ex-marine henry

after being dishonorably discharged from his position in the royal marines that he never truly wanted in the first place, henry finds himself adrift, hoping to start anew in the states. he meets alex, a younger, freshly divorced lawyer with whom it appears at first he has nothing in common with, but soon finds much more than he bargained for as they embark on an at times tumultuous but ultimately fulfilling fifteen-year relationship, navigating the threads of vulnerability, grief, friendship, and love.

rejected soulmates support group

the world has begun to move past the singular thinking that one is incomplete without their soulmate. henry knows that many people live long, fulfilling lives on their own or with a partner that might not have been fate's first choice for them. but at heart he's always been a hopeless romantic, and when fate decides to take his soulmate's life before they've even met one another yet on the tail end of the still-raw grief of losing his father, it feels as if the world is against him. lonely and lost, henry reluctantly seeks out support in the form of a small group that meets once a week, each member bringing their own perspective of loss to the circle. he'd thought he'd decided on staying alone for the rest of his life, but alex, a kind, curious empath with plenty of baggage of his own, might be the fresh perspective he needs to give love another try.

the simple life au

as part of their damage control tour, alex and henry are forced to take part in a reboot of the show 'The Simple Life' with a twist -- they'll spend five episodes between texas and washington and five in the uk, taking turns learning what each other's day-to-day looks like. between the press junkets and lazy rivers in the states and the ballrooms and etiquette training in london, both of them find themselves with more empathy for the other than they'd anticipated. the cameras capture not only their fast friendship but the beginning of a burgeoning, unexpected romance as well, defying their initial objective and sparking tentative optimism for a previously impossible future. they're still far from free, though, as both countries have their best interests in mind and full control over what narrative is aired to the world. it's going to take a leap of faith to make it work, but alex is more than ready to show henry how to jump.

speak easy

alex, a computer science major, has never met a number he didn't like. until he starts failing the poetry section of his mandatory english course. encouraged to seek out a tutor, his professor points him toward henry, a known writer and fellow student that always seems to evade alex's attempts to get to know him more deeply. henry leads him through his own self-proclaimed five step program to becoming a 'poet', strengthening his voice and ultimately helping him pass the course. but finding his voice means visiting parts of himself that alex had previously kept locked up tight or hadn't even known were there in the first place, and sharing his realizations with henry forms a bond between them that not even the journals-full of prose passed back and forth can scratch the surface of. that won't stop him from trying, though.

+

detroit become human inspired au

henry and pez run a safe haven for those who were once machines, deemed faulty for having developed genuine humanity and facing imminent decommission if found out. the next evaluation is in less than 24 hours, and alex's humanity is at 94%. luckily, he makes it to henry just in time.

midnight cowboy

alex, the lead singer of the widely known and highly acclaimed band midnight cowboy, is henry's biggest guilty pleasure—which is saying quite a lot. as a professional escort for the rich and elite, almost none of his pleasure is guilty these days. it feels like a fever dream when he gets the request from alex himself asking to spend a night together. he's long since being anyone's experiment, but with alex, unfortunately, henry finds he enjoys the idea of being some kind of first. (is 'only' too much to ask for?)

gynecologist henry

alex has done the college thing. the dream job thing. the casual, short term relationship thing. on paper, he has everything he ever said he wanted. it'd just be nice if he had someone to share it with sometimes. it'd be even nicer if his sister would stop trying to set him up with her gynecologist, who evidently finds himself in the same position.

+1 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry attends therapy in brooklyn once alex has moved in and things have slowed down a bit. it's predictably difficult but for the better, until they begin to cover the topic of his past relationships -- more specifically, sex. facing realizations that can no longer be shoved away, henry confides in alex and they reevaluate what intimacy might look like for them in the wake of healing from trauma.

+2 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry has to switch antidepressants and worries that his decreased libido will cause issues with his and alex's active sex life.

+3 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry arrives home early one night to find alex touching himself, which prompts a conversation about alex's past partners, misplaced shame, and self-pleasure within intimate relationships.

chauffeur alex

alex is the personal driver for henry, secret writer and infamous royal who'd abdicated and come to the states in his 20's to live freely and to marry his husband. now in his near-forties, the glamour and novelty of his story having long since worn off alongside his failing marriage, henry finds that alex is the only one he can confide in without fear -- and who is convinced that henry deserves so much more than he's getting. the last thing either of them need is to get feelings involved, but neither can say they tried as hard as they should've to have stopped them.

+

texan slang +1's

henry's been learning spanish already for the last few years in an effort to connect more with alex and his family. he did not, however, prepare for the myriad of texan-ism's that he encounters once they're back in austin, which is beginning to seem like a language all its own.

aftercare (+4 for the let's talk about sex! series)

neither alex nor henry have been in a serious relationship before and are unfamiliar with aftercare since it isn’t something they had with their previous partners. after a particularly intimate and intense round of lovemaking, they find themselves both feeling a little lost and restless, leading to a conversation about how they can best be there for each other after sex going forward. 

bottoming 101 (+5 for the let's talk about sex! series)

alex wants to bottom for the first time post-canon. henry walks him through the process—even the not-so-glamorous parts—and alex experiences a newfound appreciation for the previously unknown efforts that they go to to express their love.

dom bottom alex

self explanatory, really.

.

plus probably a lot of random ideas and/or add-on's to current series!

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.

.

tags (no pressure!):

@kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @everwitch-magiks @run-for-chamo-miles @firenati0n

@zwiazdziarka @miharaikko @littlemisskittentoes @judasofsuburbia @anchoredarchangel

@suseagull5914 @porcelainmortal @nocoastposts @clockwrkpendrxgon @sophie1973

@iboatedhere @getmehighonmagic @smc-27 @cha-melodius @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@caterpills @eusuntgratie @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @sparklepocalypse

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @wordsofhoneydew @cricketnationrise @whimsymanaged @myheartalivewrites

@junebugclaremontdiaz @hypnostheory @blueeyedgrlwrites @futureseaempress @ninzied

@tinyarmedtrex @dizzymisslizzie @clottedcreamfudge @kj-bee @largepeachicedtea

@miss-minnelli @bananzie @starrypiscesao3 @fairflowered @4rthurfox

+ OPEN TAG please feel free to join in, and also if you're an artist feel free to modify it to include what art you're excited to make in 2025!

see you all soon! x

[mars-and-helia-world]

not sure if you know a lot abt pokemon, but if you do i’d love to see some headcannons for what pokemon characters from tokyo revengers would use !!

:3

Oh my! Helia and I truly love Pokémon We'll do this ask on different parts and we'll do every character so... Here you have the first part!

On the 2 part we'll have Mitsuya, Muto, Kisaki and Pah!

Written in Spanish and English!

CONTAIN SPOILERS!!

TOMAN'S CAPTAINS

Part 1

It’s obvious why Celebi, right? But here’s the story.

Takemichi always thought he didn’t have a Pokémon. His entire life had been about surviving—he could barely take care of himself at 27, let alone another living being.

That was until he fell onto the subway tracks. He couldn’t see clearly but thought he saw a small green Pokémon flying toward him.

After that, he traveled back to the past. At first, he thought it was just a silly dream, but he realized it was real when he shook Naoto’s hand and woke up again in the future, alongside an adult Naoto saying he had changed his life—and a small green Pokémon floating by his side.

After doing some research and analyzing everything, Takemichi concluded that the strange Pokéball he’d always had wasn’t empty, as he’d thought. Inside was that little Pokémon, Celebi, which had the power to travel through time, albeit in a way different from what most researchers believed.

Celebi traveled with him and helped him in his battles to protect Hinata and his new friends in the Tokyo Manji Gang.

It wasn’t until the final battle with the Kanto Manji Gang that he realized why Celebi was so worried about Mikey. Apparently, the Pokémon had originally belonged to Shinichiro, who gave it to Takemichi after seeing how interested Celebi was in him. However, Celebi didn’t reveal itself until it saw Takemichi was ready.

After fixing everything in the final timeline, Celebi decided to stay with Takemichi. It seemed the little Pokémon had chosen to remain by his side, even though its power was no longer needed.

Es obvio porque Celebi ¿no? pero aquí tenemos la historia.

Takemichi siempre ha pensado que no tenía ningún Pokemon. Toda su vida se había centrado en sobrevivir, apenas podía cuidarse a si mismo con 27 años como para ocuparse de otro ser vivo.

Eso fue hasta que cayó en las vías del metro, no pudo ver bien pero creyó haber visto a un pequeño Pokemon verde volando hacía él.

Tras eso volvió al pasado, al principio pensaba que era un sueño tonto pero se dio cuenta que era real cuando después de darle la mano a Naoto y despertarse de nuevo en el futuro, junto a un Naoto adulto que decía que había cambiado su vida y un pequeño Pokemon verde a flotando a su lado.

Tras informarse y analizar todo un poco, llegó a la conclusión que aquella extraña pokeball que siempre había tenido no estaba vacía como pensaba, ahí estaba ese pequeño Pokemon, Celebi, el cual tenía el poder de viajar en el tiempo, aunque de una forma distinta a lo que muchos investigadores decían.

Celebi viajó con él y le ayudó en sus batallas para proteger a Hinata y a sus nuevos amigos de la Tokyo Manji Kai.

No fue hasta la batalla final con la Kanto Manji Kai que se dió cuenta de porqué Celebi sentía tanta preocupación hacía Mikey. Al parecer ese Pokemon fue de Shinichiro, quien se lo dió a Takemichi al ver que Celebi se interesó muchísimo en él. Pero Celebi no salió hasta que vio a Takemichi preparado.

Tras haber arreglado todo en la última línea temporal, Celebi decidió quedarse con Takemichi, parece que el pequeño Pokemon había decidido quedarse aunque su poder no fuese necesario.

I think these two would make a great team.

I feel like Mikey would find Mimikyu on the street and rescue it after seeing how bad its situation was.

Mikey isn’t dumb; he knows it’s a Pokémon that few people want because it harbors a great inner darkness, which would make him identify with it.

From that moment on, they’re inseparable, always together wherever they go, supporting each other.

Mimikyu was Mikey's only support when it came to his "impulses" after Shinichiro's death.

When Emma and Baji died, Mimikyu sensed how bad everything had become, and even though Mikey tried to push it away, it stayed by his side.

Mimikyu held onto the hope that Mikey would improve over time, even as things got worse when he formed the Kanto Manji Gang.

Creo que estos dos serían un gran equipo.

Siento que Mikey encontraría a Mimikyu en la calle y lo rescataría al ver lo mal que estaba.

Mikey no es tonto, sabe que es un Pokemon que pocos quieren porque guarda una gran oscuridad interior, lo que haría que se identificase con él.

Desde ese momento son uña y carne, siempre juntos a donde sea que fueran, apoyándose el uno al otro.

Mimikyu era el único apoyo que tenía en cuanto a los "impulsos" tras la muerte de Shinichiro.

Cuando murieron Emma y Baji, Mimikyu notó lo mal que estuvo todo y a pesar de que Mikey quiso alejarlo, él se quedó.

Mimikyu tenía la esperanza de que Mikey mejoraría con el tiempo, aunque las cosas empezasen a ir peor cuando formó la Kanto Manji Gang.

We chose this Pokémon because it reminded us a lot of his tattoo and gives off the same vibes.

Draken would have met his Pokémon when he was just a child.

At that time, his Haxorus was a small Axew that he found on the street.

Seeing it alone, he felt an overwhelming sense of pity and empathy, so he took it to the brothel and begged the owner to let him keep it.

Since then, he trained it, and they fought together, growing and evolving side by side.

Now that it’s a Haxorus, his Pokémon is capable of helping him with his work on motorcycles.

Haxorus was there supporting him when Emma died, though it was also the one who scolded him alongside Mitsuya when he let his anger out on Mikey.

When Draken died at the amusement park, Haxorus stayed with Takemichi, fulfilling Draken's last wish.

Nos decidimos por este Pokemon porque nos recordó muchísimo a su tatuaje y nos dan las mismas vibes.

Draken hubiera conocido a su Pokemon cuando apenas era un niño.

En ese momento su Haxorus era un pequeño Axew que encontró en la calle.

Al verlo ahí solo sintió un enorme sentimiento de pena y empatía, por lo que se lo llevó al burdel y le rogó al dueño para quedarselo.

Desde entonces lo entrenó y pelearon juntos siempre, evolucionando juntos.

Ahora que es un Haxorus, su Pokemon es capaz de ayudarlo en su trabajo con las motos.

Haxorus estuvo con él apoyándolo cuando murió Emma, aunque también fue quien lo regaño con Mitsuya cuando dejó salir su ira contra Mikey.

Cuando Draken murió en el parque de atracciones, Haxorus se quedó con Takemichi, como última voluntad de Draken.

He has had his Pokémon since he was a child. This little Houndour was the puppy of his mother Ryoko's Houndoom, who gave him the Pokémon so he could learn to take care of one and become responsible.

Since he was young, he has proudly shown off his Pokémon, loving to keep it out of its Pokéball and letting it follow him everywhere.

Ryoko didn’t consider the bad idea of giving her son a Fire-type Pokémon...

The Captain of the First Division has never been seen without his Houndoom, especially after it evolved in the middle of a fight. Mikey scolded him for getting distracted during the battle.

During the Valhalla arc, it was clear that Houndoom was worried about Baji, almost as if it were the real side of Baji in that situation—concerned about the situation and his friends.

After Baji's death, Houndoom decided to stay with Chifuyu and Takemichi, almost as if it were following Baji's last will.

Tiene su Pokemon desde que era un niño. Este pequeño Houndour era la cría del Houndoom de su madre, Ryoko, quien le dio el Pokemon para que aprendiera a cuidar de un Pokemon y aprendiera a ser responsable.

Desde pequeño ha presumido de Pokemon, le encantaba llevarlo fuera de su pokeball y que este pequeño lo siguiera a todos lados.

Ryoko no pensó en la mala idea que era darle a su hijo un Pokemon de tipo fuego...

Nunca se ha visto al Capitán de la Primera División sin su Houndoom, sobre todo cuando evolucionó en plena pelea. Mikey lo regañó por distraerse en plena pelea.

Durante el arco de Valhalla, se notaba que Houndoom estaba preocupado por Baji, casi como si fuera el lado real de Baji durante esa situación, preocupado por la situación y sus amigos.

Tras la muerte de Baji, Houndoom decidió quedarse con Chifuyu y Takemichi, casi como si siguiera la última voluntad de Baji.

Kazutora met Zeraora when he was a child. That day, he had run away from home while his father was at work. He was badly hurt because his father had hit him again, as well as his mother. He hid in a dense park that day, where he found the Pokémon staring at him angrily for entering what seemed to be its territory.

Poor Kazutora was terrified, which calmed the Pokémon, who stopped seeing him as a threat and grew concerned.

Kazutora returned to the park many times because of the peace he felt there, as no one else would go near it—Zeraora scared everyone off to be left alone.

Over time, they got along so well that when Kazutora managed to steal an empty Pokéball, Zeraora willingly approached him and entered the Pokéball on its own.

Kazutora has always thought of Zeraora as his only friend, especially after the incident at Shinichiro's shop.

The years in the reformatory were painful for both Kazutora and Zeraora, as they spent them locked up and separated.

During the Valhalla arc, Zeraora tried to help Kazutora, but he took it as an attempt to stop him and locked Zeraora in the Pokéball.

When Baji died, Kazutora left Zeraora under Chifuyu's care. He didn't trust himself but trusted Baji's judgment.

They didn’t see each other again until Kazutora was released from the reformatory, now an adult, seeking to make up for lost time.

Kazutora conoció a Zeraora cuando era un niño, ese día se había escapado de casa cuando su padre se fue a trabajar, estaba muy herido debido a que le había vuelto a pegar a él y su madre. Ese día se escondió en un parque frondoso y allí estaba el Pokemon, mirándolo mal por haber entrado en lo que parecía su territorio.

El pobre Kazutora se asustó muchísimo, cosa que calmó al Pokemon, quien dejo de verlo como una amenaza y se preocupó.

Kazutora volvió al parque más veces por la tranquilidad que había, ya que nadie se acercaba porque Zeraora asustaba a todos para que lo dejasen tranquilo.

Con el tiempo se llevaron bien, tanto que, cuando Kazutora consiguió robar una pokeball vacía, el mismo Zeraora se acercó para entrar en la pokeball por su cuenta.

Kazutora siempre ha pensado que su único amigo es Zeraora, sobre todo tras el incidente en la tienda de Shinichiro.

Los años en el reformatorio fueron dolorosos para Kazutora y Zeraora porque se la pasaron encerrados y separados.

Durante el arco de Valhalla, Zeraora intentó ayudar a Kazutora, pero este lo tomo como si intentase detenerlo y lo encerró en la pokeball.

Cuando Baji murió, Kazutora dejó a Zeraora bajo el cuidado de Chifuyu, no se fiaba de él pero se fiaba del criterio de Baji.

No se volvieron a ver hasta que volvió a salir del reformatorio, ahora siendo adulto, y buscando recuperar el tiempo perdido.

- Header and Writing: Mars 💚

[ablogofloveandtrash]

Why was Diana so Reluctant to Open Up and Tell the Truth?

Returning from a previous post I had sent on this blog, I had theorized that Diana may have potentially gone through some experience in the past that has prevented her from being able to properly open up. I was rewatching the trial from chapter 1 and from what I could find on rewatch, is that Diana seemed to be particularly concerned about how others around her would react. And from three different lines of dialogue that I could find, is that Diana seems to be afraid of not being heard out or invalidated. Considering her bio states that she was in the popular crowds before the events of the game, it seems like Diana's fear came from the draw backs of being in the popular crowd. And in being part of the crowd, she would become much of the subject of conversation. She got so much attention on her, which may have caused her to become alienated or isolated in an emotional manner. In the screenshots I have provided, Diana has mentioned things like how others could twist her words around. Suggesting that she may have attempted to dispel or disprove untrue rumours about her. Which resulted in the aftermath not going her way and ultimately nothing was solved. The first screenshot details this aspect of her.

And because Diana must have failed to stop these rumours, this may explain why she often blames herself for not doing the 'right' thing or perceives herself as powerless. Because, Diana was caught up in an unfair situation. The rumours may have gotten so out of hand that Diana may have been cornered and forced herself to remain quiet. Complicit that these misconstrued words were true. She has likely accepted that at the time she couldn't change what others thought about her, and as much as Diana didn't like these rumours, she must have chosen to stop saying anything.

And this may have resulted in potential self isolation or some emotional blockage. As a means to avoid getting hurt by the people she cared about. For her own reasons, Diana seems to feel like telling the truth things would 'just get worse' in the following screen shot, the next sentence may allude to the case. But it does seem to be telling of what she feels about her self worth. She doesn't seem like her input is anything good. And that she would be better off staying quiet. Because she may have blamed herself for the rumours that occurred or worsened, because of her attempts to intervene.

It is possible that Diana could tell Damon about this particular issue in the story in Daily Life or from the Free Time Events, since Damon still needed to persuade Diana to explain her case. With some empathy, Damon may have used the right words to help Diana feel at ease to tell the truth. Assuring that he would listen and hear her out. Which may have not been something, Diana herself couldn't have had before the free time events or the trial. It's a stark contrast compared to the second free time event. Where he made his accusation of her being suspicious and making Diana uncomfortable with opening up. Though between the free time events and in the story, no one really truly knows why Diana is so afraid to open up, and be fully honest with others around her. In relation to a character like Damon, he is someone who is used to biting his tongue when others don't trust him or have something that would antagonize him. He doesn't open up to anyone because he percieves his vulnerabilities as an exploit. Yet in a similar vein, Diana too, cannot be vulnerable around others, out of fear that she would not be listened to. Potentially invalidated, unwanted or even abandoned. Possibly out of these fears she can't bring it in herself to lose her 'friends' again, and validates her helplessness by the end of the trial. The way Diana and Damon seem to handle their experiences past and present couldn't be anymore different from one another, yet they share an underlying similarity that sets up an interesting character dynamic. Damon acts more empathetic in response to her emotional distress. And in response to Damon's empathy, Diana was able to properly open up and have her voice heard in the court room. From this interaction it maybe possible that while tension between Diana and Damon will persist, ie: "I will follow in Wolfgang's Footsteps" (this maybe the source of Damon's anger in the end, not Diana's speech, exactly as many cut him out to be), it may fall on them growing closer that may allow them to become the better versions of each other. By helping each other out and setting their differences aside, for a greater common goal.

[probablysimpledreams]

Warm Winters (Dabi x reader)

a/n: it's been snowing crazy here, and it's inspired me to write something cutey with my man <3

wc: 1k

The past month has not been kind to the League. After suffering multiple defeats in combat and recruitment efforts, everyone was feeling defeated. Morale was at a low as members sulked around the common room, no one uttering a word.

You laid on the broken couch among the others, mind racing. Was all this really worth it? You asked yourself, picking at the skin around your thumb nail. Are we getting anywhere? What world are we even fighting for? What if-

"IT'S SNOWING!!!" Toga beams with excitement, her voice and clapping hands snapping you out of your troubled thoughts. You run over to the window with Twice and Spinner, smiling as you watch the snow fall down quickly.

"Wanna go check it out? Bet we could grab hot chocolate too," you smile at Toga's excitement regarding your idea. The two of you quickly bundled up, ignoring the snarky remarks and warnings other members threw your way as you two raced outside.

You were always happy when the League had time off like this, time to just exist as the normal people everyone longed to be. You especially felt this way when Toga had the opportunity to be a teenage girl, a smile across your face as you watched her build a mini snow Deku and Ochako as she rambled about her love. Your body shivered as you stood there watching the young girl until it hit you: you grabbed the wrong jacket on your way out the door. Among the excitement of it all, you didn't realize you grabbed one of Dabi's jackets instead of your own. The material was much thinner than what you needed to brace the falling snowing, mentally cursing yourself as the cold grew painful. Before you had the chance to tell Toga you were heading back, the sound of crunching snow became louder and louder.

"You're such an idiot," Dabi's deep voice sent a warm shiver down your spine, causing goosebumps to form as he stood behind you. You turned to face him, noticing that he's holding your fuzzy jacket. You quickly grab it from him, thanking him repeatedly as you throw his jacket off and put yours on. The thick material covers your body and begins warming your cold body up, and Dabi chuckles at the sight of you practically melting under the new warmth. A few moments pass of peaceful silence as you two stand together in the snow, a few feet from where Toga continued playing with her snowman collection.

"I'm surprised you're out here," you finally spoke up, looking up to the sky as the snow continued to fall. The sight was so beautiful, so gentle. "Just didn't imagine you're the type of guy who'd want to be out playing in the snow." You small giggle left your lips as you watched the expression on his face, noticing the hints of embarrassment and annoyance. Despite his cold outer shell, you always noticed how expressive his face would be. He was a man of many emotions that were always trying to escape him, wanting desperately to be seen. And yet somehow you were the only one able to catch onto this, enjoying the game of learning who Dabi truly is under this mask.

"I wanted my jacket back," he shrugged, eyes avoiding yours. As you two spent more and more time together, Dabi was becoming increasingly aware of your ability to see through him. And he had no idea how to feel about it all. It made him feel scared, exposed. He wanted to run away from it, leaving a wall of flames that you'd never dare cross into. But at the same time, it made him excited. He wanted to be seen fully. He wanted to invite you in with the door fully opened, no defenses up. The constant battle between the heart's desire and mind's protection weighed heavily on him.

"Could have just texted me, I would have walked back to the hideout," you hummed. The unnamed tension between you and Dabi was clear to everyone, this included the two of you. While you often found yourself annoyed at his lack of action, you knew that you really didn't have any room to talk. You could just as easily lay all your emotions on the line, but your own fears held you back. I mean it's not like you began walking the villain path because life came easily. You had your own fears and anxieties, your own fear of being seen entirely despite longing for it.

"Your point?" he bites, the hint of anger in his voice would usually be enough to scare anyone off. However you found yourself giggling at his words, heart fluttering as you knew he'd never hurt you. You knew he came out here to see you, to be with you. That fact alone washed a new sense of calmness over you, smile tugging at your lips.

You decided not to push him further, knowing Dabi had his limits when it came to navigating his feelings. Instead you decide to lean against his chest, heart beating faster than usual when you feel his arm wrap around your body. Your face began growing warm as your body was now flushed against his, grip on you tight and secure. The two of you went back to standing in a peaceful and warm silence as the snowflakes continued to fall.

You tilt your head up, looking up to steal a glance at Dabi who was already looking at you. The two of you exchange a smile before turning to look up at the sky, feeling warm despite the cold snow hitting directly on both your faces.

The world doesn't make sense. This fact has brought so much pain and suffering to you and Dabi both. Yet as you stand here feeling warm in the falling snow and safe in the arms of a man you've seen kill before, you discover a new beauty in the world not making sense.

[noihavenosanitythanksforasking]

broski, you keep saying mike is unable to say i love you to his gf, but at the end he finally said it (9 times) so whats your point literally?

you are holding onto old crap, and beating a dead horse. He said he loves her multiple times, boys are generally hesitant in expressing their emotions (patriarchy asks them to be tough ,not open up and everything), but he overcame that by the end of the season

do you think mileven is gonna break up after how explicitly he told el he loves her???? el also loves mike very much, its just a fight she's upset about, but people can FORGIVE and move on from past misunderstandings you know? el is veryymuch in love with mike since season 1, she can forgive mike for his one mistake (he basically rectified it too at the end of the day)

y'all keep saying mike gets upset when will doesn't talk to him but at the end of season 4 mike is upset that el is not talking to him much because she's grieving

ahhhh this is so exciting!!! i feel like ive made it or smth!

sorry for my late response i was in my physics class 😔

now, we dont KNOW for SURE what mike truly feels. you dont know. i dont know. no one will ever know until s5 comes out. however i have my speculations and so do you. and thats okay!! we dont have to agree :3 your allowed to believe whatever you want in regards to mike and els relationship. it doesnt affect me at all.

however, sense you app care about what i have to say so much i will yapp somemore about what i think. you dont have to agree with me. in fact ik you wont. and thats okay, clearly you are insecure enough about your own opinion that you feel the need to go to the other side and argue with someone in their anons. bc if your opinions were solid and unshakable youd have your url showing. but i get it i really do :)

anywayssss. charecters can lie.

just like people can lie.

i was in a romantic relationship with someone for about a year. and throughout that time, i told them i loved them multiple times. did i? no. did i want to? yes. i wanted to be in love with them. they were very very important to me and when they asked me out, i thought to myself 'well i do really like this person. why not?'

i was not in love with this person. i did not have romantic feelings for them. but i convinced myself i did. in the end, one day we were sitting next to each other and it just hit me. i didnt want to be here anymore. i had met someone else and was developing a crush on them at the time. so i broke up with them.

all this to say, mike can lie. hes not a high fantasy elf. something i feel is a big disconnect between bylers and milevens is that milevens tend to read most things at face value. just bc you say you love someone doesnt mean you do.

as for the patriarchy comment, mikes story line has never had to do with being tough, or not being man enough. he repeatedly says that he doesnt want to be popular, he doesnt care about fitting in. ofc this can still be a factor but i doubt its a huge point of his character arc. if it was they would have made a point of adressing him struggling with it before this.

on your point about moving on from fights, your so right about that. i dont in the slightest think that elmike are going to be on BAD terms in endgame but i dont think they'll be on romantic terms. even if byler isnt canon, and mike is straight. i still believe that.

as for his mistake being rectified. girl what u yappin ab. no it wasnt. if it was why was el not talking to mike in the van on the way back to hawkins

mike says in the last episode that they werent really talking. a little bit but not much. you could say that el was greiving max. but el DIDNT KNOW max was in a coma. when they get back to hawkins, dustin has a line where he explicitly says

"oh you guys dont know" in refrence to max.

is el traumatized? definitely!!! but she doesnt know max is in a coma. and even if she did, why wouldnt el seek comfort in her bf if they had fixed everything???

as for your last point, yeah mike is upset about el not talking to him. duh. however lets compare.

when mike is mad at will for not paying attention to him at rink o mania he actively brings it up. he actively pursues will and expresses his frustration over will being dismissive. he is visably upset. on the other hand, in the last ep of s4, mike doesnt even bring up el until will does. he seems mildly annoyed and confused about the situation and makes no moves to pursue her or seek out resolution. he makes no moves to comfort her about max ever. he doesnt walk with her, he doesnt hug her. nothing. the only affection between then is when EL puts her head on mikes sholder. mike makes no moves to comfort her more but he doesnt push her away. this is also right after mike activly began walking sideways to be able to stand next to will when there was an open space for him to stand right next to el im front of him. odd.

also you do realize that someone can be upset at the prospect of two people that are important to them being upset at them

its not will or el

its never been will or el

this has always been about mike and how he handles conflict and shit.

anywayssss my hands r going to freeze off bc its like 19 F outside and i wrote this walking across campus

hope this helps 💙💛

[calirph]

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. all these sentences come from a search on goodread's keywords for high fantasy and epic fantasy. please change names, locations and pronouns as you see fit.

“Wouldn’t the joys of life lose all colour, if life was eternal?”

“True siblings are bound together by far more essential things than blood, while more times than many blood isn't thicker than water.”

“I believe with all my heart, that Magnus is a worthy and superior successor to your current king. ”

“Fate was a fairy story and a bullshit one at that; fate could get fucked and go bother someone else.”

“You shouldn’t ask the girl blessed by Death whom she’ll die for. You should ask her whom she’ll kill for.”

“You are what I imagine the sun to be like. Fiery. Beautiful. Damning”

“We’re all selfish monsters— the only difference is some of us are more honest about it than others.”

“Tell me a secret, then. One you can part with.”

“Control is an illusion, something to make us feel grounded and in charge of our destinies.”

“Don't overthink everything. You might be surprised by how much you'd like being out of control. Being alive is chaos, and living in it is half the fun.”

“Her hand in mine is as good as gold.”

“One taste, and a thousand deaths you shall receive.”

“You and what army?”

“Maybe today was the day the fire roared and defeated all the rest.”

“To love was a privilege not afforded to those of us born in these trying times when survival was never guaranteed.

“No one doubts your honourable nature, most noble of kings and best of brothers.”

“Don't dwell on your past - it's not where you're going”

“It's your life. Do what you want with it.”

“Ambition comes with a price attached. Of course, that price comes too high if you die for nothing. The reward for ambition too great... is self-destruction!”

“Don't you wish you were here?”

“Most animals are willing to talk. It's the human who don't listen.”

“Some call it brash. Others call it independent. Pick your interpretation.”

“How can I even begin to understand the nature of power when no one shares a common definition of it?”

“No one used my family against me to accomplish their own goals. Not even God or an Immortal.”

“You remember him as a hero, so none of it makes sense for you. But you can remember him like that without caring what others think. No parent is perfect, and growing up is realizing that.”

“The dark doesn't mean you're alone.”

“The tongue is shallow, like water lapping at the shore. To fully understand is to swim in the deep ocean with all the senses.”

“The same thing that you value. Justice for the sake of it, and the safeguard of those who need it. Our methods may differ, but our hearts are the same.”

"My goodness, look at your face! Why ask if you thought I'd say no?"

“Come with me, I think I have a new escape for you.”

“Why should injustice, the darkness of justice, exist and not be an imperfect entry in a book unread for centuries? Until it is so forgotten, that no one remembers it was ever there.”

“That's what friends, that's what brethren are for. To be there, where words cannot.”

“What a thraldom, to be able to dream and only then to be free!”

“The wise man does not play games with dragons.”

“I don’t want to be remembered . . . I just want to live without fear.”

“A name does not make the man, just like a lie does not tell the full story.”

“He told me that everything I was afraid of in the dark was also there in the light. The only difference was the way it looked.”

“Hate is what will obliterate the brightest of the stars that shine inside your heart.”

“A smile is deceptive, I have found. Some are real… and some are false. Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference.”

“Nothing is truly real until one is willing to believe in it.”

“Those who long for perfection will never achieve it, while those who expect failure are always surprised.”

“I don’t have friends— only accomplices and enemies. You’d be amazed at how often they change sides.”

“Fathers are like that, Always disappointing their children when they need them the most.”

“Of course I would fall for Captain Emotionally Constipated. I could train a rock to hold more affection for me.”

“Because that means you’re thinking, and a thinking woman is usually something to fear.”

“Everything makes so much more sense, when you forget what life forces you to remember.”

“Influence is like the tide. Sometimes it goes, sometimes, however, it comes.”

“What kind of person do you wish to be? A part of those who take action, who try the hardest, or of those who go with the flow?”

“The same good folk who would burn me for a psychal now paid me to use my cursed gramarye to guard their sheep.”

“The God-War is coming.”

“Why must we overlook what we are most likely able to do?”

“I speak of the laws man has made, to make everyone lawful.”

“Before, I never knew how far I would go. Now I believe I have the answer. I will go as far as there is to go. I will go way too far.”

“Show your power by appearing powerless.”

“Books are keys that open many doors.”

“I am going to go into this world, and I don't care if you and your narrow mind cannot be a part of it.”

“You are blessed with a knack for sucking the wonder out of the extraordinary.”

“Right and wrong matters little when survival matters most.”

“The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. - Old Bear”

“One can't exactly savor vengeance when one is dead.”

“This was not going to be a peaceful day. No. It was going to be a mess.”

“When a mortal man breaks a people, it is always blamed on the gods.”

“That is the way of the gods. When they intervene, everyone loses something.”

“Life was cruel. It pitted the weak against the strong and never even blinked when the weak were crushed.”

“You were bringing me all those flowers when I was sick, like you were wooing me. How could my poor, weak heart resist?”

“I would choose freedom over comfort every time.”

“Women were always the cruelest where other women were concerned.”

“Is this a knight who comes before us, or the answer to a child’s riddle?”

[frozenjokes]

please go back to doing your job. wait no not that job

convex week day 2 - lost/found - prev/next

these prompts are about to be followed. extremely loosely. flying by the seat of my pants here. @convexweek

Much like many lifeforms on Earth, Scar had made a habit of screaming when he wanted the sun’s attention. The sun was not interested, however, so Cub took to hiding away instead; not that Cub actually had to hide. Scar had walked right past him three times by now.

“Cub! Cuuuuub! Cub, where are you!? Are you okay? Cuuuuuuuuub???”

Certainly one of the more persistent moons in Cub’s system, that was for sure. Cub was getting real tired of it real fast. At the point where the Earth had made two full rotations on its axis, Cub was beyond irritation, and given the blatant disregard of Scar’s own duties so recently after his promotion, Cub was ready to rip him a new one for all this wasted time.

“Scar.” The moon yelped when Cub growled his name, but Cub expected as much and he did not stop, “You’ve been around far too little time to excuse this amount of criminal negligence from your post, a position of great honor, must you be reminded, since clearly you do not value it. Does your position need to be suspended to make you realize how lucky you are to witness a planet’s life, or do you just not care.”

Scar was taller than Cub, but he may as well have been looking up at him with that terror-struck expression, eyes wide and stunned and fearful- good! He should be!

“I.. How much..” Scar looked back into the vast expanse of space, like he might see his Earth from here, when of course he could not.

“Go on. Do you have an excuse for me? Lost track of time? Is your moon self-sufficient, does it not need you? I’ve heard it all, but please, let’s hear it again.”

“Are you okay?”

That made Cub stop completely short. “What? Yes- Of course I’m okay, what’s your problem?”

“I thought- You just didn’t show up when I arrived, I really.. I thought something was wrong. I thought you were hurt or- or you’d gotten lost and I didn’t- I didn’t know who to contact if the sun just disappeared, you know??”

Cub gaped at him. He had met few people who were truly this stupid. “You. Thought I was lost. On my sun? Do you get lost on your moon?”

“Well- No, not really, but I have landmarks, and the moon is so much smaller, isn’t it? You blend in so well, if something had happened to you and no one could find you-“

“What, did you think I got assassinated? I can’t just die, Scar! You’ve been spending too much time watching the Earth.”

“I was worried.”

“I’ve been a sun likely longer than you’ve existed, I don’t need to be coddled, and I certainly don’t need any lonely moons howling at my door every time they need a little company. You have closer neighbors, bother them. If anything’s wrong with your moon or any other moons are acting up, that’s when you come and bother me. I can’t imagine how you stumbled into one of the most prestigious positions in the galaxy when you clearly care so little for it. Perhaps you should savor the time you get to experience Earth before you aren’t allowed to return to it.”

Scar didn’t seem to have any more words to speak, a refreshing change from previous nuisance visits. Good. Good! Maybe he’d finally wake up and get back to his damn job.

“If you hate being here so much, why do you do it?” Scar’s voice was hoarse, a familiar anger burning beneath it. Earth-watching was a privilege everyone in the system was allowed, and most took forms that mirrored the life on the planet they were all so proud to be in such close proximity to. Scar had clearly seen much of Earth, his human body reacting so realistically to his emotions. Cub cared very little for this display, and even less for the question.

“Don’t be benign with me.”

“I think it’s a perfectly fair question! You hate the sun. You hate the moons! Do you even like Earth, or have you just kept this position for so long just so no other star could snag it? Are you so bitter and miserable that bringing everyone else to your level is the only way you manage to sleep at night?”

“Neither of us sleep.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You heard your fair share of rumors about how this position would be, you decided they weren’t true, and now you’re learning it the hard way. Grow up.”

“I gave you a fair chance.”

“I don’t need to prove myself, I think I’ve made it very clear to the entire fucking galaxy that I just want to be left alone.”

Scar’s expression grew stony, and he shook his head, sliding a hand across his silver face. The places he touched seemed to shimmer and darken, the light Cub radiated no longer reflecting back, which may have been a relief if Cub wasn’t so confused. What the hell was this moon doing? What was wrong with his face? Similar holes and cracks of inky darkness appeared across his neck and forearms, but Cub didn’t get the chance to ask what was with the dramatics before Scar spoke.

“Far from done, sir. In fact, I think you’ll find yourself wishing you were a little nicer to your residing moons, since you’ll be seeing more than a few of them in the stands.”

Cub blinked, slow. He blinked again. “What are you talking about.”

“I- Seriously? You don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to know you.”

“I- I’m Scar! The Scar, for goodness’s sakes, stars and moons and planets alike have been naming themselves after me for centuries!”

Good god, this moon seriously had an ego problem, Cub really didn’t want this guy around any longer than necessary. Did he have enough evidence of negligence to file a complaint? “That’s great..” Cub trailed, absently thinking of ways he could escape this conversation. “Get going now, you’re skating on thin ice each second you linger.”

“I’m not- I’m not a moon! I mean- I was a moon until- You have no place to talk here, I’m hauling your ass to space court!”

Cub stared, blank. “No you’re not.”

“What do you mean ‘No I’m not,’ this isn’t- What do you think is happening right now?”

“On what grounds? ‘I hurt your feelings’ is not going to cut it.” Any style points this moon had gained in Cub’s book for being easier to look at and having cool black eyes were quickly vanishing; what was his fucking problem?

“Abuse of power! Poor treatment of the moons under your jurisdiction for nearly all the time you’ve held this post! There are cases upon cases of misconduct that I pioneered, and I’ve been trying to conduct an investigation on you for ages, but it’s so fucking difficult to get near this place by your own design that-“

“It’s not my fault you were an annoying pest and also not doing your job.”

“I am not the Earth moon!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I have thousands of accounts of your mistreatment! You are famously a piece of shit to suns, moons, and planets alike! No one is on your side!”

Cub rolled his eyes. Unbelievable. “I’ve done nothing punishable in court. Being curt with moons and harsh with the incompetent ones isn’t a crime. If they left me alone, they wouldn’t have a problem, and 95% of them leave me alone. Congratulations, you riled me up enough to prove to yourself you have a case against me in space court, good luck. If the moon that got their face exploded by that crazy sun couldn’t scrape a win out in the jury’s eyes all those centuries ago, I highly doubt anything will come of this.”

Cub looked up at the heavy silence from the not-moon or whatever he called himself, cold pulsing off him in stark waves, the part of his mouth that wasn’t gone showing gritted teeth, goodness, Cub had never seen a moon so angry. Oh.

“For what it’s worth, I thought more of your face would be gone. Sorry about that. I was kinda shocked that sun got off so easy.”

“I am going to fucking ruin you.”

[sunsetovertheocean]

I feel like sibling and platonic relationships don’t get talked enough, especially in relation to romantic relationships in fandoms.

Like cool, I love these ship, but can we PLEASE discuss the fact that Dean is the only person who has never lied to Lia? How he is the only person she will listen to, because he’s the only person she trusts? How Dean was the one person who prevented her from feeling trapped all the time? How Dean was the only person Lia ever let know and get close to the real her? How they were the only constants (besides Judd love him too) in each other’s lives for years in their childhood? The way he knows her and she knows him? She knows how to comfort him and distract him and get him to feel things and tried to help him with his father by looking through his father's file, ignoring her own feelings about it because she just wanted to help him only to find out that she can’t help. (Just think for a moment how she must have felt when she realized that. Because this genuinely breaks my heart.) The fact that they are intensely protective of each other, the way they have conversations without talking just by looking at each other, the way Dean trusts her and Lia trusts him, how they are literally siblings.

And this is going into kind of headcanon-y territory, but I like to believe that Dean didn’t ask Lia any questions about her past and waited for her to tell him herself, and refrained from profiling her (too much at least), and truly didn’t/doesn’t know anything about her past that she didn’t/doesn’t tell him. And how Dean told him things about his past he hadn’t told anyone before, not just to get her to trust him, but also because he trusted her. Just think for a moment please, how Lia, a girl who has been lied to and hurt and threatened and abused by every single person in her life, would feel about meeting someone who didn’t do any of that. Who never even lied to her, not once. For every lie she told him, Dean only ever told her the truth. Dean didn’t blame her for anything, for any part of what she went through. How confused she must have been, finding out that not everyone was like that. How hurt she must have been when she realized that what happened in her past, her childhood, was so much worse than she thought. Because before she thought that everyone was like that and it was normal, but meeting Dean who was entirely fundamentally different in every single way, showed her that it wasn’t. Think about how Dean must have felt, meeting a girl so defensive and closed off. How meeting her awakened a side of him he didn’t think he had, the side that felt and loved and trusted and the side that felt the inexplicable need to protect that girl.

And the fact that to protect her, Dean turns the attention on himself and his past, which he hates, just so Lia doesn’t have to face questions about her own past. Lia would go through hell for him, and he would do the same for her.

Think about how before, all of Lia’s love had essentially been very idk submissive almost, like how she followed her mother and what her mother told her. I think she truly believed at some point that her mother was safe to trust. And then, well, we all know what happened and how her mother is actually evil and— Anyway, after her mother, the only person she trusted in her childhood before, completely shattered and destroyed all senses of trust in others, she lets herself trust and love this boy who trusts and loves her. And this love is fierce and protective, infinitely intense and powerful. The kind of love that can destroy worlds and build new ones, defying all logic and all boundaries. The opposite of what her love had been previously. And think about how much she had to have trusted him to let herself love like that.

Also think about how hurt Lia must have been when Dean shut her out. She trusted him with her whole being, she loved him and she saw them as a unit regardless of what happened and what other people entered and left their lives. They would always be with each other. Dean had never shut her out before, and Dean shut her out too. That hurts my soul way too much for it to be healthy. (I am choosing to believe that they had a conversation afterwards and then they both proceeded to cry and it never happened again yay happy ending tbh considering writing that bc I don't think I will survive if it doesn't end happily like that)

And Dean!! He’s lived his entire life terrified of feeling, terrified of becoming his father. He was living in a house alone with Judd and profiling killers which definitely perpetuated his fear, and then here came this girl whom he could protect. A girl he wouldn’t let himself hurt, a girl he could help for once and not mess it all up. And he didn’t mess it up. He saw how hurt she was, and how little she was willing to admit the truth to. And in that, he saw someone he could understand. He saw someone who he could profile for a good reason, but only profile enough to be able to get her to trust him and not enough to violate her privacy and that trust. He let himself get close to someone for the first time in his life. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t a monster. Lia didn’t see him as a monster.

Because of their past and childhood, Dean didn’t trust himself and Lia only trusted herself and no one else. But meeting and loving each other? It taught Dean he can trust himself not to hurt someone. And it taught Lia that she can trust someone who won’t hurt her.

Maybe it’s because of the amatocentric world being way too focused on romantic relationships, but why aren’t we talking about this more??

[enthusiasticharry]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so sorry!! I know it's been forever since i've posted and i truly did start writing this to have it out in august but then life got a head of me! I had to move, start a new job it's all be crazy. Now, I can officially say that I'll try and post more regularly (but i can't guarantee anything!) thank you for all the support over the last two and a bit years on this fic, i couldn't ever leave it unfinished for you guys!! enjoy the last chapter of regret me and if you need me, i'll be sobbing in a corner somewhere!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, talks of drug/ alcohol use, mentions of addiction recovery, angst (i'm sorry), and a stupid little boy who finally realises how amazing he has it.

𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 here

Los Angeles, Spring 1985

The Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of a Rock n’ Roll Star by Christopher Thomas

Standing in front of YN YLN’s home, I was nervous. The house itself wasn’t exactly what one may expect of one of the biggest stars to come out of the 70s – it was homely, comforting and not necessarily a ‘rock star mansion’. My nerves stemmed more consequently from the woman I was meeting; one I hadn’t seen in over 10 years and hadn’t necessarily left the best impression at that time either.

However, the second I rang the bell and the door swung open – the past didn’t seem to matter. YLN was wearing a denim skirt, one that landed just above her knee and a light floral blouse with long sleeves that the singer had definitely worn before, or if not something very similar. We chuckled when I pointed out her footwear (her beloved cowboy boots) – something that wasn’t surprising to me and shouldn’t be to any of you. She invited me in and offered me a coffee – something that I was not going to say no to.

After a little small talk, asking how we’d been and so forth, it became time to get to the nitty gritty of my visit, and what everyone reading had been waiting for. After being a household name for the better part of ten years – YN YLN was finally a Grammy nominee. For someone who had been in the spotlight for so long, many may have thought that she was past her prime and that her eighth studio album wasn’t going to be anything special – and yet it was her best one.

“I think it’s raw,” YLN spoke when asked about what was different with this record from her others, “I stopped hiding. It’s the truth – I think people are appreciating the truth from me.”

There was a part of me which was scared to go forward with questioning from here, but with a quick reassurance from YN that it was okay – I continued. In the last four months since her album had been released, YN had started to open conversations about her addiction, something that I had asked her about years prior, at a time when she was in the wrath of her addiction and refused to comment. Looking back, it wasn’t my best moment as a journalist.

“I had freedom that I hadn’t even experienced before,” The air felt thicker as YLN spoke upon this subject, “I went from 0 to 100, and if it wasn’t for the people around me that loved me at that time, I wouldn’t be here today, talking to you.”

The house YLN lives in sits right on the Californian coast, a quiet and calm place away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Once we had finished our coffees, YN suggested a walk down to the beach. She explains that her best friend, Vivienne (“She’s my sister,”), lives in the next house and that she hasn’t gone a day without speaking to her since the day they met, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“Vivienne is my family. I lost interest in my actual family when I realised they didn’t love me, but Viv never made me miss them – she became everything I needed and more. She saw me as a naïve young girl on the strip without a single clue and helped me when she didn’t need to. I’ll never be able to thank her enough.”

YLN mentions her family, more so her parents Mr and Mrs YLN. Her father, a senator seemingly didn’t agree with her new lifestyle and her music even more so, and it seemed as though whatever her father said her mother agreed with. When I asked if the way they had treated her had anything to do with her addiction, and her subsequent overdose YN went silent, choosing not to comment verbally but physically shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t regret anything in my life,” YN takes out a cigarette, offering me one which I accept, “I have come to realise that everything happens for a reason, and I’ve loved and lost for a reason. It’s made me the person I am today.”

The last time I spoke with YLN, she was in a relationship with fellow Rock n’ Roll star Harry Styles, who I have also written for in the past. YLN and Styles have never publicly spoken about the reason behind their split, but rumours surfaced soon after that Styles had been the one to cheat on YLN just before her first world tour.

“I would say that for any songwriter, heartbreak can be a big influence,” YLN chuckles, shaking her head slightly, “I won’t say what happened, I think if anyone has listened to any of my records, especially my latest one – you’ll already know what happened. It was one part of my life, and I don’t hold anything that happened against anyone.”

YN asks for a break after this and asks if we can reconvene later in the day. She recommended that we meet at a café for some late lunch that is a mile or so away from her house. I thought, like probably many of you, YLN would return from the beach to her house. Instead, she made her way up the sand and towards Vivienne’s house, obviously needing some time with her best friend.

“I hope that whoever listens to the album finds something for themselves within it,” YN speaks, sipping on her Iced Tea as we sat across from each other in the café, “It’s my gift for everyone. I hope that everyone who has ever had something to say about me or my life listens to it, and it answers whatever questions they may have.”

YLN lists her relationship, her addiction and everything in between as things that people may have questions about. Since the 70s, the amount of information that the public has known about her has dwindled and she says that is for a reason.

“I had to separate my life from the life that people saw,” YLN nods, “To protect myself, I needed that. All I hope is that people weren’t too angry with me.”

Once we’ve eaten (both having burgers since YLN said that it was the best thing on the menu, and both the waitress and the owner knew her by name), we go outside to have another cigarette. We both joked that we would quit smoking one day, but today was not going to be that day.

“I’ll be there… at the awards,” YN responds when I ask her about whether or not she will be attending the Grammy’s, “I don’t necessarily care about winning – it would be lovely, of course, but it’s not going to make or break me. I’ve lasted this long without; I am damn sure I can last for a lot longer.”

As our time together drew to a close, I asked what I suppose myself and many others are wondering – does YN see an end to her career anytime in the future?

YLN chuckled at the question, “I’ll do this as long as I can if the people will have me.”

If it was up to me, I’d say that YLN will be a name that sticks around for years to come. But, I suppose that’s down to you.

“I know your cowboy boots are like you’re thing or whatever, YN, but I highly doubt that it’s the best look for the Grammys,” Vivienne speaks from where she’s laid upon the bed in YN’s hotel room.

“I don’t feel right without them, Viv, I have to wear them,” YN stresses from where she’s sat, having her makeup done.

Pamela snorts from where she’s lying next to Vivienne. Since they met, Vivienne and Pamela have been inseparable. Therefore, that means that Vivienne, Pamela, and YN have been inseparable. It was a package deal, unfortunately for Pamela, but she didn’t mind too much. The things that Pamela did mind though, however that YN not only had a key to their house but would invite herself in pretty much all of the time. It had become the case that waking up in the morning without three people in their bed instead of two was the norm. At first, Pamela would be confused and disorientated, and then she soon realised that was just what the two girls were like. Where there was one, there was the other not too far behind.

“Pam, I’m nearly done and then it’s your turn,” YN stresses, allowing her make-up artist, Claude, to finish the final touches on her makeup.

Pamela groans, dropping back on the bed and pushing herself into Vivienne’s body. The other girl groans but accepts her fate as her girlfriend’s body rests against her. It wasn’t that anyone was forcing Pamela to wear makeup – she knew it was for the best, considering they were about to be on live television, it just wasn’t something that she normally did. But, as much as this was YN’s moment and her first Grammy nomination, it was Pamela’s too – and that meant, in YN’s eyes, she deserved to be spoilt, too. Pamela hadn’t necessarily ever expected her first band to split up, but it was always a possibility. It was a huge life change, and she hadn’t a single clue of what she was going to do once it happened. Then, when YN invited her to the studio and they started to work on some songs together, they both knew that it made sense for all parties involved that Pamela join YN’s band. That has also meant that Vivienne has been the band’s photographer since that moment as well. As mentioned before, the trio are often never seen without each other.

Apart from being the band’s photographer whenever they needed, Vivienne had also opened her gallery – something that she had always wanted to do but never had the opportunity to do.  Seeing her best friend and her favourite person excel in the way that she had done warmed YN in ways that she couldn’t explain.

“Do I have to?” Pamela groaned, pressing her face deeper into Vivienne’s chest.

“Yes,” YN stood up once she had finished, lifting one of the pillows that had been absentmindedly thrown to the bottom of the bed up and hitting the girl with it. It took a few attempts, but soon Pamela had pushed herself up from Vivienne and, with a sulk on her face, sat in the chair, “Thank you. I know you don’t think so, but I’m doing this with your best interest at heart.”

Pamela just groans and crosses her arms over her chest, allowing Claude to get started. Trying her best not to mess her makeup up, YN drops down on the bed next to Vivienne. YN found herself picking at the hole that sat around the wrist of the sweater she was wearing. It was an attempt at not trying to show the nerves that were wracking around her body – but it was difficult, especially when the people in the room were YN’s closest confidants and knew every little tick that the girl had.

“Look,” Vivienne reaches over and grabs YN’s hand, “If you’re nervous about the awards, it’s honestly too fucking unlikely that you won’t win.”

YN snorts, accepting Vivienne’s reassuring squeeze, “Thanks Viv, but I don’t think it’s that.”

“Ah,” The girl nods, “It’s about Harry, isn’t it?”

The announcement for who would be presenting the awards came out a few weeks ago, and whilst YN had originally not thought it was important to know who it would be – it very quickly became obvious that wasn’t the case. When the presenters had been announced, Vivienne had received word of who would be presenting Album of the Year and had immediately rushed over to YN’s house. Being a two-time winner of the award himself (once for Harry’s House, the album that she had written with him), it shouldn’t have surprised YN as much as it did that Harry would be presenting the award.

Knowing that her chances to win were so likely, YN had wondered if it was sort of a set-up. Whoever had decided to ask Harry to do so knew of their past and knew that it would make a lovely bit of new gossip. That was unfortunately where YN’s mind went, and that’s what stressed her out slightly. Especially since her album was so open about her feelings, and even more so about Harry and their relationship – this wasn’t something that she would have ever asked for.

“I’ve just spent so long… so long, Viv, trying to change the narrative of my life,” YN sighs, now starting to pick at the polish on her nails, “And him being there, after I’ve spent so long trying to reclaim my story for me, I’m just scared of how I’m going to react. I don’t want this to be the thing that spirals me right back to the person I was.”

Vivienne sighed, shaking her head, and lifting their joint hands to press a kiss to the back of YN’s hand, “YN… you are not the person you were back then. Trust me, I was right there with you. I mean… God, if that man tries to say anything to me I might lose my shit, but you won’t lose yours. You’ve grown, you’ve matured and most importantly you’ve forgiven yourself. You thought you needed him – but you didn’t.”

YN nodded her head, wanting nothing more than to accept Vivienne’s words and believe them. She hoped she would at least that her face convinced Viv that she was believing her words. The truth was when YN reflected on that time of her life (mostly when she had finished writing her newest record), there were parts of her that wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t reacted the way she had. It was mostly what would have happened to her and Harry if they had handled the situation differently. Because, to YN at that part of her life (and sometimes now) she felt as though Harry was going to be it for her. That she was his, and he was hers.

YN truly did think that she was going to spend the rest of her life with Harry. He saw her and loved her through her hardest times, and yet it was when her life was truly starting to get back on track that she lost her faith in him. It hurt her soul and truly sent her spiralling through the idea that she could only ever be loved when she was broken – and it took her a long time to realise that wasn’t the case.

“It’s just… I think..” YN shook her head, struggling to articulate the words that were swimming around in her head, “My message, especially with this album, is so much more than what we were and what happened to us… I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” It was Pamela that spoke up this time, from the makeup chair, “You are going to do what you do best, YN, you are going to dodge and dive any of the sleazy questions and hold yourself with grace and fucking win that Grammy. You can even thank him for breaking your heart because it made you stronger, and it made you the person you are today.”

YN smiles, trying her best not to tear up and ruin the makeup that Claude had worked so hard on, “You’re right… it’s my day, not his. And anyway, it’s been so long since we last spoke that I honestly doubt he’s even thought about me.”

“He has,” Vivienne nods, “I know you haven’t listened to his albums – but I have. Trust me, he has.”

“God,” YN’s eyes widen, “Don’t say that! That makes me more nervous!”

Vivienne shakes her head, “No, nope, not letting you do that. Come on, I’m going to do your hair, then you’re going to put your pretty little dress on, and we are going to go and win that award.”

YN knew that it was silly, but if she had these girls behind her – she could do anything she put her mind to.

Chicago, 1975 – 5 minutes after the concert

“YN!” YN didn’t listen to Harry’s calls of her name as she stormed off stage. She had no idea where she was going or what she was doing, but all she knew was that she had to get far away. Far away from Harry, far away from Mary and far away from everyone who would know that something was wrong, “YN! Stop walking away from me!”

“Why would I listen to anything you say anymore?” YN scoffs, wiping the tears from off her wet cheeks. She turned down a hallway and realised that it was a dead end. She stopped and sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get away from him now – and also that they would have to have this conversation where anyone could hear them.

“I need to explain, YN,” Harry sighs from behind her, but she still doesn’t turn to look at him, “Let me explain, please.”

That’s the thing when you love someone – even when they fuck up, you can’t say no to them. That was what YN was struggling with. This man had hurt her, done something inexcusable to her and yet he wanted her to listen, and she was going to do that. It was just who she was, and it’s just what love is.

YN turned to face Harry, slightly shocked at the sight of his reddened face matching hers, “Explain then. Try and explain what I saw!”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, “It wasn’t what it looked like at all – she came on to me. I would never do this to you, you know that!”

“You only pushed her off because I was there!” YN exclaimed, “To me, it looked like you would have had ample opportunity to walk away, to push her away to say fucking no, Harry, but she was still on you!”

“I tried, YN, I fucking tried,” Harry claimed, clearly becoming more exasperated by the second, “She was coked out of her fucking mind! She was high, and on an adrenaline rush and there was no stopping her without hurting her!”

“Then fucking hurt her, Harry,” YN points her finger in his direction, “You were supposed to be mine. Mine. Not hers. I fucking knew she was up to something, and I never said a word because I trusted you! I trusted you more than I trusted myself.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Harry shakes his head, “Blame this all on me. Tell me to hurt her and that she was up to something but not once in any of that did you come to me and tell me that!”

“Oh, good one,” YN chuckles, “I didn’t fucking tell you Harry because I trusted you! And I also thought you had eyes and a pretty good eye for this shit. You should’ve fired her months ago, and you know it. The drugs, the booze, the partying – it’s not who you associate with!”

“I associated with you.”

His words stop YN right in her tracks. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying to her. She had thought that he would’ve never, ever, put her past against her like that and here he was.

“You did,” YN nodded, “You helped me and loved me when I didn’t know I needed that. All I could hope is that you seeing me like that, loving me like that would make you realise that you shouldn’t be around people like that.”

“She’s a good fucking singer, YN, the crowd responds to her. You’re saying I’m just supposed to fire her because she’s an addict? – come off your fucking high horse.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, “I’m telling you that firing her would have been the right option so that she could get help. This life is not the life that addicts need, you and I both know that. You’re enabling her, allowing her delusions to run, and hurting me in the process! You let her get on top of you, let her kiss you. At no point did you think why? Why does she have the confidence to do this to taken man? It’s because she has no inhibitions, no awareness of her actions!”

“So this is all her fault, yeah? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m saying it’s your fault,” YN took a step forward, pointing her finger against his chest, “You should have realised, you should have put a stop to it. But, now I’m thinking you didn’t want to. Now I’m thinking that you didn’t mind someone coming in and ruining our relationship in this way. I don’t know maybe I wasn’t giving you enough attention, maybe I was getting bigger than you could handle now I’m sober – maybe I don’t ride your dick good enough, I don’t fucking know!”

Harry goes silent, obviously stumped at the girl’s words. Unfortunately for him, that gave YN everything that she needed to know. In her head, all she could think was that he was understanding her, and he wasn’t seeing this from her perspective.

“She hasn’t come in and ruined our relationship, YN,” Harry sighs, shaking his head, “She hasn’t ruined our relationship, you’re the one doing that by not listening to me.”

YN gasps, and that’s it. She lifts her arms and pushes past Harry. He tries to reach out for her, but she pulls away from him.

“YN, you can’t walk away from this,” He calls from behind her, but YN carries on walking. She storms through the hallways, brushing past people lingering in the hallway and hoping that none of them would stop her.

Despite Harry’s calls of her name and the fact that this place is like a fucking maze YN somehow manages to find herself outside. The only problem was Harry had followed her. YN fumbles with her cigarette carton in her pocket and despite her shaking hands she manages to light one.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” Harry asks, throwing his arms open.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” She retorts, raising her eyebrow at him.

He shrugs, “What do you want me to say? Sorry? I’m fucking sorry YN.”

YN nods, letting the words settle for a minute. She’d seen this man sorry before, she knew what he was feeling and knew the signs of his true feelings. Whatever he was saying, and trying to express right now she knew wasn’t him. She didn’t know who he was.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” YN shakes her head, “I’m going back to the hotel, packing my shit and going home – I’ll see you in L.A.”

YN turns and walks away, ignoring Harry’s calls to her. The fact that he dared to shout that she was the one leaving this relationship and not working on it as she walked away was crazy to her, and yet here he was. She knew that being on the road changed people, but she didn’t think that it would change him this much. He was her everything, and now she didn’t even want to look him in the eye.

There was always a part of her that thought this was too good to be true, and something was going to ruin it. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t think she would be the one guilty of such, but it seems like it was him that caused this and seemingly had little to no remorse for his actions.

As much as it was going to be difficult, she couldn’t let this ruin her tour. More so, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her life. She had worked too fucking hard.

The second that their car arrives on the carpet, YN knows that everything that she was feeling and all of the memories that had been brought to the surface had to be pushed away. This was her night, one to celebrate with her band and her friends and not bring anything from the past up at all.

Out of all of the awards shows she has been to, YN pulled out all of the stops. The dress she had decided upon was a forest green, one which complimented her darkening hair. It had layers and lace, draping around her arms but allowing her figure to be shown at the same time. Vivienne had styled her hair to perfection, just as the girl always does. Even though Vivienne wasn’t a hairstylist by trade, there wasn’t a single person that YN would trust with her hair besides Vivienne. The last and final touch to her outfit was her cowboy boots and despite Vivienne’s protests when she pulled them on – they truly made her feel like herself.

YN isn’t even two metres onto the carpet before a camera is thrust in her face, a reporter standing by, ready to ask her question upon a question that YN had no control over. It was only in the latter years of her career that she found herself truly in the hands of the media. If her name was mentioned before, she wasn’t in a state of mind to know anything of it.

“YN, it’s your first Grammy Awards, how are you feeling? Nervous? Excited?” The reporter asks, thrusting a microphone into her face before she can even think properly.

“Uh,” YN hesitates for a moment before a small smile crosses her lips, “A bit of both of those, I think. It’s an honour to be invited and nominated at that, but it’s also a little nerve-wracking in the same sense. All I do know is that each person who is nominated deserves that win, and even if it isn’t me I’ll still be grateful for the invitation.”

“How do you feel about reuniting with someone from your past today? Harry Styles. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s announcing your category?”

YN’s heart starts to beat ten times quicker, her palms sweating, but she’s thanking God for all of the media training that she’d been given over the years, “I admire Harry so much as an artist, and has won the category twice before – I can’t name anyone more deserving to present the category.”

The reporter doesn’t look too impressed by her answer, but with more thanks to the reporter and a nod from Vivienne, she decides it’s probably time to move on and get inside. YN immediately links her arm with Vivienne’s and tries to calm her breathing down.

“Was that okay? I think I fully blanked for a second there,” YN mutters the second that they are out of earshot of anybody but the two of them, “I honestly think I just spewed absolute shit at them.”

“It was absolute shit,” Vivienne nodded, pushing one of YN’s curls over her shoulder, “But, as far as PR think it was probably absolutely perfect shit.”

The two girls share a giggle. Pamela joins them a few seconds later, having just come out of her interview, and feels a similar level of confusion and delusion to YN. They take some more photos just as they enter the building, and even though there are calls from left and right for photos of YN on her own – she doesn’t stray from her girls. She could’ve, and she knows that in the future, she might regret not having one fully alone on the carpet – but now, the idea of having to stand on her own without Vivienne or Pamela to hold her up was unbearable.

Once they make it inside the building, YN fully intends to beeline straight towards the drinks. She needed something to chug down to get rid of the cottonmouth she currently had. It wasn’t going to be alcohol, and she certainly knew that – but anything would have been better than the feeling that currently was in her mouth.

“Can I have a glass of water, please? Or soda? Or anything without alcohol?” The bartender looks at her confused, as though he wasn’t suspecting anybody to ask for anything non-alcoholic that evening. YN had offered the man a short but sweet smile in thanks, knowing that if she had opened her mouth she might have said something that she would later come to regret, and beelined straight for where Vivienne and Pamela were waiting for her.

“I can wholeheartedly say I have never wished to drink more than I did in that second,” YN mutters with a shake of her head as she stops in front of the two women, “And it’s not for the sake of I wanted a buzz, no it was for the fact that man had sixteen glasses of champagne ready and not a single glass of fucking water!”

“Okay,” Vivienne reached over and placed her hand on Vivienne’s free hand, as the other was currently lifting the glass of water to her lips, “I think the nerves are probably getting the better of us, and drinking is not the solution to that.”

“I’m not going to do it,” YN sighs, dropping the now empty glass back down on the bar, “Have more faith in me than that, it just crossed my mind, that’s all – for ease.”

YN doesn’t notice the partners share a look, one that they both know exactly what that means, and what they are to do. They knew wholeheartedly that this was just YN’s nerves talking, and the second that they got her distracted and sitting down it would all be okay.

“Did I tell you about the man who got in touch the other day?” Vivienne started, immediately realising that she was about to be chatting absolute shit to her friend, but it was better than to let Vivienne sit in a ball of her stress.

“No,” YN shakes her head, accepting another glass of water from the bartender, “What man?”

“Yeah… what man?” Pamela mutters, her entire face pursed with confusion. Vivienne kicks her slightly under the table, “Oh, yeah, that man! How about we walk and talk?”

Vivienne started to rattle on to her about a man who had come into her gallery and asked her question upon question without seeming to be interested in buying anything. It became obvious to YN further on in the conversation that the man wanted to ask Viv on a date, and she had to be the one to break the news that she was in a committed relationship. Even though Vivienne was rattling on, YN knew why she was doing so. It was to distract YN from the thoughts, and more so from the impending reunion that was on the horizon.

Vivienne rattled on until they got to their seats and continued even when they had sat down. It was funny to YN, that these two women would do anything for her, and she would do anything for them – and that included making a story that certainly wasn’t as interesting as they were making it seem so for YN’s sake.

YN was repeatedly kicking herself internally for the fact that every time her eyes darted around the room, there was one person that she was thinking specifically about. The thing that YN didn’t want to face was not being in control when she saw him again. She had learnt so much about how to control herself recently, and that would send her spiralling right back to a place that she didn’t want to be.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” YN spoke once there was a lilt in the conversation, “Don’t want to be needed a piss in the middle of the awards.”

“Okay,” Vivienne nodded, knowing that some time by herself might be what YN needs right now just to centre herself, “Do you need us to come with?”

“No,” YN offers her a smile, “I’ll only be a minute or two.”

When YN weaved her way through the corridors to the bathroom, it was made abundantly clear to her that her time in the bathroom would be spent sitting on a closed toilet rather than doing anything. After a few minutes, she left the cubicle to glance at herself in the mirror and make sure that her makeup and hair still looked okay.

Once she was happy with herself and felt calmer than she did it was the perfect time to make her way back to the awards and hope that it all went smoother.

Just as YN had turned out of the bathroom door, a smile on her face finally – it was made obvious straight away that it wasn’t to last long. That was because standing a few feet away from her was Harry. He was dressed to the nines in a full pinstripe suit, one hand resting in his pocket as he walked towards her.

YN froze completely, unable to move or breathe or simply function. It was a second or so later that Harry noticed her as well, and his movements came to a stop also. His face dropped, just as hers had. It was the first time in ten years that they had been face to face, the last time being the night of her final performance in L.A., when their relationship had ended completely. Even though it had been ten years, when Harry opened his mouth to speak to her, she felt as though she was right back in that moment and that all of the work she had didn’t matter anymore.

“Hi.”

L.A., 1975 – The last performance of YN’s tour

To say that YN was ready for this tour to finish was an understatement.

There was nothing she loved more than performing her songs for the people who loved them – but with everything that was going on behind the scenes, she just wanted to go home and be with Vivienne and Pamela.

Her band had been doing her fucking head in the entire time, not the girls, mainly the boys, but they were all at fault. It was her simple rules, and they seemed to just not understand the consequences of what happens when they break them. It was why for the first time in a while, YN walked into the green room with a certain skip in her step.

The band was lounged around, empty cans and packets of coke on every surface, but YN was past the point of caring. This was their last night together, and she was not embarrassed to say that she was excited to break that news to them.

“Last night,” YN sighed as she dropped down against the sofa, crossing one of her legs over the other (her cowboy boots sat comfortably on her feet), “I didn’t think we’d get here but we have.”

There was a slight chuckle in the room, and then there was a silence. It was a bittersweet moment. This tour had been one of the best and worst times of her life, and there were only so many words in the English language to explain that.

“I’m not one for many words, as you all know,” YN starts before she hears a snigger from one of the boys.

“Unless you’re fucking complaining about some shit.”

A laugh spreads through the room, and even YN is guilty of a smile spreading across her face.

“Normally complaining about you two just being fucking idiots,” She retorts with a smile, “That’s why I’m happy and relieved to say that this is our last show of this tour, and our last show together… because if I ever do this again, it isn’t going to be with any of you.”

For once, the room is silent, and YN feels a wave of accomplishment rush through her veins.

“Now, let’s go and put on the best fucking show of this tour.”

YN turned to walk out of the room, an ever-present smile still resting on her face. Despite what this show was, and what was consequently going to happen because of this – there was at least this positive for her to focus on. As YN prepared to go on stage, standing on the sidelines and hearing the screams and shouts of the people who were here to see her, she realised that nothing was going to ruin today.

“You ready, babes?” Vivienne smiles from behind her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

YN sighs but nods, “I am… is he here?”

Vivienne’s eyes never leave YN’s, but a wave of sadness washes over them, and she nods, “He’s in a green room with his band.”

YN nods. Since that night in Pittsburgh, there’s been no communication between herself, and Harry and she was glad about that. Everything had gone through management, and YN thought that was the best way to do it. It was strange to think that she would be seeing him in the flesh soon, and singing with him once again but it was probably for the best that she hadn’t thought about it at all.

“If you see him, tell him not to be shit,” YN says and Vivienne chuckles, reaching out to give YN’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t you worry,” Vivienne shakes her head, “If I see him, I’ll be saying a whole lot more to him.”

YN just rolls her eyes but is appreciative of her friend, and she knows that Vivienne knows that, too. When YN had first called Vivienne to explain what had happened, Vivienne was ready to jump on a flight and speak her mind to Harry. Once YN had gotten over her initial anger at the situation, Vivienne was there for her throughout the sadness, too. When she needed to cry, Vivienne was always there at the end of the phone to be there for her.

The two girls shared one last hug before it was time for YN to go on stage, to finish the tour that might have actually been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she would be lying if she said that she hadn’t loved it as well.

Telling her band that she was firing them before the last show could have gone one of two ways. Fortunately for YN, it had gone a better way than many would have expected. They were good at what they did, and they all (she was including herself in this) played the best that they had the entire tour. There was an energy from the crowd that was palpable, and it seemed to be wearing off on the band as well as herself. It was a damn good show if she said so herself.

Just as she was coming to the last song on her set, she received a nod from the side of the stage saying that it was time. Time for her to welcome a guest on to stage, and to pretend in front of thousands of people that this man hadn’t just broke her heart.

Once the cheering has subsided, YN tucked her hair behind her ears and addressed the crowd, knowing it was better to do so like she was ripping a band-aid off rather than drawing it out.

“Now, it’s coming up to the point where we have to say goodnight,” YN smiles, hearing a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd, “And before we do say goodnight, I thought… since it’s the last night of our tour, and you’ve been such an amazing crowd that I’d surprise you all… Now, this guest, he’s someone that’s very special to me. I haven’t seen him, or spoken to him in a while… but he has my heart, and he should always know that… Now, please put your hands together for Mr. Harry Styles!”

There’s a moment where YN doesn’t want to turn to look at Harry, in fact she just wants to ignore that he’s there all together – but she knows she can’t do that. Once she does turn to look at him, she’s shocked at what she sees. It still looks like him, the man that she loved with all of her heart, but he looks worn out, and tired and quite possibly heartbroken.

The band starts to play Cherry and all of a sudden she’s transported back to that night. Everything that happened, everything that he did, everything that she felt rushed back to her body, and flooded every one of her thoughts. It was difficult to keep her composure, and even more difficult not to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t. Not when she had a show to put on, and a tour to finish.

“Don’t you call him [me] baby/ We’re not talking lately.”

As the song was drawing to a close, YN realised that she had to look at Harry. Now that her initial anger and upset had passed, he needed to see how she felt. He needed to see how he had hurt her.

It wasn’t in YN’s plan to change the lyrics, but she couldn’t help herself. A song that Harry and herself had written all those years ago was now resonating in their life in a way that neither one of them could’ve expected.

“Don’t you call her what you used to call me.”

Harry stopped singing when he noticed what she had done, and even with thousands of people in the room it felt as though it was only the two of them, once more, just as it had been on that night. Instead of an anger running through her veins, YN felt sadness, a heaviness. She was grieving the man she knew and the life that she had envisioned for herself because in that moment she realised it was over… for good.

“Thank you all, you’ve been amazing!” YN snapped herself out of her trance and turned back to the crowd, “Thank you for having me, and I’m sure we’ll see you all soon!”

With once last smile and wave to the crowd, YN turned and walked off the stage, leaving her band and Harry standing there. She wasn’t necessarily proud of this action, but it was needed. It was her time to leave this tour, and these feelings in the past – and there was one more thing that she needed to do to ensure that.

“When Harry comes off, tell him to come to my dressing room,” She spoke to Jeff as she walked past him, offering him a small smile as she did.

“Of course.” He replied with a nod.

She paced in the room for a few seconds and then the door opened behind her. She turned, and he was there. It was strange, she had imagined what this conversation was going to be like so many times in her head and now that he was here, she couldn’t think of any of it. All she knew was that she needed to tell him how she felt.

“YN…”

“No,” YN shook her head, biting the side of her lip and resting her hands upon her hips, “I need you to listen to me… and I need you to listen carefully,” There was a slight pause where she had to compose herself from crying, “I love you, and I still love you and I probably always will… but, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t… you couldn’t see it from my perspective, and I don’t know if you ever will, but I know that for myself, I can’t wait and find out.”

“YN…” There were tears in his eyes.

There were now tears in hers, “I will never be able to get that image out of my head, and what you said… It hurt me. I love you and I want you to know that… but we’re over.”

A silence washes over them, as though both of them were coming to terms with what she was saying.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know what else I can say but I love you.”

“I just saw him,” YN says the second she sits down with Pam and Viv.

Vivienne almost spits out her drink, and Pamela’s mouth drops open, “What do you mean?”

“He was there when I left the bathroom,” YN shook her head, “I just stared at him. I didn’t even say anything.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Vivienne asks and YN nods her head.

“He said ‘Hi’ and then I bolted back here,” YN places her head in the palm of her hands, “I knew that I was going to see him, but I thought it was at least going to be in this room, or when he gets on stage – not after I had a piss.”

Vivienne wraps her arm around YN, “The show’s about to start. Put it out of your mind. You’ve got a Grammy to win.”

That’s exactly what (with a little bit of inner strength) she did. The show started, and awards were given out, and the clock was ticking until it was her category. She kept herself looking cool, calm, and collected to anyone glancing at her, but inside, her heart was racing out of her chest.

“Your next babes,” Vivienne grabbed YN’s hand from the side of her, “Whatever happens, I just want to tell you that I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

YN’s eyebrows lifted, tears collecting in her waterline, “Stop it… or I’ll cry before it even starts.”

“Don’t you worry, babes…” Vivienne squeezed her hand tighter, “I’ll wipe your snot before you go on stage.”

YN rolled her eyes, and the girls shared a chuckle. It was then that the lights dimmed. A round of applause started, and the spotlight hit the stage. Harry was dressed in the same pinstripe suit as she had seen him a few hours before. He stood on the stage, his arms crossed in front of him and a smile on his lips. It wasn’t the smile that YN remembered in her dreams, the one where his dimples and his teeth lit up the world – but it was him.

“As a recipient of this award myself, I am honoured to announce this category today,” he said, cool, calm, and collected, “As much as I’m sure you would all love to hear me chat away, I think it’s probably better for everyone that we get to it. The nominees are…”

YN blanks out as the names are read, but when he speaks her name for the first time in years, she almost melts. It was strange that her body had such a visceral reaction to something that she hadn’t ever thought about before.

“And… the Grammy goes to…” Harry speaks, opening the envelope. It was then that a beaming smile crossed his face, “YN YLN!”

A gasp left her lips, a high-pitched buzz filling her ears. There was a part of her that didn’t believe it, but when she saw Vivienne’s teary-eyed face staring at her – she knew it was real. The girl, who was usually cool, calm and collected was sobbing so forcefully that YN was slightly scared for her.

“I told you, babes!” Once YN pushes herself up from her seat, Vivienne pounces on her in a hug, “I knew it was going to be you!”

“I…” YN shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

“You need to go,” Vivienne places her hands on YN’s cheeks and nods, “Take Pam, and go. Get your fucking Grammy babes.”

YN nods and reaches for Pam’s hand, whose face looks the same as YN does. There was a flash of disbelief as well as pure shock on both the girl’s faces. YN squeezes Pam’s hand as tightly as she can, trying to centre herself as well as be there for the other woman as they walk towards the stage. It’s then that YN hears the clapping from the crowd, and it takes every ounce of strength she has not to burst out into tears.

Then she sees him.

He was standing at the front of the stage, the award clutched in his hand, but at that point, it was almost as though the award didn’t matter. The smile on his face was the one she saw in her dreams when she closed her eyes and thought back to that time of her life. When she doesn’t want to think of the heartbreak or the hardship, when she wants to think of the overwhelming love she felt and had in her body. That was the Harry that she saw standing there, the one who first asked her to come on stage and sing his song with him, the man who gave her everything.

If it wasn’t for Pamela pulling her up the stairs, she would’ve ceased moving altogether. Once she had come to a stop in front of him, he held the award out to her.

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

That was all she could say before she was pushed in front of a microphone. Pamela tried to slip out of YN’s hand, but she pulled Pamela right to the side of her.

“I hadn’t expected this,” YN chuckles into the microphone, “So I’m sorry if I forget anyone or anything. I think… I want to thank my team, my band, and Pamela in particular, who stayed with me all of those nights when I couldn’t give up and had to finish even though everyone else had left… I want to thank everyone in my life who saw me at my lowest and pushed me to my best. Vivienne. I want to thank you for forever being my best friend, my sister, and my family. This is for you and for everything you’ve ever done for me… and, uh, Harry. I, uh, want to thank you for seeing something in me that night at your show and asking me on that stage… I wouldn’t be here without that. Thank you so much, I’ll keep this forever close to my heart.”

Even though he was standing right next to YN, she couldn’t look at him. When she had given her speech, some thought earlier on in the day, the thought of thanking Harry hadn’t even crossed her mind. Looking back, she assumed it was because she was too nervous to see him that thanking him in her speech hadn’t even crossed her mind. Once she had deemed that seeing him hadn’t been as bad as she expected it to be (minus the stress and also rehashing of memories that she had wanted nothing more than to forget), it was like her brain couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

Music started playing around her, and she saw this as her cue to leave the stage. Grabbing Pamela’s hand, she pulled them off the side of the stage, where she guessed that she was going to have her photo taken.

Just as she started to make her way down the steps, she felt something tug the end of her dress, and she nearly went toppling forward down them. A hand grabbed onto her elbow, steadying her. She turned, and there he was, a concerned look on his face.

“Keep going,” He nodded, “It’s okay.”

Then she felt the skirt of her dress lift, and she didn’t have to worry anymore.

“If it was up to me, you would’ve won for your very first,” A man who YN knew as some studio executive was standing in front of her. There was a strong smell emanating from his person, and the empty glass in his hand, YN assumed it was whisky, “It’s the studio’s fault for not nominating you. I would’ve done that straight away. You would be on your fourth, even fifth nomination and win by now.”

“It wasn’t the studio’s fault,” YN offered him with a small smile, trying to be polite and not as though this was the fiftieth conversation she’d had like this since she arrived, “It was mine. I was in recovery. They couldn’t have nominated me even if they wanted to.”

“Oh,” He seemed surprised, “Anyway, if you ever do fancy a switch in studios, gimme a call.”

“I won’t,” YN offers another smile, “But thanks for the offer.”

YN turns, and spots Vivienne and Pamela coming back and drinks it hand. It happens every time they leave or every time they even turn their back on YN for a second. YN was so proud of herself for having won, but if this was what she was going to get from here on out, she was going to have to mentally prepare herself for such.

“Here is your water, winner,” Vivienne passed her the glass with a smile on her face, and YN rolled her eyes at the girl’s antics.

“Are you going to stop with that already?” YN accepted it and placed the chilled glass against her face, flushing from the heat in the room.

Vivienne shrugs, “I will… once the novelty has worn off.”

YN just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “I’m going outside for a cigarette, it’s too hot in here.”

“Okay, winner,” YN shakes her head once more, seeing as though Pamela had decided to join in on her girlfriend’s antics as well.

“You’re a winner too, Pam, don’t forget that.”

YN placed a kiss on Pam and Viv’s cheeks before making her way towards the glass doors that opened to a balcony. They were at some fancy hotel that YN assumed she had been at before in her life but couldn’t remember either due to being high or so exhausted that she didn’t know where she was. Once she stepped outside, though, she realised that she had been here before, and it was on neither one of those occasions. It was after that tour had ended, the one where she had broken up with Harry. There had been a party to celebrate the end, and it was here. YN only remembered the view because instead of being inside celebrating, she had been out here, sitting watching the skyline pass by her.

YN pulled her cigarettes out of her bag, slipping one between her lips and lighting it. It seemed like a coincidence that she was here now after so much had changed. She stood, leant against the railing just as she had that night prior, and looked out at the skyline – this time a Grammy winner, but she would not say any less heartbroken.

“Congratulations,” YN didn’t jump at the sound of a voice behind her, but her eyes closed when she realised who it was, “I didn’t get to say that before.”

“You did,” YN mumbles, exhaling smoke as she did so, “On stage.”

He stops and leans against the railing next to her, taking his own cigarette out. She doesn’t turn to look at him but once she does she just nods her head.  

“What’s your plan now? Going to write another?” He asks, turning on his side slightly so that his body is facing hers.

YN just shrugged, turning her body so that she was facing him as well, “I don’t know. What about you?”

Harry sighs, nodding his head slightly, “I’m taking a break. Going back to London, going to spend some time with my family. Gem’s getting married in the summer, and I want to be there.”

“Pass on my congratulations to her,” YN nods, “A break sounds nice. I mean, it’s been ten years for me must be twelve, thirteen for you.”

“Thirteen,” He nods, running a hand over his face, “I need to slow down, I’m not getting any younger here.”

YN exhales a laugh, “We all know that’s the truth… and in hindsight, I don’t think a break is ever on the cards for me. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll probably be making music.”

YN had said it before, and she’d say it again – as long as she was making music that people enjoyed, she’d do it for as long as they let her.

“Speaking of music…” He looks away from her for a second and back out onto the skyline, “You didn’t have to thank me in your speech… I know it probably wasn’t the easiest thing you’ve ever done.”

YN just shakes her head, turning to look at him even though he wasn’t looking at her, “It was just the truth. I truly would not be here if it wasn’t for you. Without you pulling me on that stage that night, God I dread to think what my life would look like. I’d probably be in some unhappy marriage, with a husband who I hate and kids that hate me – just like my parents.”

Harry finally turned to look at her, “It was nothing.”

YN shakes her head once more, “It wasn’t.”

Harry clears his throat, “I know… I know I’ve done this before, and I know last time it didn’t go the way that I wanted it to, okay? But YN, I swear to you… I am so sorry about everything that happened. Looking back, you were right. I was enabling her, and not only that, but I was also hurting you in the process. I can never forgive myself for that… and I’d understand if you never forgave me as well.”

YN sighs, immediately feeling tears starting to well within her eyes, “It’s okay… it’s been too long now, it’s water under the bridge.”

As YN spoke, her voice cracked. She hadn’t realised that even though her mind knew what she wanted to say, her body betrayed her. She hadn’t realised what was building within her as he spoke, even more so when she did.

When she turned to him, there were tears in his eyes just as they were in hers. Standing here, with him after all of those years – no matter how much he had hurt her, there was a part of her that still loved him. She loved him, the life he gave her, the memories they had – the way he made her feel. She tried not to go back to that chapter of her life if she could help it, to stop the pain from resurfacing, but oftentimes, it was the memories of love that she welcomed the most.

Harry dropped his cigarette down on the floor, squashing it with his heel so that it was out. YN turned to him once more, watching as a tear slipped down his face. He immediately reached up and wiped it off his cheek.

“Listen, YN, if you ever do fancy that break London’s just a plane ride away,” He turned as though he was going to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back around, “And I’m always just a phone call away.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

[ohmylcve]

He had questions, many of them. How could he not? Inside Verona's mind, she was sure he would have so many, but she wasn't so sure if he would actually ask. If he would be willing to know the raw truth of Verona's past. The whole pressure of convincing him was getting on her nerves, as if it were an obligation rather than a simple story she could choose not to tell. Of course, she had the choice, but choosing not to tell meant losing him, and that isn’t something she’s willing to do. Verona has never told this story to anyone. She’s had multiple lovers before, who left once they discovered her marriage. She also had ones who knew about her marriage—but those usually came for her flesh, not for her soul. Not a single person knew the entire story, because truth be told: no one mattered this much to her.

Though she was willing to speak, to go on and on about how she’s stuck in a situation she’s not willing to get out of, she hates that she’s compelled to do so. Verona would rather be in a bed, late at night, after a few glasses of white wine, spilling words like she accidentally spills her drink, when she’s not controlling herself. In this very moment, she wishes time travel were possible, just so she could go back and be able to tell this story the way he deserves to hear it.

Ali’s whole body betrays him: the clenched jaw, the closed fists... it’s almost as if he’s about to start a fight, and she knows that this very moment is one for him. He’s fighting himself, he’s fighting against her, but also... he’s fighting with her. And she’s battling to understand what it is that truly hurts him: is it the lie itself? No... once she realized that the words are mere objects to hide the true pain inside. So what was that pain? Scavenging through every word, through every silence, Verona finds herself eager to discover what it is that he’s hiding behind his thick and yet trembling walls.

She does so until he reveals his secret—one he might not have revealed if it wasn’t for this huge misunderstanding between them, just like the story she would’ve never told. After all, this was entirely about vulnerability. Hers, his. About how neither of them could deal with that. But more than that... it was about Ali. About how he never opened up this way to someone; not only did she feel that while in his sheets, but she acknowledges the truth of it by his mere state. "Oh, for fuck’s sake!" The entire control she held until now felt like it was shattered by his fear. She was still defeated, still felt like she needed to convince him, but she was tired. Tired of listening to him blabber on about what he thought, rather than hearing her say it. "If you're too much of a coward to deal with how much we feel, you might as well leave," she fires, guessing her entire face is as red as her hair. "I could’ve lied about so many things. So many! I could’ve faked how I felt, but I don’t take you for a fool. I know you can read people more than I can understand, so I know you’ve read me and you felt the truth in every touch. Mine or yours. You felt it, and if you can't admit that to yourself, then go. Because if you’re here to throw your truths at me, I am not interested in this conversation at all." With a deep breath, she takes a sip of her drink, allowing the anger and irritation to fill her body. What is that pain of hers, then? Clear as day, it popped into her head: he’s knowing me before I can show up to him, just like Viego did.

As the trigger was identified, Verona finishes her glass of wine, forgetting her manners and wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "I could've lied about my name. Have you ever thought about that?" she begins, her gaze meeting his, silently challenging him to keep up. "I’ve had my fair share of affairs, but you were the only one who got my full name right. Verona Quinn." Lowell, she knows. But that's not her name, not the one she claims, not the one she's known for. "My maiden name is my full name." With a slow breath, she looks away, tears rising as she reminds herself that she is the one who built her empire. Not Viego. Her.

"I have no idea how you felt. Not a single glimpse of comprehension," she begins, calmer than before, as if the storm she threw was nothing more than necessary to bring her back to herself. "And I never will. Nothing I can say will change the fact that I’ve hurt you a lot, I’m well aware of it." Confidence blending with her words, as if both were merely colors she was merging to create a new one. "But I do have my reasons for acting the way I did. Nothing will justify the pain you're feeling, so if you're looking for that, again, you might as well just leave." Still able to hold his gaze, she continued. "I am Verona Quinn, for what it matters. I live as Verona Quinn, I EXIST as Verona Quinn." Emphasizing existence, she knows the core of what she's about to say lies there. "I never lied to you because I was dragging you into my mess. For me, it was never a lie, because the life I live is already one." Admitting it to herself out loud hurts more than she expects, and afraid she might stop in the middle of it, she continues, faster than before, but with as much intention. "Forget social conventions for a while, and think of our last walk through the streets of Venice, Ali. I can imagine how confusing that might be for you, that we've felt that much and yet I am married. I can assure you, in this marriage, there's no love. Nothing like we have, not even close." Her gaze turned into a searching one, as if she was trying to find the small piece that held both of them together inside of him. Her hands, on top of his tightened ones, slowly moved to open them, to grab his hands while she kept talking. "I gave you my all. I never gave you lies, no, not in my perspective. What I did was open up my chest, to grab my heart, and put it inside your hands. These very ones." She says it softer, a childish smile quickly making its appearance and then leaving as she recalls the information that once left his lips: I've killed for less than what you did to me. Then, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze, she adds, feeling her throat close in anxiety for his answer to what she's about to ask. "Will you crush it, or will you keep it?"

Ali’s thoughts swirled in a tempest of contradiction. He wasn’t sure which stung more—the raw truth of Verona’s words or the realization that he had come here, into her world, unarmed with anything but his own vulnerabilities. Vulnerabilities he despised. Vulnerabilities that, for the first time in years, he couldn’t hide from himself. Her gaze, unwavering and penetrating, stripped him bare in ways no interrogation or battlefield had ever managed. It was excruciating. It was intoxicating. For so long, Ali had conditioned himself to avoid moments like these. To bypass the chaos of human emotion and live within the neat, controlled lines of precision and purpose. Chaos belonged out there—on the job, in the face of danger, where his body and mind could cut through it like a scalpel. Not here. Not in the eyes of someone who made him feel exposed, seen, and, worst of all, uncertain. He hated uncertainty. And yet, as Verona questioned him—her voice steady but her breathing betraying her—he didn’t feel in control anymore. His carefully constructed walls, reinforced by years of discipline and detachment, buckled under the weight of her honesty. The vulnerability in her words was almost unbearable. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, regret, or something far messier that churned in his chest, but it clawed at him like a caged animal. What did he want to know? Did he even know? Her question hung in the air like smoke, suffocating him as much as it compelled him to answer. He clenched his jaw, fighting the instinct to retreat, to end the conversation with an abrupt exit and return to the comfort of isolation. But he stayed. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he stayed.

“Start with why,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual coldness. It almost felt foreign to hear it. His own words sounded sharper than he intended, but Ali didn’t soften them. He couldn’t. Not when his mind was flooded with fragments of memories—brief moments of trust, of closeness, that now felt tainted by betrayal and lies. Not when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to forgive her or punish her for the way she made him feel. For the way she still made him feel. He hated the way his heart raced as she took a step closer. Hated the way he noticed every detail—the slight quiver in her lips, the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes searched his, not for forgiveness but for understanding. Hated how much he wanted to give it to her, even when he wasn’t sure she deserved it. The truth, he realized, was that he wasn’t here for closure. He wasn’t here for answers. He was here because, against all reason, he couldn’t stay away. And that terrified him more than anything. Ali’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to steady himself. The air between them felt thick, charged with all the words left unsaid, all the truths she had buried and he had clawed at only to uncover too late. He stared at her now, his mind a battlefield of emotions he couldn’t afford to indulge: anger, betrayal, longing. Why had she lied? Why had she pulled him into her orbit, knowing all along she had another life—a life she’d hidden while weaving herself so deeply into his? Ali’s voice, when it came, was low and deliberate. Every word felt like a sharp-edged weapon, carefully aimed but impossible to dull.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like,” he began, his tone measured but barely masking the storm beneath, “to find out the way I did? To look into the life you kept hidden and realize I wasn’t just a part of it—I was your secret?” His gaze was fixed on hers, unrelenting. Her eyes, so often a mystery, were now a mirror, reflecting the weight of his words back at him. But Ali couldn’t stop. He’d held this inside for too long, and the dam was cracking. “You say you weren’t playing with me,” he continued, his voice hardening, “but what else would you call it? You didn’t just lie, Verona. You let me believe there was nothing else. No one else. And I—” He cut himself off, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t want to admit what he had given her, what he had felt for her, not when it still ached like an open wound. His breath hitched as he forced himself to calm down, to rein in the chaos she had unleashed inside him. Ali prided himself on control, on precision. But she had dismantled that so easily, with her truths and half-truths, with the world she’d built for herself while leaving him in the dark. “I’ve killed for less than what you did to me,” he said softly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Do you know that?” The cat was official out of the bag, and Ali didn't even realize he just let out a big secret. That's how crazy he was about her. That's how mad she made him. “And still,” he said, softer now, the anger bleeding into something rawer, something vulnerable, “I came here. I needed to hear it from you. Why you lied. Why you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.” He paused, his gaze locking onto hers again, searching for something—remorse, regret, an answer. Anything to explain why she had taken what he’d offered her and broken it so completely. “Did any of it mean anything to you? Or was I just the escape you needed until you went back to your real life?”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Soup solves everything.

[bisexualcherdegre]

D:BH Rarepairsweek 7 | @dbhrarepairs

Day 4 - Kara/Luther