#this made me feel emotions that do not exist

[happyk44]

[ID: Collection of quotes and images. Some of the material was difficult to source. Feel free to add an addendum.

Quote from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides, translated by Anne Carson: "Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief."

Quote from The Illiad, translated by Emily Wilson: You already know the story. You will die. Everyone you love will also die. You will lose them forever. You will be sad and angry. You will weep. You will bargain. You will make demands. You will beg. You will pray. It will make no difference. Nothing you can do will bring them back. You know this. Your knowing changes nothing. This poem will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

Painting titled "The Pit" by Aron Wiesenfeld: A figured cloaked in many layers of long white and sheer fabric stands at the edge of a water-filled pit. The pit is lined with stone. Grass and flowers grow all around, but fade off into pure darkness towards the back.

Image of unknown origin or media: A bouquet of many different types of white flowers against a black background. In the center, thin outlines of rectangles overlap each other and the flowers, almost as if to mimic a glass vase.

Text reading: my bones whimper at the thought of what could have been. what could have been if i was not born in a grave?

Text reading: Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving I mourn what could have been, what will not be, what I can't save.

Quote from "The Truth About Grief" by Fortesa Latifi: All my grief says the same thing - this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is.

Quote from Maurice Sendak: I had a brother who was my saviour, made my childhood bearable.

Quote from "Killing Flies" by Michael Dickman: I sit down for dinner with my dead brother again This is the last dream I ever want to have

Quote from "Killing Flies" by Michael Dickman: "I'll look More and more like him Until I'm older Than he is

Text reading: And now I'll have to remember you for longer than I've known you.

Picture of burned pages from a notebook

Painting of a lamb on a table. Its legs are bound together. Light shines in a strip down the table and against the lamb, but otherwise the painting is dark. There is a small ring above its head in the darkness, as though a halo.

Image of unknown origin or media: It depicts white flowers

Quote from“Sacrifice” by Bilal Al-Shams: i am both the sacrificial lamb and the executioner. the scapegoat and the swordslayer. the one screaming and the angel of death

Quote from "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" by John Green and David Levithan: "I am awful. I am heartless. I am scared that these things are actually true."

Quote from "Last Sext" by Melissa Broder: I ask god to send a swordsman / and god says 'look at your hands'

Quote from "Psalm of Scattered Ashes" by Ashley Mares: is the blood on your hands dry? Is it slowly disappearing? Mine isn't.

Quote from Audre Lorde: "I feel it's my anger that has helped keep me alive,"

Text reading: Anger can also be a substitute emotion. By this we mean that sometimes people make themselves angry so that they don't have to feel pain. People change their feelings of pain into anger because it feels better to be angery than it does to be

Painting titled "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel: A painting of Luficer after his fall from heaven. The picture has been cropped to close in on his face. His arm is raised, shielding the lower half of his face from view but his angry eyes are visible, brows narrowed. A single tear wells up in the corner of his eye and drips down the side of his nose.

Painting from the Peripety serie by Jen Mazza: Three bloody hands embrace each other.

Quote from Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia by Marya Hornbacher: I did not like to be toouched, but it was a strange dislike.I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.

/end ID]

About wocwog HJ. I love him. He's so raw, and there's so much pain and rage.

[acphengene]

Golden Hour

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jay x reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate au, angst, slight miscommunication and teeth rotting fluff that’ll make your heart hurt because you’ve never been loved like this

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.9k

₊ ⁺ note: ugh i love these two so much as always let me know if you wanna be added to thr taglist

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jay discovered his mark, he didn’t even realize what it was at first. But by the stroke of midnight on his 13th birthday, his dream changed.

Instead of battling Pokémon’s he was suddenly in school. He had groaned and tried to go back, there was no way in hell he’d be staying in this class. He however quickly realized that he was indeed stuck here.

When he had looked around he noticed that the classroom wasn’t his, nor was his friends anywhere to be found and even the teacher was one he didn’t know. No one even acknowledged his existence, it was as if he was invisible. But most importantly of all, no one even spoke korean.

In his bones he knew what this meant, and the girl he was currently sitting right behind could only be one person. You.

He followed you throughout your day, learned your name, your likes and dislikes in the cafeteria, the name of your friends and teachers, and he clung to every bit of information.

And when he woke up, it was as if the most important parts had slipped his mind, and that unfortunately included both your face and your name.

He had with one of his pillows trying to force the information out by slamming it against his head. But after a conversation with his father, he was told that that was just how the mark worked. It couldn’t and shouldn't be that easy to find one’s other half.

The next couple of days he could’ve sworn someone was watching him, but whenever he looked over his shoulder, no one was there. He did however feel a presence there.

It took him a couple of days, or nights he supposed, of you to continuously looking over your own shoulder. Looking at him, but not really, until he realized that that presence was you, following him around while you slept.

He was happier than ever, and he swore that he would do all he could to be the best version of himself. He did his best to be a good friend, to listen and be kind to those around him. He started joining his parents in the kitchen, just as he had done when he was a child, wanting to be able to take care of you one day, by cooking you food.

It didn’t take more than a few weeks until the emotional maturity and overall kindness was second nature to the teenage boy, and you were so proud of him being yours.

Jay had always enjoyed dancing, and now he had an audience, and knowing you were watching along made him wanna be even better. He danced and he sang, and in the end that took him all the way to BigHit, a company you could never remember the name of when you woke up.

His overall passion inspired you, and even though you didn’t really have the voice for it, music had always been dear to you, so it seemed like the obvious thing to follow in that direction when it became your time to pick schools. Hopefully the love for music would bring the two of you together in the end.

One afternoon on your way home from your classes you had fallen asleep on the train, and as you slipped into the dreams that was his world, he never showed. All that was there was a mist of grey all around you.

You were in complete denial, and refused to accept that he was gone, but after a few minutes the constant flow of no’s you muttered to yourself became sobs and in the end you were nothing more than a ball on the ground as you screamed into the grey abyss.

Was this how it felt? To lose your soulmate before the bond was really sealed? An empty ever stretching room of nothingness?

When your breathing stilled and you finally removed your hands from your mouth, you heard an almost muffled sound coming from somewhere within the mist.

He had just like you panicked when everything around him had slowly disappeared, when he was no longer next to you. The train cart had become what to him almost looked like grey clouds.

Instead of panicking he tried easing his mind, his breath was faster, and all he heard was his heartbeat, but he knew he needed to calm for him to be in any kind of position to figure out what had happened.

A small voice inside his head told him to run, to hurry, to yell out for you, and he had nothing to lose so he listened.

No more than a few minutes later he heard you scream and he had thought he already ran as fast as humanly possible, he was wrong.

He called out for you, called your name because as long as he slept he could remember it.

In the distance he saw a figure and he knew in his heart it was you. “Darling!” He yelled out, breathless and tired, but it didn’t matter, you needed him, you thought he was gone.

“Jay?” You whispered in shock as he was finally close enough for you to see through your teary eyes.

He flew the last few steps and dropped to his knees without really stopping, and therefore crashed right into you. And for the first time, he was able to hold you.

His arms snaked around you, pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, all while he kept repeating two words “I’m here”

The two of you had cried together, finally able to touch and hold one another and to ask and answer questions. It didn’t matter to the two of you that you’d forget the most important parts, because he could finally take a walk with you through the grey clouds. He couldn’t care less about the lack of view, because to him you were the most beautiful view he had ever laid his eyes on.

His arm was snaked around the small of your back, always pulling you back to him in a polite but somehow possessive nature, and it made your heart flutter.

He was almost gone as quickly as he had arrived, and as you woke up in the train cart, you still felt him right there by your sides and your heart had never been fuller.

After having finally held you, Jay made it a part of his routine to nap whenever he could. It didn’t matter where he was, if it was possible he was asleep in seconds.

The two of you had started to talk out loud whenever you were alone, you both knew that the only person who really mattered was right there listening.

And every now and then you were lucky and fell asleep at the same time, and those minutes and sometimes hours were the most presious to you both.

When Jay joined I-land your interactions changed, you knew he was doing something different than usual, the background had changed from his usual training room, and instead of him training with the same few people, others had now joined.

You could feel how stressed he was, how afraid, and you hoped your presence helped him just a little.

You did your absolute best to scour the internet for whatever this place was, and then one day at twitter you stumbled upon it.

Kpop was nothing new to you, you had a few friends in your circle that were ARMY’s and when BTS joined for an episode on I-land, clips of those oh so familiar backgrounds were everywhere on your feed. And that’s when you found him.

You started the first episode and when he popped up on screen it was as if every memory you had forgotten whenever you woke came rushing back. It was almost as if you had opened a door in your mind that held the rest of information you knew about him.

He had told you about him being a trainee, of him wanting to debut, how he hoped it would lead you to him one way or another. He had sung to you in the grey clouds, and you had complimented him every time, you were in fact his biggest cheerleader and number one fan.

You cheered him on, voted for him and did your absolute best to make sure he succeeded with his dream.

That didn’t however stop you from having fun once in a while. You and your best friend had been wheezing when your presence was noticed not only by him but by the remaining boys, and you were suddenly not just his soulmate, but also the ghost of I-land.

After Jay debuted his whole world was turned on it’s head and he was from one day to another no longer just Jay, but Jay of Enhypen.

As proud as you were it also stung. You saw and heard how every woman around him talked about him, how people much more beautiful and successful than you all wished for him to be theirs.

He felt how you had distanced yourself, and he begged on his hands and knees that you would open up, but you never did.

There was a constant fear that he would find your jealousy and possessiveness of him off putting. But what you feared the most was that he would rather have you as a platonic friend instead of a romantic partner in his life.

You hated the feelings, hated that it all got to you. But how could it not? There was no guarantee with soulmates, you could choose to work on a relationship, but it wasn’t a given that it lasted. Some would turn out to be better friends with one another than they ever were partners.

Despite him showing you affection, despite him paying attention you couldn’t shut down those thoughts, they were all consuming.

What you didn’t know was that he too hated seeing how people around you reacted to your beauty and overall presence.

He knew you didn’t notice, you were just walking through the world blind to those who gawked after you on the street. Blind to the boys in the back of your classes as they fought one another to be the one to ask you as their date for a school dance.

There was no way in hell you would say yes if they asked, he had thought to himself.

So when one of them finally did muster up the courage, he smugly watched as you stumbled for the right words to let him down easy. Or so he thought.

You had looked over your shoulder and sighed, as you finally had said that one word: yes.

When Jay woke up he was fuming, and it was clear to everyone who lived with him that something had gone terribly wrong that night.

“Soooo…” Niki said as he took a sip of water in the kitchen, all while Jay was throwing around pots and pans, making enough noise to wake the entire block.

“Don’t poke the bear you idiot!” Sunghoon said before hiding behind a chair dramatically.

“What happened?” Sunoo asked as he gently rubbed his friends back in a soothing manner.

Jay had gone still at the motion, and they all watched him as his shoulders started to move. He was crying.

It lead to a chain reaction as they all formed a protective circle around him, a safe space for him to express his emotions.

“She’s going on a fucking date” he spat out the last word as if it had been poisonous.

“Wow, wow, wow… a date?” Heeseung said as he looked to the others for any kind of explanation. But they were all a mirrored image of his own surprise.

Jay took a deep breath. “Yeah, this low life of a so called ‘man’ asked her to a dance, and she said yes” he ran his hands through his hair a few times as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Dude that’s messed up” Jake said as he plopped down on a chair. Jay nodded in response.

“You have to talk to her” Jungwon said in that stern leader voice.

Jay smiled a sinister smile. “I honestly don’t even wanna see her”

Jungwon shrugged. “I don’t care, you’re not letting this misunderstanding ruin what the two of you have build”

“Who says it’s even a misunderstanding?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the kitchen counter.

“Uhhhh mom and dad are fighting” Niki said in an unserious and teasing tone. He was instantly shut up by the look his two hyungs sent his way. He raised his hands in surrender, earning a laugh from Sunghoon.

“The two of you have known each other for close to ten years, you know each other better than anyone. And from what you’ve told us about her, she is not one who hurts people for sport” Jungwon had too crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“He’s right Jay, you two are lucky you can even communicate, the rest of us have no idea who’s waiting for us, what they’re doing, if they’ve dated people or not. When it comes down to it, none of us have any claim on them” Heeseung echoed.

The rest of the boys both nodded and sighed at the oldest words. It was a harsh truth, one that hurt them all.

“Talk to her, stay up or take a nap or whatever it is that you do” Jake said with a somewhat reassuring smile.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Fine” he said before he skammer the door to his room.

He had stayed up all night until he felt you were finally there. He had been so tired he had fallen asleep within seconds.

“What the hell was that?!” He yelled as soon as you were in front of him.

You had stumbled back in shock. “W-what?” You asked with surprise over his anger.

“Why the hell did you agree to go out with that douche?”

He watched as you rolled your eyes in annoyance, and he had never been more annoyed, disappointed or mad at you.

“How are you surprised? We’re nothing to each other Jay! We’re basically stalkers appointed by the universe itself, we’re nowhere near one another for fuck sake!” You yelled at him, up until now you had never done that.

“I don’t understand any of this… how could…” he ran his hand over his face as he felt how his voice was close to breaking. He was heartbroken, and it was your fault.

“I know who you are okay, I’ve known since I-land. I follow you everywhere, I see the people who thirst over you, I see the young women who would die to be in my place, and honestly? I’m pretty sure you’d much rather be with one of them than with me…”

He saw your tears stream down your face as you admitted everything to him. He didn’t know you knew, he had seen no indicators whenever he was with you. But what he failed to understand was how you would think so little of yourself.

His hand grabbed yours and he pulled you into his chest. His other laid on your cheek as he forced your eyes to meet his.

“Listen to me carefully when I tell you this darling. I want no one, but you. Every moment I’m not here with you, a part of my soul, my heart, is missing. Don’t ever think that you’re not good enough, not beautiful enough. There is no one but you. I scan every crowd, every concert, every fanmeet for your face. It’s you or no one else”

You stared at him as the tears fell, he had managed to wipe away every insecurity in a matter of seconds.

He sent you a shy smile. “I love you darling, you and you alone . And trust me when I say I will continue to love you until the day I die”

You had pulled him into an embrace. “I love you too” you had whispered.

He still smiled when he woke up. You loved him, and he loved you.

“So, I’m taking everything went well?” Sunoo said as he stood in the door.

Jay sat up in the bed with a grin. “Yeah it did”

“Good” Sunoo said before he opened the door wide and his room was suddenly flooded with his brothers.

“She loves me” he said and was instantly knocked over as they all screamed and tackled him into the mattress.

“Of course she does” Jungwon said as he ruffled his hair.

“Thank you Won” he said as he pulled the younger one in for a hug.

“Any time”

“I’m coming” you said as your head was in his lap. You felt him freeze beneath you.

It had been almost a year since the two of you had said those three little words to one another, and hearing about both Jake and Jungwon finding their other half’s had been the last push you had needed to buy the plane ticket without a return date.

“Don’t lie to me” he whispered.

“I’m not, I’m currently on my way” you said with a small smile as your hand came into contact with his cheek.

“How am I going to find you?” Jay said as he leaned into your touch.

“I don’t know… I can’t tell you where to be, or even where I’ll be but don’t stay too much in the dorm or at work okay? Go out and search for me”

“Darling as I’ve said, I always search for you”

You smiled, you knew he was. Instead of telling him you had considered surprising him, and had he been any other man that might’ve been possible.

“I can’t wait” you said.

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Me too”

Jay did exactly as he had promised, he walked around the city, ate every meal outside the comforts of his home. He even attended some of their own lucky draws just to see if you were there.

As the days went by he became more and more desperate. It helped that you were now on the same sleeping schedule, the two of you had never spent this much time together. But he wanted you with him.

He sat by the Han river on a bench, as he tried to calm himself. Usually bodies of water had that effect on him, but it seemed that that wasn’t the case today.

He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. He closed his eyes as he let the sun warm his face. It was getting late, and soon it would be pitch black, but the golden hour was so beautiful from here.

In the corner of his eye he saw someone sit on the other end of the bench. Whoever they were, they too seemed smitten with the view and the golden colors.

“It’s beautiful” you said as you looked at him.

Jay gave you a small nod and polite smile in return, never taking the time to actually look your way. You laughed. “My love, look at me” you said and the sound of that laugh, of that voice finally made something click inside of his very soul.

He whipped his head your way so fast that he fell from the bench and onto the ground. You laughed, unable to figure out how to process all of these emotions.

“You… you’re here” he said in disbelief. Instead of pulling him up you sat down on the ground next to him.

His breaths were quick and shallow, his eyes were big in chok and despite the warm colors of the sun it almost looked like he had gone completely pale.

“Is this a dream?” He asked between breaths, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hear your answer by the frantic beating of his own heart.

He saw you smile at him, that wonderful wonderful smile. He took you in, all of you, he knew every little part of your face, of your hands of your body. But up until this exact second it was as if he couldn’t remember, as if the precise details had been lost in his memory. But now everything came back to him.

You reached out with your hand and he hesitantly took it, almost as if he was afraid that you would disappear if he made any sudden moves.

“You’re actually here?” He asked, and you nodded in response.

“Yeah. I’m actually here”

“Oh darling” he said as he pulled you as close to him as he physically could. The interaction reminded him of that first time he had had you in his arms. When the two of you had finally met in those grey clouds that were your mind. But this time you were actually here.

He could smell your shampoo and that sweet scent of vanilla from your perfume, he felt the heat from your hands where there usually were none, and the fast beating of your heart that matched his own so beautifully.

“I love you” three words he kept repeating, three words you repeated back to him over and over again.

He had both of his hands in your hair pulling you away from him to really look at you. “Gosh you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How did I get this lucky?”

“Just kiss me already you fool” you said with a flicker of your eye. God you would be the death of him.

He closed the distance between the two of you, and finally his lips met yours. He was gentle but you could feel the desperation, the need to claim you right then and there.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands snaked around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Your hands flew up into his hair as you combed through the soft locks, earning small whimpers from him.

You smiled at his reaction. Smiled into the kiss and felt how he did the same. “You’re never leaving my side ever again” he said before losing himself in you once more.

“Never” you echoed.

He rested his forehead against yours with closed eyes and you saw how a tear slid down his cheek. You made a little hum, and he looked at you with such love you thought you’d be able to write love songs about this, about him for the rest of your life.

You started to stand but he pulled you back to him. “Where do you think you’re going?” He said in a teasing tone.

“I was thinking now might be a good time to go home.”

Home, home with you. You did not have to tell him twice. The two of you stood and he pulled you close to him, a hand resting on the small of your back as you walked back to his car.

Everything around you looked as if it had been dipped in gold, even that bond inside your chest seemed to be the color that the sun painted the world in. It was singing, humming a tune more beautiful than anything you had ever heard, with exception of your soulmate's voice of course.

Your walk finally had a view, and you had never been happier than in this moment. But you knew there was much more happiness to come as the two of you embarked on this journey that would be the rest of your lives.

And when you fell asleep in each other's arms, only to meet each other in your dreams once more, the grey clouds had been substituted for golden ones. Just as they had been when you had met.

Taglist: @why4anne @juicygirl4life @azzy02 @bluxjun @why-did-i-just-do-this @elairah @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars

[jezebelblues]

(𝟏) 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆𐙚₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲? 𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬.

𝐂𝐖: 18+ SERIES! age gap unspecified but everyone is legal, allusions to smut (in this part), fem!reader, innocent!reader, slight angst, not proof read.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 8.7k

❏ this is kinda just an introductory to this 🤨 but this also me testing the waters to see what kind of response it gets. i tried to give it a little more substance instead of just making it controversially young gf smut. but lmk if u only care for the smut fr. aiming for this to be a 3 parter possibly if anyone actually reads. okay bye love u

(be patient with me i do not have a writing schedule D: it’s just vibes over here)

there were things in life that demanded to be named. not as a matter of understanding, but as an act of survival. temptation. desire. guilt. words so small they barely held the weight of the emotions they described. words that felt inadequate against the reality of their presence, sharp-edged and infinite. harry had spent years pretending these things were separate—different flavors, distinct experiences—but now, in the quiet spaces between reason and instinct, he realized they were one and the same.

desire wasn’t the sweet fruit hanging low on the tree, waiting for him to pluck it. it was a persistent root that had grown into his bones, twisting through his ribs, wrapping around his heart. temptation wasn’t the serpent in the garden; it was the soil itself, fertile and dark, daring him to plant something reckless.

thou mayest. the illusion of freedom wrapped in the guise of agency. it was a promise of autonomy that demanded surrender. harry turned the phrase over in his mind like a stone, rough against his palm, smooth on the other side. it sounded noble, to choose. to be good, even when depravity tasted sweeter. but to choose implied that choice was ever truly his.

the idea unsettled him. if the end was written, if he was meant to fall, then what purpose was there in resisting? if the flame was always there, waiting for the moth, could he be blamed for burning?

but harry frowned at the notion, rejecting it like the apple beginning to rot. to believe it was inevitable was to strip himself of accountability. it was to call it fate instead of what it really was—a weakness he didn’t want to name aloud.

yet even as he denied inevitability, he could feel it breathing down his neck. the soft pull of gravity every time her eyes met his, wide and unguarded. her sweetness wasn’t like the syrupy fiction he had always known, too thick to be real. it was raw, unpolished, pure in its lack of pretense. he wanted to protect it, to shelter it, but how could he when his hands itched to touch it, to ruin it, to mark it as his?

guilt and desire were two sides of the same coin he couldn’t stop flipping. the choices felt infinite and yet singular, converging on her—the catalyst, the temptation, the embodiment of his undoing.

he tried not to touch her, not to look too long, but the world conspired against him. his name on her lips sounded like an offering. her laughter felt like a secret. the way she walked, talked, breathed—it all felt intentional, even though he knew it wasn’t. she was innocent of his thoughts. she had no idea the storm she brought to life in him.

and maybe that’s what made her so dangerous. because he had spent years building walls, convincing himself that control was his greatest virtue. but her presence felt like water—slowly eroding the stone, finding its way into the cracks he didn’t know existed.

he wanted to believe he had a choice. that he could walk away, untouched, untempted. but every step closer to her felt like destiny disguised as coincidence. her smile was a trap, but it was one he wanted to fall into, knowing full well there would be no escape.

harry thought of the apple in the garden. the lie it told about choice. the way it beckoned, its skin gleaming with the promise of sweetness. but the truth was, it wasn’t the apple that made him fall. it was the hunger that had always lived inside him.

thou mayest. the words tasted bitter now. because in the end, he knew he wouldn’t choose. he would only follow.

and maybe, he thought, that was its own kind of freedom.

— BOSTON

there were a thousand ways to love someone.

it wasn’t a single language. it was a mosaic of dialects, some of which he spoke fluently, others he fumbled through, and some he would never master. it came to him in whispers, in roaring applause, in soft apologies spoken under foreign moons. love, in its rawest forms, could be a sonnet sung aloud or the silence between breaths. it could bloom in the mundane, sprouting like ivy through the cracks of familiarity. but it could also unravel—untethered and wild—until it swallowed everything else whole.

now, though, it felt like a question he didn't know how to answer.

he had known it to be beautiful once, grand and uncompromising, like a symphony crashing through the walls of his chest. but now? now it felt softer, quieter. less a roar and more a whisper in the back of his mind, laced with something he couldn’t quite place.

april on the east coast was no season for romance. it was damp with promise, hesitant in its thaw. the skies hung low with slate-colored clouds, heavy but refusing rain, and the mornings were gray and cold enough to bite. it wasn’t exactly the kind of spring that painted postcards, but it had its own charm—the kind of charm that settled not in sight, but in sound. in the low hum of city life, the rush of trains cutting through tunnels, the steady rhythm of days repeating themselves.

this time, though, harry was restless.

juniper had left with a kiss on his cheek and a laugh in her voice, her belly round with new beginnings, her flight booked to london. “don’t let it go to your head,” she’d teased, pointing a playful finger at him. “just because you’re losing me doesn’t mean you’ll fall apart.”

he hadn’t fallen apart. not exactly.

but the void she left behind was wide, even if temporary, and it was her replacement who filled it.

YN arrived on a wednesday.

he had two days before the show. no real obligations until then, aside from this—meeting his new hair and makeup artist, seeing if she knew what she was doing before she had to work on him before a live performance.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door to his dressing room.

she was already there.

he paused for a fraction of a second, not expecting to see her yet. she stood near the vanity, back straight, hands clasped together in front of her, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. on the counter beside her was a cup—one of those paper to-go cups, the kind that came from some overpriced café.

she turned when he entered, eyes widening slightly before she offered a small, polite smile.

“hi.” her voice was soft, a little hesitant. “i’m YN.”

he took a few steps inside, nodding once. “harry.”

she nodded back, exhaling quickly, like she was trying to steady herself. then, she gestured toward the cup.

“i got you a latte,” she started. “i—i wasn’t sure what you usually drink, but i thought it might be nice. to—y’know. start off on the right foot.”

he glanced at the cup, then at her.

she was nervous. he could see it in the way she shifted her weight slightly, in the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

it was a nice thought.

but he hadn’t touched dairy in years.

he didn’t say that, though. didn’t want to embarrass her. instead, he just gave her a small, appreciative nod.

he reached for it, offering a gentle smile. “thanks.”

she looked relieved when he took it, her smile relaxing a little.

harry held the cup, feeling the warmth of it against his palm. he could smell it, the sweetness of whatever syrup she’d probably had them put in. vanilla, maybe. something soft.

he set it down on the vanity without taking a sip.

YN didn’t seem to notice, already turning to grab her kit.

“so,” she breathed, glancing at him as she unzipped it, “juniper gave me some notes on what you like. she said you prefer a really natural look.”

harry nodded, lowering himself into the chair. “yeah. don’t like when it feels too heavy.”

“got it,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, before pulling out a few brushes.

he watched her in the mirror as she worked, as she moved with careful, practiced hands.

she was quiet at first, focused. then, after a minute, she glanced at him.

“have you always done your own hair?”

he blinked, caught slightly off guard. “what?”

“your hair,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly through the strands. “juniper said you’re pretty particular about it. that you usually style it yourself.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah.”

she smiled a little, just a flicker, before returning her focus to her work.

harry swallowed.

this was fine.

just a job.

just another day before a show.

but the latte sat untouched on the counter, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

harry had a feeling she’d linger with it.

there was just something about her, something that felt unguarded. almost naive.

she wasn’t, not entirely—he learned that quickly. she had edges, sharp ones when needed, but she wielded them sparingly. the rest of the time, she was all soft hands and big eyes, a honeyed warmth that seeped into everything she touched.

and harry?

harry was careful not to touch her at all.

there was a distance he liked to keep, a careful line between himself and everyone else. not because he didn’t care—he cared more than he’d admit—but because he knew what could happen when he let someone too close.

still, she had a way of leaning past those lines. not intentionally, but like ivy, like roots. like something that simply grew.

by the time april had given way to may, harry found himself watching her more than he should.

she hummed when she worked, soft melodies that floated through the room like ghosts of songs she couldn’t name. she wrote everything down in a little notebook, scribbling furiously with a pen that always seemed to run out of ink at the worst times.

he’d caught her once, shaking it with a frustrated pout, her lips pressed together in concentration.

“you alright there?” he’d asked, the words slipping out before he could think better of it.

she’d blinked up at him, startled, and then laughed, “another losing battle with this pen.”

“you have t’tap it against your forehead twice.” he’d replied, biting back a smile.

her eyebrows furrowed, but she did it anyway—lightly tapping the clicky part against her head, glancing at harry before trying to write again.

of course it didn’t work. he was just messing with her—wanted to see if she fell for it, wanted to see if she’d listen.

it was easy to fall into moments like that with her.

too easy.

thou mayest. a soft hand offering an apple, a question left unanswered. but he had his own questions, ones that wrapped themselves around his throat and refused to let go.

there were a thousand ways to love someone, and harry had spent his life learning only a fraction of them. though sometimes he wondered if he’d been learning them for her.

— EDINBURGH

he had always thought of temptation as a slow build, like the simmering heat of a kettle left on the stove, a soft whistle at first that could grow into a shrieking insistence if ignored too long. but that night, in the quiet sprawl of his hotel suite, it didn’t simmer. it coiled.

the city welcomed them with a gray drizzle and jet lag that stuck to the skin like damp clothes. the flight over had been long, hours stretched taut over time zones and turbulence, and by the time he made it to the room, he wanted nothing more than to shed the weight of travel.

his suitcase lay half-open on the floor, a quiet surrender to the fatigue he couldn’t shake. a glass of water sat on the bedside table, untouched, condensation pooling beneath it. harry stretched out on the mattress, arms behind his head, eyes closed but nowhere near sleep. the city murmured beyond the window—a muted symphony of car horns and distant voices—and he let it play in the background.

his phone buzzed.

yn: did you get back to the hotel okay?

he smiled faintly at the screen, her name like a flame too warm to look at directly. his fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he responded.

harry: all 10 fingers and toes. safe and sound.

harry: you get back okay?

the reply came almost instantly, her eagerness spilling into the space between them.

yn: mhmmm. i’m just brainstorming a few ideas for upcoming shows :) if you give me a penny, i’ll give you my thoughts.

a laugh huffed through his nose.

harry: consider a penny given, then.

he settled deeper into the bed, phone balanced in his hand as he waited. the seconds stretched into minutes, the screen dimming twice before the vibration returned. when it did, it wasn’t just one text, but a cascade—a waterfall of thoughts so uniquely hers that he could almost hear her voice speaking them aloud.

it was color theory, ideas layered with excitement, messily typed but earnest. how the blues of certain lighting might dull the warmth of his skin, or how curls framing his face might draw more focus to his eyes.

yn: does that make sense?

he hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

harry: absolutely. honored to work with such talent.

her suggestions were good—better than good, really. but it wasn’t the content that had his heart pacing against the walls of his chest. it was the way she thought of him in terms of details. the curve of his hair, the way light caught in his eyes. how she looked at him as if he were something to be fine-tuned, polished, perfected.

he set the phone down, staring at the darkened ceiling.

it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, the pull of her presence. she had a way of moving through spaces as though she belonged in all of them. she was sharp where it mattered and soft everywhere else, a tangle of contradictions that didn’t feel contradictory at all.

he wasn’t blind to it, either—the closeness, the fleeting touches she didn’t seem to think twice about, the way her laughter lingered in rooms after she left them.

and yet, he couldn’t let himself fall. not into this.

his hand twitched toward the phone again. temptation was a voice now, low and insistent, curling in his gut. he thought of her in her room, probably cross-legged on the bed with her notebook splayed open and a pencil tucked behind her ear, her face alight with whatever new idea had struck her.

she was likely still wearing the hoodie from the plane, the one she had pulled over her knees to keep warm. she had smiled at him through the terminal, soft and shy, a blush touching her cheeks as she said goodnight.

his phone buzzed again.

yn: i think the messy curls could make your eyes look softer. i’m rambling, sorry! just a thought :)

it wasn’t fair, really. the way she existed so effortlessly, the way she lingered in his mind long after she’d left the room.

but temptation had a thousand faces, and tonight, it wore hers.

harry: never stop rambling.

— GLASGOW

it felt colder than it should have for may. the overcast sky hung low, gray and swollen, threatening rain that would inevitably come. harry didn’t mind it, though—he liked how the cold made his skin prickle, how it made the air feel cleaner when he breathed it in. but more than that, he liked how it kept everyone huddled indoors, tucked into the warmth of the stadium where soundchecks were already underway.

YN was perched on a stool near the mirrors, her knees pulled up just enough to keep her feet from dangling. she had been quiet all morning, focused, her delicate fingers meticulously painting tiny daisies onto the nail of his pinky.

“some steady hands there.”

she glanced up at him, and for a moment, her cheeks burned pink. “i have to. can’t mess up, right?”

“you could,” he mumbled, leaning forward slightly, his tone teasing. “might not mind.”

her lips twitched, barely concealing a smile, but she quickly ducked her head back down, letting her hair fall into her face like a curtain. it was something she did often, he noticed, as if she were hiding—not just from him but from something bigger.

he didn’t press. not yet.

“what color’s next?” he asked, tilting his head to look at the neat little bottles lined up on the counter.

“yellow,” she replied softly. “you said you wanted bright.”

“a sunshine yellow, then.” he watched her carefully as she reached for the polish, her fingers trembling ever so slightly before she steadied them again. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

her hand froze midair, and he swore he saw her breath hitch. she looked up at him then, her wide eyes meeting his, and he felt it again—that pull.

“what?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re sweet,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest of smirks. “makes me wonder if anyone’s ever told you that before.”

she blinked, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a moth caught too close to a flame. “i–i don’t know.”

his smile deepened, but there was no malice in it, only warmth. “well, you are. just thought you should know.”

YN turned her attention back to his nails, her head bowed so low now he could only see the crown of it. the pink flush on her cheeks had deepened, spreading to the tips of her ears.

he liked that. he liked how easily she reacted to him, how her softness made him feel like he could step closer without shattering her completely. but he also hated it, hated how it clawed at his resolve, making him forget all the reasons he’d told himself to stay away.

when she finished the daisies, she leaned back, examining her work with a satisfied little nod. “done.”

“you’re sure?” he asked, lifting his hand and turning it this way and that, letting the light catch the glossy polish.

“positive.”

“looks perfect,” he said, though this time he wasn’t teasing. “thank you.”

her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say.

before she could speak, the sharp click of the dressing room door broke the moment, and jeff stuck his head inside.

“five minutes, harry,” he called, already looking at his phone as he spoke. “got people waiting.”

he nodded, his expression unchanged, though the moment felt heavier now, disrupted by the intrusion. “right. cheers.”

jeff disappeared again, the door clicking shut behind him.

he stood, stretching his arms above his head, and caught the way YN watched him out of the corner of her eye before quickly looking away.

“i’ll get you something from the vending machine.” he mentioned casually, already fishing into his pocket for his wallet.

her head snapped up. “you don’t have to—”

“hush,” he interrupted, grinning now. he stepped closer, reaching for her hand, and put four quarters into her palm. “you’ll need this. unless y’plan on charming the machine into spitting one out for free.”

her fingers curled around the coins, and she blinked up at him, her lips parting as if to argue. but she didn’t. instead, she offered him a soft, grateful smile.

“thank you.”

he only hummed as she slipped the quarters into her pocket and hopped off the stool, glancing at him one last time before heading for the door. when she was gone, the room felt too still, the faint trace of her perfume lingering like an echo.

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. his nails gleamed in the fluorescent light, the little daisies smiling up at him like they knew something he didn’t.

meanwhile, the vending machines would glow faintly at the far end of the hallway, their soft hum breaking the quiet. YN shuffled closer, her shoes padding lightly against the concrete floor.

but the faint creak of a door opening behind her made her pause, her head turning toward the sound.

he was there again, stepping into the hallway and heading the opposite direction.

harry moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that made it seem like the space around him belonged to him and him alone. his legs carried him in long strides, the sharp crimson of his trousers catching the dull overhead lights with every step. the matching red suspenders hung loose, swinging lazily at his sides, as though he’d been interrupted mid-motion while shrugging them up.

his shirt was unassuming—blue and striped, halfheartedly buttoned. the fabric clung to the broad line of his shoulders before softening at his waist, tucked neatly into his trousers. the buttons stopped low, of course, just enough to reveal the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing stretch of bare skin below.

YN’s eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the slope of his jaw, the faint stubble along his chin, the way the fabric shifted across his back when he moved. it was unfair, really, how tall he seemed here, how he could fill even the emptiest hallway with his presence.

he hadn’t noticed her yet. his head was down, focused, his mouth pressed into a line of mild concentration. whatever jeff had needed him for was probably important, judging by the speed of his stride.

but then, as though he’d sensed it, he looked up.

their eyes met briefly—just a flicker, but it was enough.

harry’s pace slowed for a fraction of a second, his brows lifting in faint recognition as his gaze settled on her. he didn’t smile, not fully, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he might’ve.

YN felt her stomach twist, that now-familiar warmth creeping up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. she wasn’t sure why she felt caught, like she’d been caught looking when she hadn’t meant to.

“get your cola yet?” his voice carried down the hall.

she managed to shake her head, “not yet.”

“better hurry, then,” he nodded toward her, resuming his stride. “press’ll be crawling through soon.”

he didn’t wait for her response, his figure already retreating, his strides long and effortless as he disappeared around the corner.

YN let out a slow, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers unclenching one by one. she glanced down at the quarters in her palm, their edges pressing faint imprints into her skin.

when she turned back to the vending machines, the glow seemed a little brighter, the hum a little louder, but the air in the hallway still felt heavy. she slid the coins into the slot one at a time, their metallic clinks echoing in her ears, and pressed the button for a coke.

her fingers closed around the bottle, and for a moment, she stood there, staring at the blurred reflection of herself in the machine’s plexiglass. her cheeks were still flushed, her heartbeat uneven—only harry could manage such a reaction without even doing anything.

he wasn’t even looking, she thought, shaking her head as she straightened up. he wasn’t even looking anymore. but it didn’t matter, not really. her stomach still fluttered like it always did.

she kept herself busy while harry was off handling whatever jeff had thrown his way. it was easy, most days—finding small things to do in the dressing room, small tasks that helped settle the nervous energy she always seemed to carry.

she tucked loose bits of makeup back into their designated compartments, straightened the mess of brushes and bottles that had accumulated along the counters. the quiet helped, too, though she occasionally paused, distracted by the faint voices coming from the small television mounted on the wall.

the scottish accents were thick and lilting, pulling her attention away entirely when she let herself linger too long. she’d tilt her head toward the screen, catching snippets of an old comedy show she didn’t recognize, before shaking herself out of it and returning to her task.

her coke was still cold against her palm, condensation slicking the skin of her fingers as she took small, absentminded sips. but when she ran out of things to tidy, out of ways to fill the silence, she left the dressing room, wandering through the backstage halls.

this was a habit of hers, especially in new places. she liked exploring, even if the halls all tended to look the same—narrow and gray, the faint hum of activity reverberating off the walls.

voices carried from somewhere distant, bouncing in ways that made it impossible to pinpoint their origin. she walked slowly, her free arm occasionally brushing against the rough cinderblock walls.

then she stopped.

her eyes caught on something hung up on the wall—a plaque with a faded photo and an inscription below it. she stepped closer, squinting to make out the worn text, her head tilting slightly as she read. it must’ve been a gift to the stadium years ago, a relic from a time before she was even born.

the faint hum of voices seemed to grow louder as she stared, but she didn’t move. her thoughts wandered as she read the plaque’s history, the drink cool in her hand, her sneakers shifting on concrete like she couldn’t bear to stand still.

but after a beat, she decided she’d seen enough.

she spun on her heel, ready to continue her aimless walk, but she bumped into something solid before she even realized she wasn’t alone.

“oh!” she gasped softly, jerking back slightly, enough to regain balance.

it wasn’t just something solid—it was someone.

harry.

his hand brushed against her shoulder instinctively, steadying her with a light touch that felt more deliberate than it probably was. he let out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced down at her.

“didn’t see y’there, sweetheart.”

the word hit her square in the chest—not the casual murmur of her name he usually used but something gentler, more pointed. he rarely called her that, maybe once every few days at most, and it always left her struggling to figure out if he meant anything by it.

she blinked up at him, still flustered, her heart kicking up in her ribs as she took a step back. he towered over her, as always, broad and imposing in such a narrow place. the suspenders she’d seen earlier were in place now, stretched over his shoulders, accentuating the sharp lines of his frame. and even though she’d only finished fixing his hair a short while ago, it already looked tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it more than once.

her cheeks heated, but she smiled anyway, nodding toward the plaque on the wall in an effort to distract herself. “was lookin’ at this.”

he followed her line of sight, the faint curve of his mouth lingering as he took a moment to glance it over. “from the old firm game,” he muttered, “back in ‘39.”

“oh.” she breathed, her eyes darting between him and the plaque.

“not to be confused with the old firm of ‘71,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at her fully.

YN’s eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head, trying to place the significance.

he leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing hers lightly as he continued, “–where a bunch of people died.”

the words were said so casually that it took a second for them to register, and by the time they did, he was already walking off.

she gasped, following after him, “what do you mean?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “people died here?”

he glanced back at her briefly, his expression unreadable, though his lips still carried the faintest hint of amusement. “mm-hmm.”

“well…what happened?” she pressed, quickening her pace to match his.

instead of answering, he slowed just enough to turn toward her, his hand reaching out with an ease that made her breath catch. without a word, he plucked the coke from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for the tiniest moment before he raised it to his lips.

“stadium disaster,” he said finally, his voice calm, ending with the quietest of sighs from his swallow.

he handed the bottle back to her with the same ease, his fingers grazing hers again as the cool glass settled back into her hand.

“that’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “just stadium disaster? that’s all you’re giving me?”

he glanced down at her, “you’ve got a phone, haven’t you?”

“well…” she paused, the faintest of frowns on her lips, “you can’t just drop a bomb on me ‘nd walk away.”

he chuckled, pushing open the door leading back toward another corridor. “can’t i?”

YN opened her mouth to argue, but the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her standing there in the middle of the hallway.

she frowned further, tipping the bottle back to finish the last swallow before tossing it into the recycling bin with a soft clink. without much thought, her feet carried her toward the door he had disappeared through, her curiosity prickling like static under her skin.

it wasn’t that the news upset her, though the thought of people dying here was unsettling, sure. it was more that this stadium—the one they were standing in right now, bustling with life and noise—had that kind of history to it. stadium disaster. how vague. it wasn’t much to go on, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t quite tamp down.

was it safe for harry to perform here? was it haunted, for god’s sake? and how did he know about it so casually, like it was the kind of trivia everyone carried around in their back pocket? was it some bit of history he’d picked up while preparing for the tour? or—she glanced down the hall, chewing her lip—was he just messing with her?

she pushed through another set of doors, the muffled hum of activity on the other side growing louder as it swung shut behind her. the hallway was wider here, brighter, with distant voices overlapping in a way that made it hard to pinpoint where they came from.

her eyes scanned the space ahead, searching for that familiar figure. he wasn’t hard to spot—tall and broad, the opposite of waldo.

“harry! wait, please!”

he slowed, turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. he smiled when he saw her, but he didn’t stop walking.

she huffed, her stride quickening against the floor as she caught up to him.

“s’not fair to tell me something crazy like that and leave me behind.”she mumbled, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

“like what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he glanced down at her.

“stadium disaster,” she repeated, rolling the words on her tongue like they didn’t make sense. “what does that even mean?”

he shrugged, his steps slowing slightly to match hers. “means what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

“but thats not really an answer, though.”

he stopped then, turning to face her fully, and the sudden weight of his attention made her heart stutter.

“happened after a football match,” he said, his tone even, almost conversational. “old firm derby. too many people trying to leave at once—crush at the exit. sixty-six dead.”

“sixty-six.” she echoed.

he nodded, his expression steady, though his eyes softened slightly when they met hers.

“and…they still use the stadium?”

“course they do.” he shrugged again, slipping his hands into his pockets. “was decades ago. fixed it up after.”

“but how do you know all that?”

his lips twitched, just slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish. “read about it some time ago. thought it was interesting.”

“interesting.” she mocked, shaking her head, though her lips curved faintly into a smile.

“don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “you asked.”

she let out a soft huff, though the faint smile still tugging at her lips betrayed her. before she could think of a retort, harry turned and began walking again, and she followed, of course.

his casual indifference to the conversation left her buzzing with curiosity. she hesitated for a moment before blurting, “do you believe in ghosts?”

“ghosts?”

“yeah,” she nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “you said all those people died here. i don’t know—places like that feel like they’d…hold on to something, don’t you think?”

his lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something thoughtful. “you think this place is haunted?”

she shrugged, looking ahead instead of at him. “maybe. you don’t?”

“not really.” he said simply, his tone light but firm. “don’t reckon i’ve seen enough to believe in all that.”

she frowned, glancing up at him again. “you’ve never had anything weird happen? not even on tour?”

“plenty of weird happens on tour,” he said with a low chuckle, his hand briefly brushing the suspenders at his chest as though adjusting them. “but nothing spooky. unless you count jeff turning into a ghost every time i ask him to sort something out.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. “that doesn’t count, harry.”

“then no,” he replied, his voice calm but edged with amusement. “can’t say i’ve had the pleasure of being haunted. you?”

her smile faltered, her gaze dipping to the ground for a moment. “no, but…i don’t know. places like this make me wonder.”

he hummed low in his throat, tilting his head as if considering her words. “like we’re all just leaving little bits of ourselves behind.”

“yeah,” she said softly, nodding. “something like that.”

they lingered in the doorway, YN a bit unsure whether to turn back toward the dressing rooms or find something else to preoccupy herself with. this was where harry was supposed to disappear, where their brief exchange would end, and where she’d return to her usual wandering.

but he didn’t move just yet. instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. the motion was slow, his rings glinting faintly beneath the fluorescents.

“you haven’t eaten today?” he asked, though the tone of his voice wasn’t really a question. it was low and steady, more like a statement.

her lips pursed slightly as she tilted her head, giving the question more thought than she probably needed to.

“mm,” she hummed, narrowing her eyes playfully as if she were weighing the truth. “no—yes!” she corrected herself quickly, a sheepish smile breaking across her face. “yes. i had breakfast and a snack earlier.”

his lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he were fighting the urge to smile. he didn’t say anything right away, just kept his eyes on her.

then, without a word, he pulled two twenties from his wallet, “here.”

YN blinked again, her eyes flicking between the money and his face, confusion blooming across her features. “what? no, harry, i can’t—”

“take it,” he interrupted gently, his voice soft but firm. “go get something decent. don’t let mitch con you into eating crisps f’dinner again.”

she hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“seriously,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his mouth now. “you’ll be doing me a favor. don’t want you passing out on me, yeah?”

her cheeks flushed slightly at his words, but after another beat of hesitation, she finally reached out and took the money, her fingers brushing against his briefly as she did.

“thank you…again.”

he only hummed, shrugging his shoulders casually—as if he didn’t just hand her forty bucks for a measly lunch.

and then, just as she thought he might disappear into the room ahead, he glanced at her again, his green eyes steady and bright under the harsh lights.

“don’t wander too far.”

she smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around the money. “i won’t.”

— COVENTRY

her hands were slowly starting to become his favorite greeting.

the way they moved with a gentle rhythm, purposeful but soft, like they carried a melody he couldn’t quite place. it was the third week of the european leg, the air damp with the kind of lingering rain that clung to the skin and made hair curl at the edges. backstage was bustling, but in the quiet moments, when she flitted around him with a quiet focus, all harry could see were her hands.

small, unadorned, sweet.

she was touching up his face, her thumb dragging gently beneath his eye to smooth out a smudge. her breath smelled faintly of spearmint and the watermelon candy she had earlier. her eyes stayed fixed on the task, as if this moment was just another stitch in the fabric of her day. but for harry, it was a tear in the cloth.

she was too close. he could see the faintest sheen of her skin under the lights, the curve of her neck, the way her collarbones shifted as she moved.

lust wasn’t a stranger to him. it had been loud before, all-consuming. but this was different. this was quieter, heavier. something he was trying to smother, yet it refused to die.

he went cold that day. avoided her gaze, clenched his jaw, kept his hands tucked into his pockets like they might betray him.

but it only made her more thoughtful.

he saw her the next morning, her hair clipped loosely at the back of her head, strands falling lazily like they’d escaped on purpose. the change was subtle, but in the way she crafted herself into something sharper, more focused. the clipped hair gave him an undisturbed view of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the delicate slope of her shoulders.

he was undone.

a thousand images pressed against his mind, unwanted but insistent—his hands spanning the column of her throat, bruises painted like watercolored violets blooming along her collarbones—an evidence of his claim—the curve of her jaw tipped back as she let out a sound meant only for him.

harry forced himself to retreat again.

she thought it was her breath next.

he noticed how she chewed bright green gum in a way that drove him mad, like it was an absent habit, the piece of gum rolling in slow movements. sometimes her tongue would peek past her lips as though she were about to blow a bubble but stopped halfway through.

harry had to sit down once after that, shaking his head like he could dislodge the thoughts from his skull. he thought of how her pretty lips would look wrapped around his cock. he could almost feel it—the warmth, the wetness, the sound. he wondered if she’d be as quiet as she usually was, or if she’d scream his name loud enough for the entire stadium to be reminded of who they’re here to see.

and now, she was kneeling by his side backstage, her fingers curling into the hem of his trousers to fix the cuff.

she smiled softly as she worked, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the briefest moment.

“you’ll trip over these on stage if they aren’t fixed.”

he swallowed thickly, nodding, unable to form words. the thought of her on her knees, innocent and sweet, flooded his mind like a storm surge.

“there.” she sat back on her heels, her hands brushing against his ankles as she admired her work.

he looked at her, bathed in the golden backstage light, her hair still clipped back, her lips parted slightly as if waiting for his approval.

he clenched his fists.

the flow of time bent around her, her presence a rippling disturbance in the current.

harry shifted abruptly, muttering something about needing to check on mitch, and left the room without looking back.

— MANCHESTER

the hotel was hushed, its grandeur dimmed by the evening hour. soft light spilled from sconces along the walls, pooling against polished floors, while the faint hum of distant conversation echoed through the lobby. most of the crew had disappeared within minutes, doors clicking shut as they vanished into their respective rooms, leaving the space cavernous and still.

but not harry. and not YN.

her room wasn’t ready yet—something about cleaning and turnaround, an oversight that had left her standing at the front desk with an apologetic smile and her suitcase at her side.

“shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” the clerk had assured her, but YN had waved it off, her soft it’s fine laced with the kind of understanding that always made harry’s chest tighten.

instead of heading to his own room, he had lingered. he didn’t know why, or perhaps he did and simply didn’t want to acknowledge it. either way, he found himself sitting in a low-slung armchair in the lounge just off the lobby, the soft leather cool beneath his hands as he leaned back and stretched his legs out.

she sat across from him, perched delicately on the edge of a matching chair, her fingers fidgeting idly with the zipper of her bag.

his eyes flicked to her now and then, his eyes catching on the faint curve of her profile, the way her shoulders lifted slightly when she let out a quiet sigh. she didn’t seem restless, exactly—just waiting.

the room was sparsely furnished, its decor understated but rich. in the far corners, small tables stood with chessboards carved into their surfaces, their pieces arranged neatly in expectation.

it was YN who noticed them first, her head tilting slightly as her gaze lingered on the nearest table. after a moment, she rose from her chair, her movements unhurried as she approached the board. her fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the table, tracing the grooves of the squares as if testing their texture.

harry watched her from his seat, his elbow resting on the armrest as his hand brushed over his jaw.

“do you play?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but carrying across the quiet room.

he smiled as he stood, unfolding himself from the chair with an ease that made the movement seem almost languid, and crossed the room to join her.

“a bit.”

“teach me?”

he nodded, pulling out a chair for her. “sit, then.”

he sat across from her after she settled, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table as she watched him reach for the pieces.

his hands moved with practiced ease, his rings catching the light as he adjusted the arrangement of the board. his fingers brushed against hers briefly when she leaned forward to help.

“these are pawns,” he said, his voice steady as he pointed to the row of small pieces. “move one square forward, except on the first turn—then it can be two.”

she nodded, her brows furrowing slightly as she leaned closer, her eyes following the path of his hand. his voice was calm, measured, and she found herself drawn to the rhythm of it, the way he spoke as if the game were a story he was unfolding just for her.

“bishops go diagonally,” he continued, sliding one across the board with a smooth motion. “rooks in straight lines. knights—well, they’re tricky. they move in an L shape.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she watched him demonstrate, the pieces clicking softly against the board.

“like this,” harry muttered, his fingers brushing against hers again as he nudged her hand toward the knight.

her breath caught faintly, though she didn’t pull away. instead, she let her fingers linger, her eyes flicking up to meet his for a brief, unguarded moment.

“got it?”

she nodded, her throat tightening as she swallowed the knot that had risen there.

“show me.” he encouraged, leaning back slightly but keeping his gaze steady on her. “go ahead.”

she hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the pawn in front of her as her concentration shifted onto harry—focusing on the way his hips bucked as he tried to get comfortable in his seat, the way his thighs spread apart, wide enough that his knees brushed against the legs of the table.

and it’s like he knew the reason why her cheeks flushed. he was still leaned back, his hands folded and resting against his belly as he watched her. just watched. his breathing was even, the tip of his tongue sliding between his lips as they part.

“you stuck?”

her eyes immediately snap back to the pawn. “no,” she murmured before she slid it forward.

the game moved slowly, each turn deliberate as he guided her through the motions. his voice stayed calm, patient, though the weight of his presence felt anything but.

she leaned forward more as the game progressed, her elbows resting on the table as she studied the board. harry mirrored her unconsciously, the space between them narrowing with every move.

her laughter broke the quiet at one point, soft and sweet, when her knight moved in the wrong direction and harry teased her gently about it. the sound lingered in the air, threading itself into the quiet like a melody, and harry found himself smiling despite the tension coiling in his chest.

she hesitated, her fingers hovering over a bishop as she tried to map out her next move. YN glanced up at him briefly, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and quickly looked away.

“what?”

“nothing.” harry replied easily, though his smirk deepened.

“you’re doing that thing,” she said, her lips curving into a small pout.

“what thing?”

“that thing,” she repeated, her hand gesturing vaguely toward him. “the… i-know-something-you-don’t thing.”

he huffed a low laugh, shaking his head slightly. “m’not doing anything.”

her pout deepened, but she turned her focus back to the board. she moved her bishop with careful precision, setting it in place with a soft click before leaning back slightly, a triumphant smile blooming on her face.

“checkmate!”

he didn’t move at first. he simply blinked at the board, his lips twitching faintly as he leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table.

“is it now?”

YN’s smile faltered, her confidence wavering as she glanced back at the board, her eyes flicking over the pieces. she felt him lean closer, his presence warm and steady, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the space between them.

“you’ve got my king in a corner,” he muttered, his tone calm but edged with something almost teasing. “but…”

harry’s hand moved then, adjusting one of his knights. the piece landed with a firm click, the move clean and calculated.

“check.”

YN stared at the board, her lips parting slightly as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“but—” she started, her voice trailing off as her eyes darted between the pieces.

he leaned back again, his smirk returning as he watched her. “close, though.”

her cheeks flushed, the warmth spreading up her neck as she let out a soft huff, her gaze dropping to the table. “thought i had it.”

he shrugged, already starting to put the pieces in its original places. “almost, sweetheart.” he breathed, eyes fixed on checkerboards of black and white. “s’just a part of learning, hm?”

she glanced up at him then, her eyes wide and uncertain, and he held her gaze for a moment longer than he should have.

before she could respond, the faint hum of footsteps drew their attention toward the desk. the clerk from earlier stood there, holding out a small keycard.

"miss YN?"

she blinked, startled for a moment before realizing what it meant. her room was ready.

he stood first, his movements unhurried as he straightened, his presence still commanding even in the small act of standing. he turned toward her, his hand brushing briefly against the back of her chair as he gestured toward the desk.

"guess that's your cue.”

she hesitated, glancing back at the chessboard, its pieces nearly in their original places, before rising to her feet. she smoothed her hands over her pants, her eyes flicking to his.

"thanks for staying with me.”

he nodded toward her, a small smile on his lips. “anytime.”

too close to the sun, he thought.

but god, wouldn’t she be worth falling for?

[demonic0angel]

I found this from one of the accs I follow but I just want to know if you can make a small prompt with it :DD

https://www.tumblr.com/cookiesnotd3ad/775458923428904960/could-never-agree-more?source=share

(LMFAO)

Dick's eye had somehow gained a twitch that he could not suppress.

He took a deep breath.

"So you're telling me... that in the time I was gone, Jason got married, Cass somehow gained the favor of a death god, Tim is suddenly polyamorous, and Damian has now adopted ghosts for pets?!?!???"

All of his siblings and not-siblings looked at each other. Then they mumbled some confirmations. Jason was the only one who didn't look ashamed, proudly displaying his gold ring as he said smugly, "Yep."

Tim spoke up then, "I'm not really suddenly polyamorous. Me and Young Justice have been in an open relationship for a few years now."

Nightwing's eye twitched again. Cass took a wary step back from him.

"Does anyone else have something they want to tell me?" He said, his fists clenching tight enough to creak.

One week.

One week!

He had only left Gotham for one week and already, he felt like he was having heart attacks from his siblings' craziness! If this continued, he was pretty sure that his lucious hair was going to go gray!

Why, oh why was he the older sibling?!

Steph raised her hand. "I'm dating the journalist that makes conspiracy theories about us."

Dick stared at her.

"The one who correctly deduced all of our identities except yours because you're not adopted?"

Steph gulped. Then she said, "Well, Jason married the new psychiatrist who works in Arkham!"

"And I'm proud of it, dammit!" Jason cried.

Dick closed his eyes. Then he turned to pluck Damian off of his feet, pulling him close in a hug before he then pointed at the stairs leading away from the Batcave.

"Get out of my sight."

They all wisely scrambled, except Damian, who pouted as he was being used as an emotional support animal.

"Why me?" Dick complained, hugging Damian as he whined. "I didn't do anything! Why do my siblings have to make stupid choices that I have to suffer through? Why do I suddenly have a sister-in-law too?"

Damian made grabby hands at one of the strange, gelatinous creatures on the cave floor and Dick retrieved one for him with a sigh.

As Damian pet the strange, smooth creature, he said, "Well, if it makes you feel better, Cassandra, Drake, and Todd are dating siblings from the same family. And they're all ghost royalty."

And then he added after a moment, "In fact, I believe there is one more from their family who has gained an interest in you after Jason showed him some pictures. Apparently, he used to conquer worlds. He seems to be quite the powerful suitor for your affection, but I shall not approve."

Dick froze in place.

Suddenly, weeks worth of exhaustion, crime fighting, and nuisances upon nuisances, all caused by his beloved bane-of-his-existence family, was broken by the final straw.

"..... Damian, where are my escrima sticks."

"Richard! Cease this! It's a sorry day in hell when I have to be the peaceful one! Richard! Do not grab Todd's guns! Richard!!"

[that-hazbin]

Your angel AU now has me by the THROAT.

I’m assuming that Alastor goes to Hell basically immediately after Emily tells him that Lucifer Fell and hopes that Lucifer didn’t just forget about him (even if everyone else had).

That reunion will be messy, and I think that in a way Lucifer didn’t forget about Alastor—I am now convinced that the apple on Lucifer’s hat is the one he meant to give Alastor and no one can convince me otherwise—but thoughts of him kind of fell to the wayside as other things took priority. I imagine Lucifer will be a mix of happiness to see Alastor, and horrified guilt because he was left in that garden for 10,000 years alone and it’s his fault. You said this whole idea was based on Spinel, so I’d think Alastor is a mix of terrible sadness and frothing fury, oscillating between the two in turns.

You have set up a situation that will have severe emotional repercussions that are delicious to contemplate; thank you for sharing your ideas and writing with us, and I respectfully request more.

I shortened a lot of this AU because I wanted people to make their own thoughts on it, but I've got a lot of personal thoughts for it that makes it fun. One of them is that in this AU, Alastor doesn't have wings. He was made for Lucifer as basically his doll, and so he wasn't allowed flight. If he needed to go anywhere, he needed Lucifer to fly him around. So leaving Heaven to get to Hell would, in fact, be really difficult. He can't just fly down the way Adam and his exorcists can.

Granted, since Lucifer fell, maybe Alastor thinks "alright I'll do that too" and just bodily throws himself over the edge. That would be a NASTY reunion for Lucifer. Sees some meteor falling from Heaven, flies up to stop it, only to realize "Hey wait is that a person— IS THAT ALASTOR?!"

Meanwhile Emily, who witnessed this poor WINGLESS guy JUMP FOR HELL, is frantically trying to call up Charlie and give her like. A warning. Perhaps an explanation.

Lucifer and Alastor would have the most messed up reunion in this case. Alastor is still operating on the idea that his whole existence is to please Lucifer in some way, specifically to make him happy, to entertain him. In Lucifer's mind, this means that Alastor literally condemned himself to the most painful action in existence because of HIM. He never managed to give Alastor the fruit of knowledge like he planned, and it resulted in this.

Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor isn't completely bereft of free will. Otherwise, he wouldn't be... feeling the emotions that he's feeling. He's hurt, saddened, and filled with so much anger. And Alastor is not going to direct that anger at Lucifer, of course not, it's not his fault that Alastor waited for ten-thousand years for no reason. (Except, it kind of is, but NO IT ISN'T.)

Things will hit a boiling point, though, when Lucifer suggests getting Alastor back into Heaven. Because obviously Alastor doesn't deserve to be in Hell, it sucks here, and Alastor deserves better— except that's not what Alastor hears. What Alastor hears is that despite waiting several millennia for this moment, Lucifer doesn't actually want him around and is planning on getting rid of him. Wiping his hands of him. Why not, right? Every other angel in Heaven has forgotten about his very existence, and here's Lucifer, the one he was made for, trying to do the same!

Alastor would just. Explode. He's confused and so, so furious. What exactly did he do wrong this time? Why isn't his friend happy to see him, why doesn't he want Alastor to stay? Is he seriously going to abandon Alastor AGAIN?! TEN THOUSAND YEARS! He can't do it again, he can't.

It would take a while before Alastor calms down.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Waiting

{Lucifer x Eve!Reader}

Warning(s): Verbal/Mental/Emotional Abuse, Mentions Of Blood/Injury, Angst With Happy End

Two humans, the very first created, a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. Both created to be made for each other, to live out their immortal lives in the garden. However, their love was broken. Adam, demanded control from Eve, she was to obey his every command without question.

But Eve refused to be a slave for the man she was meant to be her equal. One day, she had finally had enough of him and ran far away from the garden.

Alone, she rested beneath the shade of a great apple tree. Her weeping caught the attention of an angel. He looked down at the woman, at first, not approaching. He only watched her for a moment, admiring her beauty. Though, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Eventually he flew down.

"Excuse me, miss?"

The woman gasped and looked up from where she sat. The before her was a pale Seraphim Angel. His golden hair seemed to shine in the soft sunlight, his wings fluttered as they folded into place, bright blue eyes meeting hers.

"Why do you cry?" His voice was so gentle and comforting to her. The woman sniffled before wiping her eyes. "My husband, he can be so cruel." She tells him. "I know I was made for him, that I am to be his bride. But I just can't stand it any longer!"

The angel didn't need to be told much else than that. He knew of Adam and his ways, so he could sympathize with the woman. The angel leaned down to offer his hand. "I am sorry. To think anyone could mistreat such a gentle being."

The woman looked at his hand for a moment before taking it, and rising to a stand. "Who are you?" She asks. The angel smiles and bows slightly. "Lucifer Morningstar. It's a please to meet you."

"The Lucifer Morningstar?" The woman gasped in awe. A sudden urge to bow her head, upon realizing just who she was speaking to. Lucifer chuckles. "The one and only. And you must be the lovely, Eve."

Eve nods her head. "I am." Her breath hitched slightly as she felt Lucifer's finger tips at her chin. He moved her to look up from her bow. "Please, raise your head. There's no need to be so formal, dear."

"But, you are-"

"I am aware of who I am." Lucifer interrupts. "If I wanted to command respect, I would have my head held high, and looking down upon you like the rest of those uptight angels." He said with a chuckle. "You need not worry, please, relax yourself."

Eve smiled slightly. Who knew Lucifer Morningstar could be so friendly. She was taught her whole life to respect the angels above, without them, she would be lost. No, without them, she would not even exist.

But with Lucifer, Eve felt so...calm. Like she, for once, could truly be herself. Without the fear of being judged or frowned upon.

And that's how it was, for some time after. Soon, the two grew to be close friends. Well, that's what they liked to tell themselves. Truly, the two had began to develop feelings for each other.

Though, they dare not act on said feelings. For they knew if they were to, Heavenly punishment would befall them both.

And so, they tried to ignore their feelings, and stay friends. However, it wouldn't be long before Heaven learned of their close friendship. Lucifer was warned to leave Eve to Adam, as it was not his place to intrude.

But that never stopped Lucifer, he'd sneak away to see her as often as he could. He taught her so many things about the world around her. And even the world above her. He would tell her stories, and sharing his dreams. One day, Lucifer asked Eve to meet him under the apple tree where they first met, so he may finally tell her what he's been planning for many years.

"Are you sure no one saw you?" Asked Eve worryingly. "I'd hate for you to get into trouble because of me." Lucifer offered her a reassuring smile. "No one saw me, I promise. Now, there's something I want tell you. And I would love to hear your thoughts."

Eve nods. "Alright, what is it?" A look of excitement graced Lucifer's features. He took a breath before explaining his dream, of gifting humanity free will. They would be able to think for themselves, feel what they truly feel, go anywhere, do so many wonderful things. Because, they will have the choice to do so.

Eve couldn't have been more thrilled with the idea. If Lucifer's dream could become reality, that would mean she too would be freed from the limits of the garden. Freed from her controlling husband. And free from the watchful eyes of Heaven.

"I think it's an amazing idea, Lucifer!" Eve says cheerfully. "Just think of everything we could accomplish if we only have the will to do so! I could be whatever I wanted, not just some bride. I could leave this garden, I could be free!" She went on, her heart thumping wildly with excitement.

"I could be with you." She said to Lucifer. "And no one could tell me it's wrong."

Lucifer's cheeks turned a light shade of gold. "I-I suppose you're right." He said with a smile. "So, you really think it could work?" Eve nods. "I do, I really do!"

"Good." Lucifer waved his hand, and suddenly an apple manifested in his palm. "Because all I need now, is for you to take the first step." Eve looked at the apple with curiosity as Lucifer handed it to her.

"Just one bite is all it will take."

Even looked up from the apple at Lucifer. "And I will be free? To do what I want, and, to be with you?" Lucifer nods. "All that, and more, my dear. You'll be free to do whatever. Is there anything you'd want to do first?"

Eve paused as she thought about it, then finally, she answered. "I would like to be my own person. Not someone who was made for someone else."

Lucifer nods. "I couldn't agree more."

"Maybe I could have a new name?" Eve wondered aloud. "But what would be called?" This time Lucifer was quiet as he thought. Then, he answered.

"Y/n. I've always liked how that name sounded."

Eve hummed before testing the name a few times. "Y/n. My name is, Y/n." She nods. "Yes, I like that name. Even more so, because you gave it to me." Y/n once again looked at the apple, new waves of excitement washed over her at the thought of a new life.

Y/n then brought the apple close to her mouth, and took a bite.

Freedom, was within her reach. And yet, what would follow, would lead Eve to regret that one action for the rest of her life.

"Lucifer Morningstar. You have been accused of conspiring against Heaven, tempting Y/n into committing an act of sin, and betraying Heaven and it's people. How do you plea?" Sera, lead Seraphin asked as she looked down at Lucifer.

Lucifer glared back up at her, his body ached as it had beaten and battered by battle. His left upper wing suffered a heavenly spear wound, now unable to move it or heal it properly, thanks to the angelic chains that tied him down. Both restraining him, and quelling any of his magic.

Y/n's cries were heard throughout the courtroom, her pleas for the court to forgive Lucifer would not be heard. She too, was bound by chains, as she was just as guilty as Lucifer for falling for his temptation.

"Guilty." Lucifer spat. "I will admit that, I am guilty of everything you've said. But I will not admit guilt for doing what I believe is right. Your old ways of thinking will be your undoing."

"It will be your undoing, Lucifer Morningstar." Sera narrowed her eyes. "Heaven has no room for souls who wish to throw off the balance of good and evil. And you certainly have." This time, she looked to Y/n as well.

"Because your actions, sin has found it's way to Earth. Humanity will become corrupt and wicked, thanks to your free will. Humanity will know pain, suffering, death, all because you both acted out of line."

"Please!" Y/n cried. "He didn't know! He didn't know this would be the result! Please, forgive him!"

"And act as vile as this can not be easily forgiven." Said Sera lowly. "It will be decided now, what your punishments will be."

"Eve, shall be indefinitely kept under the watchful eye of your rightful partner, Adam."

Y/n felt her heart plumet into the pit of her gut. But what came next was far more worse that what she could have imagined.

"Lucifer Morningstar. For your transgressions against Heaven, you will be exiled. Casted down, into the fiery pits of Hell, where you will live among the rest of sinful souls who will reside there, for all eternity."

"No!" Y/n tried to jerk out from her chains, but her attempts were in vain.

Lucifer barely had time to catch another glimpse at Y/n before the ground beneath him gave way. The chains that bound him vanished just in time for him to be sent falling down. As Heaven's light grew smaller and smaller, Lucifer yelled out in fury and sorrow, for he has lost everything.

His wails so loud, that it could still be heard from within the courtroom, until finally the portal closed, and Y/n was met with deafening silence.

"Lucifer..." A broken sob left her. "Lucifer!"

Sera looked to the angels who held Y/n in place. "Escort her back to Adam." She said before dismissing the court. Y/n, still chained, was lead out of the room.

Soon she was back in the garden, where Adam was waiting for her.

"About time!" Adam groaned before looking to the two angels. "I'll take it from here." They both nod and let Y/n go, before swiftly leaving the two.

Adam looked furious as he approached Y/n. "You have got some nerve! Bad enough you tried running away from me, but going behind my back and plotting with that defective angel!?"

Y/n, through her tears yelled back. "What did you expect!? From the moment I was created, you have controlled every little thing I have ever done. You told me how to act, how to think, and how I should feel! Lucifer was the only one who ever made me feel like I was more than what I was made for! Of course I left you!"

Adam's anger only grew as she went on. Suddenly, he grabbed her arm tightly, making her flinch. "Left me? No, you haven't left me. You don't get to leave me! And I made sure you won't ever try to again." He jerked her towards him as he walked, his grip on her arm tightening, so that she would not get away.

"Let me go! Where are you taking me?" Y/n asked in a panic. After another moment or two of walking, they reached a large clearing within the garden, surrounded by large trees.

In the middle of the clearing, was a giant cage, similar to that of a bird's cage. Golden, shining as it reflected the sun's rays. A rather fancy looking prison.

"What is this?" Y/n muttered fearfully. Adam pulled her along once again, until they reached the entrance of the cage. Adam looked down at her before smirking. "You're new home."

Y/n barely had time to think before she was thrown inside, the cage door slamming shut behind her. She turned to face Adam, who stared back at her with triumph. "Now, let's see you try and leave me again."

Y/n grabbed at the bars and glared at Adam. “Let me out!”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Adam responded. “I can’t trust you to be loose, just for you to crawl back to that sinful traitor.”

“He isn’t a traitor! He didn’t know all of this would happen, otherwise he would have never done it!” Y/n argued. “If his fellow angels would have just heard him out, or helped him, maybe things would have turned out different.”

“Oh please.” Adam rolled his eyes. “Listen up, you’re not leaving this cage. Not until you are ready to admit that you are mine and mine only. Got it?”

Y/n wanted to scream, to yell at the top of her lungs how much she hated Adam and everyone else who looked down at Lucifer. But it wouldn’t do her any good.

She was trapped. Forever separated from the one she cares for most. From the one she loved, more than anything or anyone else. Forever.

Forever, and yet, Y/n was ready to wait. She would wait forever if that’s what it took. She would not give up on Lucifer, like so many have. She wouldn’t love anyone other than him.

She would wait for him.

Waiting. It was all Y/n could do. She waited until her final breath was drawn. Waited long after her soul entered Heaven. Waited as she was kept under Adam’s watch.

There were times she was sure she would go insane. And all the while, Adam did nothing but watch, and savor in her suffering.

Even in death, she was not free from her prison. She was not free from him. She would not allow herself to be called Adam’s wife, therefore she would remain trapped.

But she’d rather go on for all eternity than give Adam what he wants.

The only power she had was what was gifted to her when she entered Heaven. She and Adam both, once they were given their wings, were also give an angelic power.

But because of the cage Y/n was trapped in, her magic was restricted. But the power was there, waiting for her command. If only she had the freedom to do so.

With a sigh, Y/n made up her mind right then. If she were to get anywhere, she would have to gain Adam’s trust.

If that’s what it takes then…

So be it.

One night, Adam visited her once again. And Y/n finally gave in.

“Is there nothing I can do, to convince you to free me?” Y/n asked. Adam shrugs. “You already know, Eve.”

“I told you my name is-”

“Your name is Eve.” Adam said firmly.

Y/n bit back the urge to argue. She couldn’t afford to upset him now. “You wish for me to be your wife so badly?”

“I don’t need to wish for anything. You are my wife, always have been, always will be.” Adam tells her, matter-of-factly. “All you gotta do is admit it. And maybe, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

Y/n held back a sigh before speaking. “I don’t want to be trapped. And all it will take is admitting I have been your wife from the beginning?”

“Mhm. Tick-Tock, I’m not gonna keep wasting time here.” Adam said impatiently. Y/n could laugh. Adam claimed that she was his wife, that she belonged to him only.

And yet. He was disloyal to her. Really, Y/n was nothing less than a trophy. Something pretty to look at. Not a wife. Nothing more.

“Then.” Y/n reached her hand outside of the bars. “I will be yours, and only yours.”

A lie. A terrible lie. But this was what Adam wanted to hear. And it would get her one step closer to freedom.

There was a brief pause of silence between the two. The, Adam took hold of her hand, and before Y/n could start to speak, she was harshly pulled towards him. She was just able to stop her face from colliding with the bars, the look in Adam's eyes frightened her.

"Let me make this very clear right now." Adam started. "I won't hear another peep out of you about Lucifer ever again. If I do, I make you regret it, to where you will yearn for this cage. The sooner you accept that bastard is gone the better. He isn't coming to save you. Got it?"

Y/n tried her best to stay calm and collected, she gave a nod of her head. "As you wish."

It was Hell in paradise with Adam. Every moment Y/n spent with him wore down on her mentality more and more. As if it weren't enough with him reminding her that Lucifer was a "traitor" and would never return. But he would continue to treat her as less than, as if she never were his equal.

And truly, she never was.

But it would not last much longer. With every passing day, Y/n's power grew, though she kept her potential hidden from Adam. If he were to ever find out, it would be the end of her.

After months of perfecting it, Y/n was able to cast a shroud of invisibility upon herself. Though, the time it would last was limited to only twenty minutes.

Her plan was simple. Cast the spell, sneak out to the furthest reach of Heaven, and go through the portal that loomed above Hell. There, she would find her way back to Lucifer. Free, at last.

She would do it that very night. She flew as fast as she could throughout the heavenly city, those below her oblivious to her presence. Y/n made it just outside of the city before the spell wore off completely.

From there, she would have to keep flying, and hoping that no one would notice she was missing. Finally, finally she made it to the portal. Her heart pounding in her chest as she stepped towards it. Y/n gave one last look back at the distance city, deep within herself, she was fearful.

She knew Adam would eventually find out and come looking for her. But it was a risk she was more than prepared to take.

Y/n turned back to the portal, took a breath, and went through.

The view from Hell this high up was all so new to Y/n, just the sight of it made her feel uneasy. As if the suffering from the demons below reached all the way to her. She would not ponder it much longer, she needed to find Lucifer.

She took off as fast as she could, at the start, she was clueless as to where to begin. Until she saw it. A large castle that loomed ominously in the distance.

Lucifer, throughout all his time alone, was desperate to find anything that would distract him. That would keep his mind occupied, to forget about the place he once called home, and fill the void that she left behind. But nothing ever helped.

Even in the brief moments of solace he had, his mind would always conjure up the memories of Y/n.

Lucifer had done everything in his power to find a way back, if only to reach Y/n. But there was nothing he could do, he was trapped, doomed to spend eternity in this horrid place.

The suffering, and the sinful acts of the humans he once sought to liberate, did very little to help his fragile mentality. He was certain he'd go mad here, loose himself to the wickedness of Hell's clutches.

Perhaps he already has. Many times, had the demons of Hell tried to overthrow him. And many times, had Lucifer deliver a fate worse than death upon them.

In many ways, Hell has corrupted Lucifer. His dreams crushed, his hope destroyed, his will to live...fading.

Though he was king, he would suffer all the same as the demons and sinners he reluctantly ruled over.

The only joy Lucifer had, though in brief moments, were his creations. If there was only one mercy granted upon him from Heaven after his punishment, is that he kept his angelic powers.

He could still create, though, it would mean nothing down here.

Ducks, a silly creature to most, but meant the world to him. A small collection turned into a time consuming hobby. He became somewhat dependent on them, making each one better than the last.

It was silly, but it helped.

In this moment, he felt calm though he knew it would not last.

Tap Tap

Lucifer groaned. "Another damn hellcrow." He rose from his desk and made his way to the balcony. He took hold of the curtains that covered the windowed door, and opened them, preparing to shoo away the creature.

As soon as he moved back the curtains, his eyes widened at the sight of an angel standing on the edge of the balcony. But not just any angel.

"Y/n..." Her name fell from Lucifer's mouth in a hushed tone. He swore his heart stopped beating right then, and the hellscape around him faded into a blurred nothingness. And all that he could see, was her.

Y/n met Lucifer's gaze, both falling into stunned silence, only broken by the sound of the doors being opened by Lucifer's magic. Y/n stepped into the room, but kept her distance.

Is it you? Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there, or am I dreaming once more?

"Is it you? Lucifer?" Y/n spoke carefully. He looked different, and yet, nothing has changed. His sapphire eyes now a deep scarlet, she could see razor sharp teeth peaking through his agape mouth, claws at the tips of his fingers. More so, he looked so...lifeless...

You look different, your eyes look tired Your frame is lighter, your smile torn Is it really you, my love?

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n reached her hand out, but Lucifer took a step back, a look of sadness on his face. "I...It is me yes but..." He trailed off, his gaze falling away from her. "I'm not how you remember me. The Lucifer you knew, is gone."

I am not the man you fell in love with I am not the man you once adored I am not your kind and gentle husband And I am not the love you knew before

"I'm not who I was. I've changed, this place...it's ruined me. Every day I felt myself dying, and turning into...this." Lucifer motioned at himself, disgusted, ashamed. "I have done things that would make you sick. Things that I would have never thought I could ever do. But..."

Lucifer looked back to Y/n, and took a step towards her. This time, Y/n moved away, unsure of what to think at first. What he said confused her, maybe even frightened her a bit. He couldn't have changed that much, could he?

"But, no matter how I've changed, I never once stopped thinking of you. You were the only constant, the only memory that had not be tainted. So many sleepless nights were spent dreaming of the day I would see you again."

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change Would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love

Y/n furrowed her brows, the confusion was there again. What he said was so different than how he acted. He's changed and yet...

What kinds of things did you do?

It wasn't Lucifer himself that made her uneasy.

Y/n kept her distance as she spoke. "What all have you done while you were here?"

It was the fear of loosing him entirely because of this place.

Left a trail of red on every island As I traded friends like objects I could use Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands But all of that was to bring me back to you So tell me

Lucifer exhaled shakily. "It became clear that I was doomed to rule over the sinners who found there way here. The demon who spawn from the darkest of pits as well. They became bolder over time, all while I became stronger." He went on.

"If there was any chance I'd see you again, I could not allow them to kill me before that happened. So...I made sure no demon could ever challenge me again." Lucifer looked down at his hands, they were trembling. "It keeps me up at night, the way my power has changed. Angelic and demonic alike..."

"But I would do it all over again, if it meant seeing you."

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I can't undo I am not the man you knew I know that you've been waiting, waiting

Y/n said nothing as she turned away from him. "Y/n?" Lucifer murmured. "My name is Eve, Lucifer. You know that. Surely your memory hasn't been warped too."

If that's true, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here

Y/n looked over her shoulder, a cold look in her eyes. "You'd do well to call me by my true name."

How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat Carved it into the olive tree where we first met A symbol of our love everlasting Do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots

"What?" Lucifer's face scrunched in confusion. "You want me to call you, Eve?" Y/n looked away from him again. "That's right. I don't know why you keep calling me by that other foolish name. My name is Eve, it always has been."

"What are you saying?" Lucifer asked in bewilderment. "I gave you that name. It was the name I chose after I told you about my plans for humanity. 'Y/n', it's the name you had when you became a free human. You wished to be your own person, not "Eve" who was made for someone else!"

Only my husband knew that So I guess that makes him you

Penelope

Y/n turned to face him fully, tears falling from her eyes. "Only the real Lucifer would know that, so I guess you're him!" Lucifer was taken back, he wanted to comfort her, to make those tears go away.

"Y/n..."

I will fall in love with you over and over again I don't care how, where, or when No matter how long it's been, you're mine Don't tell me you're not the same person You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting

Penelope

Y/n took a breath to calm herself before speaking. "You haven't changed, not in the way you think you have. No matter what you've done, no matter how long it's been, no matter what, you are still the same Lucifer I fell in love with all those years ago!"

Now Lucifer felt tears gathering in his own eyes. "Y/n.." Waiting, waiting (Penelope) Waiting, waiting

Y/n approached him. "I would have waited for as long as it took. I would love no one else. No one made me feel half as important or free as you have. You were my everything then, and you are my everything now. I've been waiting for so long..." Her cries making it more difficult for her to properly express herself.

Lucifer pulled her in close and held her tight. "I know." He cradled the back of her head. "I know you have, my love. I know because, I have been waiting for you as well. You were all that consumed my every thought. Nothing else mattered to me, but you." Waiting, oh For you

Lucifer and Y/n pulled away from each other slightly, only to close the gap once more as their lips met.

How long has it been? Twenty years

They broke the kiss, only to both utter the words they've been dying to say for so long.

"I love you."

Tags-

@just-a-simpe

@graham-mckrackers

@circescircle

@sweeneyblue1

@luna4839493749374984

@citrusbatsandhoneybees

[doppel-doodles]

About time that I make a part 2 I reckon:

So here is a totally normal post about Jack Ayers from Poppy playtime.

At first I wasn’t sure what I had to say on him, not because he is any less interesting than the other two boys, not by a long shot!

But Jack and by extension Matthew have what makes their existence so tragic spelled out more clearly you sympathies with them a lot more easily than you do with someone more fickle like Kevin.(At least if you go by what I’ve seen of some of the fandom perception)

But without further delay here are all my thoughts:

Jack, like most people who step foot into the playtime factory, pulled the shit end of the stick.

He fell into a vat of dough and swiftly lost his life, an end like that is bad enough but worse was that the company did not let him rest, reawakening in a new body with two new consciousness that he had to share with.

Not to mention Jack wasn’t just another orphan that was meant to be experimented on, his misfortune was due to sheer dumb luck.

The way the orphans were raised was like lambs to the slaughter, you know that no matter what these kids were screwed.

And honestly? I can’t tell if that takes away from the horror or adds to it.

Now lets pile on more misery on that poor boy: he had to kill his own parents.

I can only imagine how much that one hurt,.

Also is it just me or does Jacks control over Doey feel kind of passive?

Like we have the whole chase sequence with Kevin, Matthew pretty much has the wheel in almost every interaction we have with Doey.

To me it feels like Jack kinda just pops up in those little moments, where his emotions got to him and even then he’s more or less only there for a few lines of dialogue.

Which is kinda crazy to me as he is arguably the one most “in sync” with his bigger body, he was literally mixed into the dough they are made out of and was the first of them.

Yet we barely see him come out. Despite the fact that arguably his emotions are very strong so he might have a similar chance to overpowering the others, like how we see with Kevin’s wrath.

But he doesn’t seem to even try.

(Granted bro is a kid having a mental breakdown over his dead friends, I wouldn’t be to focused right away on what the other two are doing)

And I think that’s because he is scared of Kevin, since you know putting aside his issues that doesn’t change the fact he still killed jacks parents in front of him.

The people he arguably needs most right now.

And if he can’t even protect those he cares for most from himself, how can he safe anyone else?

To me Jack seems somewhat resigned, only waiting for it to be over, crying in the meantime over everything he had to go through.

And that just makes me sad man-

Anyway uhhh- not that much as before but I hope you enjoy my two cents, tell me what you think about him!:>

For those who care here are my Kevin thoughts

[ephemerensis]

Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me // Tim Drake x GN!Reader

happy belated valentines day everyone! i have been sick out of my mind and going only a little bit crazy. i offer you: tim running after a train. HAPPY ENDING. things start looking rough BUT TRUST ME. this is for my emotional pookies that can’t communicate to save their lives. i yapped too much on this one.

—

It'd been awhile since your last conversation, but you remember very clearly how flat it felt. Someone didn't reply to something else and it was never brought up again, any of it. Too bitter to chew on stale bread anymore, the two of you weren't ever so hungry. That was how things moved, you supposed

You thought of him often, especially during wind gusts. The arid weather he hated because his hands would be dry enough to crack, and you didn't know if there was anyone slipping a hand cream into his pocket for the day. Burning and brittle, his hands in biting weather, you could only hope he wasn't hurt and someone cared enough to know.

There probably was someone, he was always good enough to not be alone. And you were always so sure of your future together, you let things sit until they eroded.

It wasn’t so one sided. He’d think of you if weather was vibrant, enough to carry the scent of blue skies on a slow breeze. Temperate days, for you, meant a desire to touch the crisp air and to read your next personality into existence on your open porch. Days he knew very well, because you would always asked for a recommendation; and if he was fortunate, you would even invite him to join you on the occasion.

It was impossible to guess how you picked books now, or if you still read at all. Maybe time got the better of you these days. And it was a shame, because he had a list he kept updating on his phone for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.

You’d met in the dingy basement of your high school. Two losers in the chess club, violently playing pawn for pawn in a way that invested you more than it should have. He was such a talker you could hardly focus on the pieces.

“Did you know dolphins have no hair? Even though they’re mammals,” he started. He wasn’t even looking at the board, and it was his turn.

If it wasn’t on his time you might’ve asked what that had to do with anything, but the more he talked the more time you had to plot and anyways he sounded nice, sweet in subdued way like iced tea. “Maybe they have like micro hairs, all mammals have hair.”

Tim shook his head, “nope, they’re slick and bald all the way through.”

“I don’t think you’re right, someone would’ve mentioned it. They’re not like platypi.”

“Well you don’t have to believe me.” He made his move, pushing his queen forward on the board. “But I did just beat you.”

It took you a second to process it, but he was right. He won after yapping at you the whole game, like a convoluted psychological strategy. One you were certain you wouldn’t fall for again.

So you asked for his number and a rematch, that he gracefully accepted. When you got distracted again, he threw the game to let you win and you knew from then on you’d never stand a chance against him. It was a sinking burning kind of feeling, a deep admiration with an undertone of never being equals. And you couldn’t tell if it was because he was really better than you or if you were just so deeply charmed it rendered you senseless. But you were certain you really liked that boy.

The more you got to know him, the more ensnared you became. In some sense it felt preordained, how well you got along, enough to kick up delusion to cloud your judgement. You liked to read and he liked to talk about it, telling you his conspiracy theories on intention and metaphor and author choices in between classes. He added every song you sent him to his playlist and he listened enough to learn some on piano for you. Tim’s favorite movie was your favorite movie. Chess was your burden, but in every game he fell short you excelled, like complimentary opposites.

It couldn’t have been one sided. He matched every text you sent, at least enough to have your name pop up in his suggested for as long as you’d known him. If he was out and about he’d tell you, and if he was burdened he’d complain to you. Tim had a way of talking to you that was different than everyone else around him, softer in a sense like you were something to be cradled, even if you were being difficult. And you being yourself could never discern if it was out of pity for him knowing you liked him, or unabashed care because he didn’t.

“I would never watch that again.” You’d dragged him to see Little Women, only because you’d never seen it and he said it was good. But you emerged puffy eyed and emptier inside than when you came.

He laughed at you, pulling out another tissue from his pocket to shove in your direction. “I thought it was really sweet, you didn’t like it?”

“It’s not sweet, it’s devastating. Jo’s okay in the end, but I don’t think I’d be.” You didn’t say much more than that for fear that you’d start crying again.

“You remind me of Amy,” he offered. You scoffed, punching his arm and scooting away on the bench you occupied.

“You’re telling me I’m annoying and dramatic and I have bangs shaped like a barcode?”

“No,” you could hear the smile in his voice like he was teasing you or it was really amusing, “I think you’re passionate, and in touch with your feelings, and pretty. She’s a good character because she’s emotional, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“…I didn’t see all that in the movie.”

“Then maybe we need to watch it again.”

“Just be quiet for now, I need to process everything,” you muttered, dropping your head to his shoulder.

He scoffed, “you’re very brave telling me to shut up.”

“I’m only brave because I know you’ll comply.”

Your companionship was good because it was easy. But it was the same ease that instilled a fear in you, if you were too boisterous or if you misinterpreted things it might ruin the ease you had. Things were comfortable as they were. You could stand everything else, as long as he was happy with you then it was fine.

Cautious but emboldened, you had a habit of testing the waters at first. Starting with the benign, telling him he was lovely or that you liked his haircut to see if he’d react. He was receptive, but you couldn’t tell if he was just friendly. Then came the matter of what he liked about a person, and that was just as vague. Not that you were any better, giving the same broad answers to keep from revealing your hand.

The mistakes probably started rolling when you would seek the underhanded. You never had the courage to say anything, so it was all you knew to do. Provoke him, see what he’d say, and form a conclusion. The tipping point was in spring, after all the heat died down from finals.

“That guy in my calculus classed asked me out the other day.” It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to share tidbits or exchange advice. Really, you were hoping for a reaction of some kind. Something that indicated disgust or at least discomfort at the thought you might consider it.

But he didn’t flinch, serene as ever he tilted his head and hummed. “What did you say?”

You had to be careful not to stare. Whoever said eyes were the window to the soul was a liar. You never learned anything about Tim looking in his, only that you felt like you could drown. Gleaming and calculative blue, he never let anything slip. But he was watching you too, gauging your reaction in his own way.

You shrugged. “I didn’t respond, I haven’t opened the text yet. I hardly know him. Only that he isn’t very good at calculus.”

Inconclusive. That must’ve meant you were at least considering it, and if that was the case, Tim concluded that he knew better. You would’ve been forthright if you liked him, enough to reject some idiot from your calculus class right away. Tim never stood a chance, he decided. “You should say yes if you want to. You’ll never know unless you go. Everyone’s bad at something.”

And then you knew better. He never resigned, even when he was losing, because he believed it eliminated all other possibility. If he cared for you at all, he wouldn’t have encouraged you.

Knowing better is a curse the burdened suffer with. Formed between the leeway of experience and intuition, with a hint of arrogance, the afflicted are slow to find ever if they are wrong.

Knowing better made communication between the two of you sparser over the years. At first you hung out less, and then you spoke less. When college started, you went to different schools and even texts got sparser, until they stopped. You knew better than to bother a busy boy, he was gentle and lovely and the world would caress him without what little you had to offer. He knew better than to speak without being spoken to, you were decisive and assured and would’ve said something if you wanted something.

It'd be better to say anything happened at all, a fight that led the two of you to ruin. But it’s the benign that scars, left to be prodded at instead of ripped off from the source. It would always be benign with Tim, a conceder at his core.

But he thought of you always, especially on windy days when his hands were dry enough to crack. You never told him where you got your hand cream and he never found one that smelled quite the same, mild and sweet like kisses from droplets of rain.

And you missed him so dearly at the bookstore. No amount of reviews on Goodreads compared to his commentary. You hadn’t read anything so soul seeking since his last recommendation, and it was getting discouraging to keep searching.

You’d gotten a job offer in a different city. It was far enough to make a commute unrealistic, practically across the country from Gotham. You would take it, because it’d be stupid not to, and you had nothing left here. It’d be stupid to stay over the leftover feelings you had for a boy that hardly liked you.

However, you’d feel dreadful leaving anyway. Especially without saying anything. You wanted him to know even if he didn’t care to know, and you wanted a last book for the road. One you’d never read, or only pick up if you were very desperate. So you swallowed your inhibitions and asked to meet, just once before you moved; and he agreed.

“So you reached out just because you’re leaving.” You picked the bookstore you met at, he picked the cafe after the trip. To your surprise he still remembered your order. Tim’s had changed, shifting from a cute americano in his early college days to a straight and narrow cold brew.

When you asked him what you should look into next he dragged you straight to the back of the store where they kept the obscurities, thumbing through the french philosophers to find something palpable— and that was the end of that.

“Well when you put it like that, it sounds terrible!” You didn’t know how he managed to sip it with a smile on his face, like it wasn’t bitter and intolerable. But he always had a mild temperament, swallowing tar like it was honey.

“You know what I mean, but congrats! Where are you going?”

“Star City.” Something flickered across his face, but you knew better than to think too hard on it and you didn’t want to. Honestly the whole day had been at least a little painful, because it felt like nothing had happened. Things were just as comfortable and natural as you’d left them, and after this you really would leave them.

“Better crime rate than Gotham,” he offered.

“That’s not hard to do,” you shrugged.

“When do you leave?”

“In two hours actually, I’m going by train.”

Tim’s mouth pressed into an ‘o,’ setting his cup down as if taken aback, before settling back into his easygoing demeanor. “Oh you’re killing me, that’s all I get?”

You laughed, both because it was a little ridiculous and because he was clutching his pearls. “Yeah, it’s not like you really reached out or anything.”

He gave you a nod, pressing his lips together. “Right.”

The short silence that settled after felt jarringly long, and it brought you back to the present. Things weren’t like they were, you’d just forgotten for a moment.

“Well it was—“

“Do you think—“ He started the same time you did, pausing in tandem to laugh it off.

“Sorry, you go ahead,” you offered.

“No, it’s okay, never mind.”

You squinted at him, it was a question you wanted to hear, if only to know what he was thinking. Although you didn’t want to prod either, never one to force his hand. “Okay.”

“Can I see you off at the station?”

“That’d be cool.”

The trip to the train station was faster than you’d anticipated. You weren’t taking much with you, just a suitcase and travel bag that he helped lug up and into your train compartment. Standing by the platform now, it was just about time for you to board before it left.

“You have everything with you?”

“Yup,” you nodded, “thank you carrying my suitcase for me.” Not that you asked, he offered.

“Always,” he smiled, he was looking at you a little longer than he should’ve. Even if you were trying to be oblivious, you couldn’t ignore his gaze. Still, it wasn’t for you to acknowledge or think on. “I guess this is bye then, for a little while.”

Your heart was beating so loudly, it shook your very core. It could’ve been from anything; nerves moving so far, regretting things last minute, fear of leaving for good, being close enough to touch him as you were about to embark far enough to forget.

Shoving the thoughts aside and the sinking feeling in your stomach, you threw your arms around him just to remember his form and how warm he felt against the cold of the winter air. Even if it was better to forget, you didn’t want to, holding tightly for a few breaths before burying your head in his scarf and muttering a small, “thank you for everything. Goodbye.”

Before he had a chance to respond, you let go, briskly making your way to your train car. Although, you weren’t convinced he would’ve said anything, just standing there staring like you said something very shocking. Standing at the doorway, you smiled and waved, hoping the last he’d see of you looked pretty.

To your surprise, he started approaching the train when the doors started shutting. “Wait! I have something to ask you!”

“What?” The doors clanged shut, as you made your way to the nearest window. When he made eye contact with you, he opened his mouth to speak but his words were muffled by the plexiglass.

“I can’t hear you!” you yelled.

Pressing his hands to glass, eyes wide and pleading, he yelled back. “Do you think we would’ve ever worked out?”

“What?” Your heart dropped as the train started to roll forward, making that sick feeling bubble up again. You made your way to the back of the train car, looking for him through the windows as you tried to keep your balance on the shaky floor.

“Would we have worked? Did you like me at all?” Both of you were yelling at the tops of your lungs, turning heads you couldn’t be bothered to perceive.

“Where is this coming from?” If you were in the right state of mind, you’d be mad, or at least annoyed. All these years and a few hours, his timing couldn’t have been worse.

Pressing hard against the back door of the car, you pushed it open to stand on the balcony. He was running after you, somehow keeping up despite the train slowly picking up its pace.

“I liked you! I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve known you,” he screamed between breaths, “and I had to let you know before you go!”

In the distance, someone was yelling at him to get off the tracks as if he’d hear it. Tim nearly tripped on a fence in his way, but he cleared it and recovered in a way that left you concerned and impressed.

You wanted to cry or laugh or throw up, all at once. You didn’t have time to think through any of it, and it was frustrating that he’d never said anything, but it was relieving to know anyway. Gripping the railing to keep steady, you screamed back as loudly as you could, to be heard and to bite back tears. “Your timing is terrible!”

“I know, and my legs hurt and I’m kind of winded, but I needed you to know!” He was sprinting now, loosening the scarf around his neck.

“What did you like about me!”

Despite claiming to be winded, he had enough energy to give you an incredulous look. “You’re on a train!”

“Answer!” you barked. Taking his scarf off, he threw an end in your direction that you managed to catch, holding on as he continued running gripping the other end.

“You are temperamental and irrational and emotional.” All the things you hated about yourself. You lifted the end you were holding, threatening to let go, making Tim shake his head. “And kind, and genuine, and it makes you beautiful! Everything about you aligns to make you the perfect person and I will never meet anyone like you again!”

He let go of the scarf, you were moving faster than he could run now and you knew it. There wasn’t time to think it over or stand stunned, as he got farther away by the inch, the foot, the meter; eyes hopeless and pleading. But when it came to Tim, the answer was very clear. Even if you took the time, you would always choose him in every outcome.

Clutching the fabric to your chest, you screamed. “Will you pick me up at the next stop!”

“I will!” It wasn’t very loud, eaten up by the wind and the engine and the growing distance, but it was no less clear to you; ringing in your ears. Watching as he slowed to a stop, hands on his knees to heave, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face or the tears running down your cheeks.

[fatehbaz]

patience being tested. being forced by a bizarre unfortunate situation to adhere to university requirement technicality by taking this simple basic elementary "introduction to environmental history" class.

this class is from facilitators/program which do, like, "history of the American frontier" or "history of fishing and hunting" and still basically subscribe to that old-school twentieth-century idealization and celebration of characters like Teddy Roosevelt and reverence for a mythical arc-of-history-bent-towards-justice narrative of the often-clumsy but ultimately-benevolent US federal government and its mission to "save nature" through the miracle of "sustained yield," while heroic federal land management agencies and "heritage" institutions lead to way, staffed by exceptional individuals (appeals to nostalgia for the frontier and an imagined landscape of the American West; ego-stroking appeals to flattering self-image that center the environmentalist or academic). where they invoke, y'know, ideas like "ecology is important because don't you enjoy cross-country skiing in The Woods with your niece and nephew? don't you like hunting and fishing?" which makes it feel like a time capsule of appeals and discourses from the 1970s. and it invokes concept of "untouched wilderness" (while eliding scale of historical Indigenous environmental relationships and current ongoing colonial violence/extractivism). but just ever-so-slightly updated with a little bit of chic twenty-first-century flair like a superficial land acknowledgement or a reference to "labor histories" or "history from below," which is extra aggravating when the old ideologies/institutions are still in power but they're muddying the water and diluting the language/frameworks (it's been strange, watching words like "multispecies" and "Anthropocene" over the years slowly but surely show-up on the posters, fliers, course descriptions, by now even appearing adjacent to the agri-business and resource extraction feeder programs, like a recuperation or appropriation.) even from a humanities angle, it's still, they're talking at me like "You probably didn't know this, but environmental history is actually pretty entangled with political and social events. In fact, we can synthesize sources and glean environmental info from wacky places like workers' rolls in factories, ship's logs, and poetry from the era." and i'm nodding like YEP.

the first homework assignment is respond to this: "Define and describe 'the Anthropocene'. Do you think 'the Anthropocene' is a useful concept? Why or why not?" Respond in 300 words.

so for fun, right now in class, going to see how fast i can pull up discussion of Anthropocene-as-concept solely from my old posts on this microblogging site.

---

ok, found some

---

I think that the danger in any universal narrative or epoch or principle is exactly that it can itself become a colonizing force. [...] I’m suspicious of the Anthropocene as concept for the very reason that it subsumes so many peoples, nations, histories, geographies, political orders. For that reason, I think ideas like the Anthropocene can be a useful short-hand for a cluster of tangible things going on with the Earth at the moment, but we have to be very careful about how fluid and dynamic ideas become concretized into hegemonic principles in the hands of researchers, policymakers, and politicians. There’s so much diversity in histories and experiences and environmental realities even between relatively linked geographies here in Canada [...]. Imagine what happens when we try to do that on a global scale - and a lot of euro-western Anthropocene, climate change and resilience research risks doing that - eliding local specificities and appropriating knowledge to serve a broader euro-western narrative without attending to the inherent colonial and imperial realities of science and policy processes, or even attending to the ways that colonial capitalist expansion has created these environmental crises to begin with. While we, as a collective humanity, are struggling with the realities of the Anthropocene, it is dangerous to erase the specific histories, power-relations, political orders that created the crisis to begin with. So, I’m glad that a robust critique of the Anthropocene as a concept is emerging.

Text by: Words of Zoe Todd, as interviewed and transcribed by Caroline Picard. “The Future is Elastic (But it Depends): An Interview with Zoe Todd.” 23 August 2016.

---

---

---

The Great Acceleration is the latest in a series of human-driven planetary changes that constitute what a rising chorus of scientists, social scientists, and humanists have labeled the Anthropocene - a new Age of Humans. [...] But what the Anthropocene label masks, and what the litany of graphs documenting the Great Acceleration hide, is a history of racial oppression and violence, along with wealth inequality, that has built and sustained engines of economic growth and consumption over the last four centuries. [...] The plantation, Sidney Mintz long ago observed, was a “synthesis of field and factory,” an agro-industrial system of enterprise [...]. Plantation legacies, along with accompanying strategies of survival and resistance, dwell in the racialized geographies of the United States’ and Brazil’s prison systems. They surface in the inequitable toxic burdens experienced by impoverished communities of color in places like Cancer Alley, an industrial corridor of petrochemical plants running along the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Baton Rouge, where cotton was once king. And they appear in patterns of foreign direct investment and debt servitude that structure many land deals in the Caribbean, Brazil, and sub-Saharan Africa [...]. [C]limatologists and global change scientists from the University of London, propose instead 1610 as a date for the golden spike of the Anthropocene. The date marked a detectable global dip in carbon dioxide concentrations, precipitated, they argue, by the death of nearly 50 million indigenous human inhabitants [...]. The degradation of soils in the tobacco and cotton-growing regions in the American South, or in the sugarcane growing fields of many Caribbean islands, for example, was a consequence of an economic and social system that inflicted violence upon the land and the people enslaved to work it. Such violent histories are not so readily evident in genealogies that date the Anthropocene’s emergence to the Neolithic Revolution 12,000 years ago, the onset of Europe’s industrial revolution circa 1800, or the Trinity nuclear test of 1945. Sugarcane plantations were already prevalent throughout the Mediterranean basin during the late middle ages. But it was during the early modern era, and specifically in the Caribbean, where the intersection of emerging proto-capitalist economic models based on migratory forced labor (first indentured servitude, and later slavery), intensive land usage, globalized commerce, and colonial regimes sustained on the basis of relentless racialized violence, gave rise to the transformative models of plantations that reshaped the lives and livelihoods of human and non-human beings on a planetary scale. [...] We might, following the lead of science studies scholar Donna Haraway and anthropologist Anna Tsing, more aptly designate this era the Plantationocene. [...] It is also an invitation to see, in the words of geographer Laura Pulido, “the Anthropocene as a racial process,” one that has and will continue to produce “racially uneven vulnerability and death." [...] And how have such material transformations sustained global flows of knowledge and capital that continue to reproduce the plantation in enduring ways?

Text by: Sophie Sapp Moore, Monique Allewaert, Pablo F. Gomez, and Gregg Mitman. "Plantation Legacies." Edge Effects. 22 January 2019. Updated 15 May 2021. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

Geologists and other scientists will fight over [the definition of the beginning start-date of the Anthropocene] in scientific language, seeking traces of carbon dioxide that index the worst offenses of European empire which rent and violated the flesh, bodies, and governance structures of Indigenous and other sovereign peoples in the name of gold, lumber, trade, land, and power. [...] The stories we tell about the origins of the Anthropocene implicate how we understand the relations we have with our surrounds. In other words, the naming of the Anthropocene epoch and its start date have implications not just for how we understand the world, but this understanding will have material consequences, consequences that affect body and land.

Text by: Heather Davis and Zoe Todd. On the Importance of a Date, or Decolonizing the Anthropocene. ACME An International Journal for Critical Geographies. December 2017. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

From Aime and Suzanne Cesaire, C. L. R. James, Claudia Jones, Eduoard Glissant, through Sylvia Wynter, Christina Sharpe, and so many others, critical anticolonial and race theory has been written from the specific histories that marked the Black Atlantic. [...] Glissant also reminds us, secondly, of how cunning the absorptive powers of [...] liberal capitalism are - how quickly specific relations are remade as relations-erasing universal abstractions. [...] This absorptive, relations-erasing universalism is especially apparent in some contemporary discourses of […] liberalism and climate collapse - what some call the Anthropocene - especially those that anchor the crisis in a general Human calamity which, as Sylvia Wynter has noted, is merely the name of an overdetermined and specific [White] European man. […] [T]he condition of creating this new common European world was the destruction of a multitude of existing black and brown worlds. The tsunami of colonialism was not seen as affecting humanity, but [...] these specific people. They were specific - what happened to them may have been necessary, regrettable, intentional, accidental - but it is always them. It is only when these ancestral histories became present for some, for those who had long benefitted from the dispossession [...], that suddenly the problem is all of us, as human catastrophe.

Text by: Elizabeth Povinelli. “The Ancestral Present of Oceanic Illusions: Connected and Differentiated in Late Toxic Liberalism.” e-flux Journal Issue #112. October 2020.

---

The narrative arc [of White "liberal humanism"] [...] is often told as a kind of European coming-of-age story. […] The Anthropocene discourse follows the same coming-of-age [...] script, searching for a material origin story that would explain the newly identified trajectory of the Anthropos […]. Sylvia Wynter, W.E.B. DuBois, and Achille Mbembe all showed how that genealogy of [White subjecthood] was [...] articulated through sixteenth- through nineteenth-century [historiographies and discourses] in the context of colonialism, [...] as well as forming the material praxis of their rearrangement (through mining, ecological rearrangements and extractions, and forms of geologic displacements such as plantations, dams, fertilizers, crops, and introduction of “alien” animals). […] As Wynter (2000) commented, “The degradation of concrete humans, that was/is the price of empire, of the kind of [Eurocentric epistemology] that underlies it” (154).

Text by: Kathryn Yusoff. “The Inhumanities.” Annals of the American Association of Geographers, Volume 11, Issue 3. November 2020.

---

---

---

As Yarimar Bonilla suggests in regard to post-Irma-and-Maria Puerto Rico, “vulnerability is not simply a product of natural conditions; it is a political state and a colonial condition.” Many in the Caribbean therefore speak about the coloniality of disaster, and the unnaturalness of these “natural” disasters [...]. Others describe this temporality by shifting [...] toward an idea of the Plantationocene [...]. As Moore and her colleagues write, “Plantation worlds, both past and present, offer a powerful reminder that environmental problems cannot be decoupled from histories of colonialism, capitalism, and racism that have made some human beings more vulnerable [...].” [W]e see that contemporary uneven socioecologies associated with the rise of the industrial world ["the Anthropocene"] are based [...] also on the racialized denial and foreshortening of life for the sacrificial majority of black, brown, and Indigenous people and their relegation to the “sacrifice zones” of extractive industry. [...] [A]ny appropriate response to the contemporary climate emergency must first appreciate its foundations in the past history of the violent, coercive, transatlantic system of plantation slavery; in the present global uneven development, antiblackness, and border regimes that shape human vulnerability [...] that continues to influence who has access to resources, safety, and preferable ecologies [...] and who will be relegated to the “plantation archipelagoes” (as Sylvia Wynter called them) [...].

Text by: Mimi Sheller. “Thinking Beyond Coloniality: Toward Radical Caribbean Futures.” Small Axe (2021), 25 (2 (65)), pages 169-170. Published 1 July 2021. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

---

---

Indigenous genocide and removal from land and enslavement are prerequisites for power becoming operationalized in premodernity [...]; it was/is a means to operationalize extraction (therefore race should be considered as foundational rather than as periphery to the production of those structures and of global space). [...] Wynter suggests that we […] consider 1452 as the beginning of the New World, as African slaves are put to work on the first plantations on the Portuguese island of Madeira, initiating the “sugar-slave” complex - a massive replantation of ecologies and forced relocation of people […]. Wynter argues that the invention of the figure of Man in 1492 as the Portuguese [and Spanish] travel to the Americas instigates at the same time “a refiguring of humanness” in the idea of race. [...] The natal moment of the 1800 Industrial Revolution, […] [apparently] locates Anthropocene origination in […] the "new" metabolisms of technology and matter enabled by the combination of fossil fuels, new engines, and the world as market. […] The racialization of epistemologies of life and nonlife is important to note here […]. While [this industrialization in the nineteenth century] […] undoubtedly transformed the atmosphere with […] coal, the creation of another kind of weather had already established its salient forms in the mine and on the plantation. Paying attention to the prehistory of capital and its bodily labor, both within coal cultures and on plantations that literally put “sugar in the bowl” (as Nina Simone sings) […]. The new modes of material accumulation and production in the Industrial Revolution are relational to and dependent on their preproductive forms in slavery […]. In 1833, Parliament finally abolished slavery in the British Caribbean, and the taxpayer payout of £20 million in “compensation” [paid by the government to slave owners for their lost "property"] built the material, geophysical (railways, mines, factories), and imperial infrastructures of Britain and its colonial enterprises and empire. [...] A significant proportion of funds were invested in the railway system connecting London and Birmingham (home of cotton production and […] manufacturing for plantations), Cambridge and Oxford, and Wales and the Midlands (for coal). Insurance companies flourished [...]. The slave-sugar-coal nexus both substantially enriched Britain and made it possible for it to transition into a colonial industrialized power […]. The slave trade […] fashioned the economic conditions (and institutions, such as the insurance and finance industries) for industrialization.

Text by: Kathryn Yusoff. "White Utopia/Black Inferno: Life on a Geologic Spike". e-flux Journal Issue #97. February 2019. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[starlingpaw]

will there be a space for my soul in space?

[dazais-guardian-angel]

With today's entry, I was rather surprised and confused that Johnathan seemed to turn around so quickly from the absolute pit of despair he was in yesterday, having newfound determination and energy when he's seemingly been completely hopeless and inactive for weeks now (and for good reason). Not that I ever thought he'd completely given up, but there's definitely been a slow decline in how descriptive his journal entries have been to reflect his declining mental state (more robotic, less of his actual feelings about things), and today was a sharp contrast; it feels more like the early entries again. I thought, well, his mind is probably just so cracked at this point that he's looped all the way back around to being bold and energetic again, because by now he's desperate enough to throw caution to the wind: he either succeeds doing something extremely reckless to escape, or he fails and meets his end in a far better way than if he just waits for his fate by Dracula's hands.

...But having thought about it and reading other posts, I realized (probably stupidly obvious as it is) that his sudden change in mood probably has to do with what happened to the baby. Despite how scared he's been all this time, yesterday he didn't hesitate for a single second to try to save the baby once he realized from the previous incident what was happening, not thinking about his own life at all. And then he despaired when he couldn't save the child, the first time he's mentioned crying in the book at all, and then he had to witness the mother blaming him for her baby's death, and being killed herself for trying to rescue it. Now, the day after that horrific and heartbreaking failure, he's suddenly more determined than he's been in ages to escape. Maybe that was a turning point for Johnathan, and lit a fire under him... maybe he's clinging to the need to escape not just for himself and the people he loves anymore, but for the vain hope that he can put a stop to Dracula's schemes somehow once he gets out, because he doesn't want to let any more children die :' )

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[fictionadventurer]

My desire to support a Biblical sitcom done in a respectful way vs. my hatred of the mockumentary style, FIGHT!

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

i wrote a fanfic

[quietwingsinthesky]

the last unicorn post from earlier has me thinking about the master. that yana is still in there, you know? is still someone he was, if even for a brief flash across the life of a time lord. there’s no way to unlive that life. there are ways to twist it later, sure, to make utopia into hell on earth. but the life was lived. in much the same way that the doctor can remember, can feel, the love he held onto as john smith even as that life is ripped out of his hands. the doctor choose denial and then grief and then to shutter it all away. and so john smith died, and so professor yana died, and the doctor and the master live on. the doctor has done this before, and he lives in orbit around humanity, trying to keep the best parts of them and hold them deep enough to take root (which he can pretend he gets to choose, as a time lord. as a human, it all floods in and can’t be dug back out.) but what about the master, right?

to borrow a turn of phrase: i think there are two time lords left in the universe, and they both learned how to regret.