#and he's like idk. bout a century?

[yesokayiknow]

okay so you know how it goes: fourteen comes to life in thirteen's clothes. and they're both too short and too loose and entirely too bright for his frame of mind. they worked with a doctor who hid everything behind a too wide smile; not so much with a doctor whose pain and tiredness is written across his face

he needs to change. obviously

and then the star beast starts, and fourteen leaves the tardis, and he's still in thirteen's clothes

he just. he doesn't know. how does he choose new clothes? he feels wrong. how will wearing something else change that?

(donna tells him that it's christmas, mate; it's bloody freezing. maybe wear longer trousers, yeah? also he's both too young and too old to wear braces. just a friendly note)

he doesn't have to explain who he is to the unit scientist, not with those clothes. instead he talks about how he doesn't understand why he looks like this. why he is this. why this face? why isn't he someone new?

actually. maybe he is someone new. was he ever this open before? hm

why do you look like that, sylvia hisses, trying to hide him from the daughter he destroyed ruined left

it's a lottery, he replies, purposely ignorant

he still has his thirteenth self's screwdriver. it's too small in his hands

(the whole time they were her, her hands were too small. she didn't like touching anyway, but whenever someone took her hand, it felt wrong. they were too small. sometimes it felt like if she worked fast enough, tinkered about without stopping, she wouldn't have to look at them)

everything goes wrong. his fault, like always

(blimey. of all the things to carry over from the first time he had this face, it had to be the guilt, didn't it?)

you shouldn't look like that, the doctordonna says, and he runs a hand down his face with a tired laugh

no, the doctordonna says, not the face. a hand reaches out to grasp at the collar of his shirt, at the dangling earring chain. this isn't you. who are you, doctor?

like he knows. like they've ever-

she dies.

she lives. he doesn't deserve it. it isn't about him. he still doesn't deserve it

we're letting it go, donna says, and he looks down at himself, at another him's clothes, another him's screwdriver

well, she never was subtle, his donna

the tardis is gorgeous, though when isn't she. he tries to show off his new console to donna, and she rolls her eyes, and drags him off to the wardrobe

unlike normally, where all the clothes are scattered about, the new tardis wardrobe now also has a line of wardrobes stood against the wall. fifteen of them, to be exact

the last wardrobe is open. and empty

he goes to the second to last, and opens it to reveal a wide array of rainbow patterned shirts. she probably would've hated for her things to be organised like this. always creating mess so she wouldn't have to think about anything important. he laughs. and he takes off the sky coloured coat and the worn boots and the earrings and gently places them inside. tag, he thinks, as he closes the doors

and then he moves down to the eleventh wardrobe, full of brown coats and blue suits and neatly pressed shirts and pairs of converse. and he stands in front of it. and he wonders

after a moment, donna's like wait do you want me to leave?? you never cared about nudity before, did you? and he's like oh actually i do feel more self conscious. huh. weird.

he doesn't have to say, i think i'm a different person. not to donna. she just gives him a smile, and a shoulder nudge, and tells him she'll see him in the console room

the last wardrobe is empty

he takes a breath, and then goes to rummage about in the rest of the clothes

#13 🤝 14 (🤝 12) -> dysphoria 😔 #doctor who #the doctor #fourteen #my fanfic #i mean ig #the tardis is including war. and so am i #the fugitive doctor's clothes are around somewhere also #then he leaves the wardrobe and donna's like literally all you've done is change your colour palette #and he's like oi i've only been me for a few hours! give me time to get a fashion sense! #and she's like well how long were you your last face #and he's like idk. bout a century? #and she's like i saw your clothes before this. that one had decades & never found a sense of fashion so i'm not holding my breath with you. #it's the new year i've decided to write about things only i still care abt probably dsakjlaskjl #why isn't this a proper fic. because i can't be bothered. hope that helps #bye im gonna go make brownies

[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne

#servants cant learn new stuff (i'll talk about jalter in a second) therefore #jeanne shouldnt know how to read or write #we actually Dont get a confirmation that she can do those things in summer 3. because the book that jalter thought jeanne wrote #was actually Her own book #jeanne works with marie. maybe she comes up with the ideas and does rough drawings that marie would be Delighted to bring to life #marie reads to jeanne is my image #jalter taught herself how to read and write and i think that was possible because of the unstability of her existence #if you try to teach jeanne how to read and write it will stick for a second but if like idk 15-20 min pass she would likely find herself #unable to read again and her writting to be suboptimal #she can sign her own name ofc thats historical #she can recite the bible from memory iirc #i love jalter's ability to be her own person even if it comes with the fact that she is very much. an ephemeral dream #like her FCKING SKILL IS CALLED. #WHY MUST YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS FGO #anyway. now jeanne again but physical #oughhh thank u for the support in the tags when i said jeanne should have self image issues because she looked different in life #i hadnt fully talked bout it i just went with hair but yeah. i need to check again because im pretty sure her body wasnt Suuuper different #but i just gotta confirm #but im just so i love the idea of her just not liking the way she manifested abd not knowing Why she manifested like that #when there are Countless depictions of her with her short brown hair #sieg looks to the side whistling (its not his fault but he knows the pseudo servant part #and its probably a mix of . fate apocrypha's manifestation and of how some people imagined jeanne looked like #but it still upsets her #not that she'd ever complain to people #you can probably get it out of her tho #unrelated and only to those who reached this far: im thinking of a singularity set in 15th century orleans in the Middle of the hundred year #war. but the difference aint “oh jeanne d'arc came back to life evil” rather than “there seems to be a battle here where it shouldnt and oh #my god is that jeanne- oh god jeanne d'arc fucking died-- #and chaldeas has to try and fix the war without living breathing jeanne d'arc #actually thats not the middle of the 100yearwar but yknow what i mean. also haha jk unless...

[bracketsoffear]

Nightfall (Isaac Asimov & Robert Silverberg) "From TV Tropes: Lagash's six suns means an Endless Daytime, except for once every 2,049 years, when five suns set and the only sun left in the hemisphere is eclipsed by the moon. The scientists are trying to prepare civilization and themselves for the upcoming nightfall, but when it does occur, no-one is prepared for the thirty thousand stars that suddenly appear in the night sky. This leads to the far more devastating revelation how tiny and insignificant they are by comparison." "Aton, somewhere, was crying, whimpering horribly like a terribly frightened child. 'Stars — all the Stars — we didn't know at all. We didn't know anything. We thought six stars in a universe is something the Stars didn't notice is Darkness forever and ever and ever and the walls are breaking in and we didn't know we couldn't know and anything —'"

The Jaunt (Stephen King) “As a family prepares to be "Jaunted" to Mars in the 24th century, the father entertains his two children by recounting the curious tale of the discovery and history of this crude form of teleportation. He explains how the scientist who serendipitously discovered it quickly learned that it had a disturbing, inexplicable effect on the mice he "sent through"—eventually concluding that they could only survive the "Jaunt effect" while unconscious. That, the father explains, is why all people must undergo general anaesthesia before using the Jaunt.

The father spares his children the gruesome semi-apocryphal account of the first human to be Jaunted awake, a condemned murderer offered a full pardon for agreeing to the experiment. The man "came through" and immediately suffered a massive heart attack, living just long enough to utter a single cryptic phrase:

It's eternity in there…

The father also doesn't mention that since that time, roughly thirty people have, voluntarily or otherwise, jaunted while conscious; they either died instantly or emerged insane. One woman was even shoved alive into eternal limbo by her murderous husband, stuck between two jaunt portals. The man was convicted of murder; though his attorneys attempted to argue that he was not guilty on the grounds that his wife was not technically dead, the implications of the same argument served to secure and hasten his execution.

After the father finishes his story, the family is subjected to the sleeping gas and Jaunted to Mars. When the father wakes, he finds that his inquisitive son held his breath in order to experience the Jaunt while conscious…Hair white with shock, corneas yellowed with age, clawing out his own eyes, the boy reveals the terrible nature of the Jaunt: "Longer than you think, Dad! It's longer than you think!"

Underland (Robert MacFarlane) "A series of essays on "deep time" - that is, viewing the world over timeframes of billions of years, rather than the shorter timeframes we live within & understand. It is essentially the vastness of time. This concept stretches eons into the past and future and is very daunting to read about. The essays all revolve around things underground and often focus on how they're so much larger than us, existing far before us and stretching far beyond.

Also there's a chapter where the author talks about a calving glacier he saw surge upwards hundreds of feet from the sea, unbelievably huge. He recounts how the ice at its base hadn't seen sunlight in eons, and had never even been seen by human eyes, it was so ancient - it then sank underwater again, to once more be hidden. And if that doesn't sound like the origin of a vast avatar idk what does"

#vast poll #the vast #poll #the magnus archives #leitner tournament #Nightfall #Isaac Asimov #Robert Silverberg #The Jaunt #Stephen King #Underland #Robert MacFarlane

[photo-of-a-ghost]

Written analysis for exhumed that's probably not accurate

"When they dug me out the ground they first pronounced me dead" - she was buried alive and considering it's kinda hard to bury yourself it was probably done by someone she knows (like a nurse / assistant since she's a doctor)

"But when I rolled my eyes" - idk bout you but I don't roll my eyes when I wake up from a nap but I DO after surgery and why ?? Drugs she was probably drugged

"Have I been asleep for a hundred years or more" - implies she wasn't aware / conscious while she was buried

"Well I'm hungry don't you see please come closer to me sure" - okay so... She eats people but that's okay she's silly and she's just hungry -- also she probably ate the guy who dug her up considering it's a century later he was probably a paleontologist

"I'm Carmilla but that's Doctor to you" - she was a doctor and yea that's basically all that

"You can run or you can try and hide but that won't protect you from it won't protect you from the truth" - people are y'know scared she's alive and a vampire so uh oh !!

"Well now I'm in this lab but it's me that's on the slab" - people are trying to dissect her because she's alive - also implies she did surgery before the mechs too

"Surrounded by these instruments that I don't understand" - medicine progressed alot in 100 years so she's probably scared with all the new shit

"So please don't be afraid now that I am free" - :(( she's not a monster she's just her

"You look kinda tasty to me" - ...so she's eating people again but that's okay !! - also seems like she's only eating people that either tried to kill her or were rude to her

"Well I've rarely felt so alive even though I'm kinda dead" - implies she can only get her nutrients from eating people / their blood

"And though I know it hurts to feel the way you do" - empathy !!

"And surely you know I'll get over you" - talking to the guy that tried to CUT HER OPEN we love a girl who can process trauma

#twink theories #the mechanisms #the mechs #doctor carmilla #dr carmilla

[dearestones]

Twisted Wonderland Matchup: Lilia Vanrouge

@atlas-tbh-idk-what-to-do Request: Hellooooo! I hope your day's been good :D I'd like to request a romantic character match-up for Twisted wonderland! The gender of the character can be, any, idm at all :)

Here is a basic Description of myself:

Im a blue eyed blonde person that is Genderfluid, originally afab. I'm around 6ft tall and have an over all chubby build.

Hobbies: I like to read, occasionally draw and play games (genshin impact, CoD, apex legends)

Personality: Im overall kind and a bit shy, though a bit sensitive. Though I do tend to have a more chaotic and careless side to me once I open up to others. I'm very very loud, unintentionally.

Five good aspects about me:

Kind

Patient

Sympathetic

Understanding

Smart

Five bad aspects about me:

Insecure

Easily paranoid

Social Anxiety

Don't think when I talk

Very hard headed

Dreams: I hope to one day get a medical degree and become a foresnic scientist as I've always been interested in the human anatomy

Im sorry if this is a bit long, but thank you either way! Have a cute cow to improve your day :D

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After going through the description provided, I believe that you best pair well with Lilia Vanrouge!

Lilia absolutely adores you! Even though you're way taller than him, he finds you so adorable and likes the fact that you're so chubby! It's the cuteness and the allure that comes with such a build that does him in.

And speaking of cuteness! If you’re ever chatting with him online or if you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll send you pictures of cute, fluffy animals! His personal favorites are baby bats, but if you’re lucky, he might even send pictures of little dragonlings and other mythical creatures from his travels! (He may send in an ultra scary creature that should never see the light of day, but that’s mostly to keep you on your toes and for his own amusement).

Furthermore, Lilia immediately respects your pronouns and likes to take you out shopping for clothes that best represent your style and how you're feeling on certain days. Feeling more masculine? He'll definitely recommend clothing that highlights certain aspects of your body like your shoulders and your muscles to match your preferences. Feminine? Don't worry, Lilia has also collected a centuries' worth of items that could accentuate your assets. If you're falling somewhere in between? Don't worry! Lilia likes mixing and matching his wardrobe; his aesthetics can range from poppy cuteness to vampire goth, so don't worry about it.

Oh my, a gamer? Lilia himself likes to play many games as well. Perhaps that's how you met. Maybe you were in an online lobby together or playing co-op in a game! If you do play together before knowing each other beforehand, be prepared for his teasing and bouts of helpful advice from time to time. Eventually, once you get used to his ability to appear out of nowhere, he'll come to love your chaotic and careless side. He loves it when you're shy and sensitive, but he finds himself intrigued when you become comfortable around him.

And what does it matter if you’re loud? Lilia loves it when the youth are rambunctious and noisy; it adds to the atmosphere and makes him feel young again. You make him feel young again and he is simply grateful for that. 

Lilia is a force of nature that can be hard to contend with sometimes. Even though he's lived for centuries longer than most mortals and he's lived lifetimes of experiences, he values you for who you are. You may be insecure and easily paranoid, but he understands that you may need time to process your experiences and emotions. He may be older than you by a large margin, but he remembers what it was like to be young and hard headed and mouthy.

Negative traits should be acknowledged and embraced because they are opportunities that people use to grow and learn from. If you ever find yourself suffering from social anxiety or in a bad place mentally, he'll be there to ground you by holding your hand or diverting other people's attention away from you. He may be tinier than you, but he can and will make a fool of himself if that means you can be more comfortable!

As for the positive sides of yourself, Lilia adores all of them! He has lived through countless wars and battles and he's witnessed all sides of man: the good, the bad, and the utterly mundane and human. He finds that your kindness and patience coupled with sympathy and understanding complements his more extraverted and rambunctious personality. You provide a different perspective to his life and give him new meaning in how to proceed further into his journey.

Lilia is also keen on having his mettle challenged! Your intelligence is also a great boon to have in a relationship! Perhaps you can share what books you like to read and he’ll happily read alongside you and give his commentary. He may be a warrior at heart, but he is also a learned scholar. What do you think he’s been doing for centuries once the war with the humans was over? He’ll debate the themes and symbols present in the books that you like reading. Once or twice he’ll (accidentally on purpose) let slip that he might have met the author when they were still alive! (Is he lying? You’ll never know). 

And you’re thinking about becoming a forensic scientist? How exciting! If you’d like, Lilia can help share his expertise when it comes to human anatomy (and beastman and merfolk and the fae). Unfortunately, he can’t quite say why he knows where certain organs are and how certain body parts react when penetrated or slashed open by a cleaver. However, his enthusiasm will match yours and he’ll dig through his hoard to find whatever materials like books or even medical equipment that he might have stored in his room somewhere. 

All in all, a romantic relationship with Lilia means that you’ll be living a life with adventure. He can’t guarantee and entire lifetime with you, but he will treasure every moment, every experience, every dream that you share with each other. He’s your knight and he will lay down his life just for you at this very moment. 

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland matchup #twst matchup #twisted wonderland lilia #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #character matchup #matchup #dearestones #devintrinidad

[blueiight]

make me choose, hmmmmm top 5 musicians and why

i want u to know i been staring at this ask for hours in a reeeaall conniption. im hardly an objective voice on music but some all timers. n ima keep it mainly anglophone cuz its the lingua franca of this la blog here & cuz if i rly overthought it i could go places lol. idt anybody’s top 10 list can be ethical or complete w/o minnie riperton, diana ross,janet jackson (the first REAL alt r&b lady) & whitney houston 🤷🏽‍♀️… and that is simply bc these women’s contribution to music is not to be understated.. the whisper note, the global girl group (supremes), nippy the worldwide legend.. my mom legit stopped listening to music when nippy died. & STEVIE wonder!!! luther vandross<3 n i feel like yk my real love for teddy pendergrass sum bout his baritoneee🤎& joe tex...boris gardiner lets go jamaica. atlantic starr & 21st century extremely underrated but amazingly talented bands & groups. idk if beyonce can be considered modern shes like the last world star cuz streaming made it so everybody could curate their own list. i feel like bey fans undersell dangerously in love lemonade & b’day but its my faves ever soz. but bilal, jazmine sullivan, meshell ndegochello, kelela, alex isley, ari lennox, van hunt (also idk how modern he is cuz he been making music for decades but he got some classics in 2010s), r some my fave modern singers. honestly my music tag is p solid cuz i post w/e comes up on my playlist & theres more talent precious to me there than i can immediately recall but i truly love music😭😭 theres so much to go w this question like i was mainly thinking musician as in ppl whos primary instrument is their voice but even w van hunt n some of these groups/ppl named we could add on more n talk musician as in a vocalist & /or instrumentalist (w/ their particular instruments. whos the best saxophonist?) but ahh. def more than 5 soz this is worse than asking a parent to choose their fave child!!!. betsy ily

#yn. #yn answers #yn do sum maymays. #music #downstairsbar #sleepover meme

[machinati0ns]

--tipsyGnostalgic started pestering timaeusTestified!-- : TG: ok so we can make this work 4 the most part TG: but it dose need a couple minor changes TT: Well, don't leave me hangin'. TG: HANG on ill send it 2 u TG: changes.png TG: chnages.txt TG: also ill obvs send back the prototype TG: u mite need tht idk TT: Yeah, I might. TT: Thanks. TG: np TT: ... TG: ... TT: ... TG: ... TT: ... TG: so r u gonna tell me whats on ur mind or r we just gonna keep saying dots @ each other 4ever TT: ... TG: dots it is then! TG: ... TT: No, sorry, I'm just thinking. TG: yea lol when r u not TT: If it actually does go this quickly, we'll be a couple years ahead of schedule, won't we? TG: yep TG: all the better 2 get the drop on the batterwithc with TT: True that. TT: Time enough for us to get to know them too, hopefully. TG: ... TT: ... TG: i cant wait TT: I know. Me neither. TG: i miss her so much TG: even tho ive never met her TT: I know. TT: I feel the same way, believe me. TG: o trust me i do TT: ... TG: ... TT: ... TG: ... TT: So anyway. TG: GOD TT: Not to totally change the subject from our stunted and awkward emotional trauma bonding, but regardless of how long it takes, we should prepare sooner rather than later. TG: yeah way 2 ruin the moment striDICK TT: Yeah, yeah. Sorry. TT: But like I was saying. TG: SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGNH TG: i no i no TG: beliebe u me i have been thinkin bout this for YEARS TT: Beliebe? TG: R U NOT A BELIEBER DIRK???? TT: Is anyone these days? TG: SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHNT x2 TT: Sorry I asked. TG: u better b! TG: but n e ways yeah ive been thinkin TG: about what to bring n what 2 leave behind TG: like food for xample. do u think well need 2 bring any TT: Presumably they will have some, given it's the 21st century and not the post-apocalypse. TT: But we should err on the side of caution. So maybe a small ration or something. TT: As well as anything we'll want to keep that wasn't already left for us. TG: not a lot o tht shit lmaooo TT: Yeah. TG: wat abt ur bot bros tho?? TT: ... TG: ... TT: I might be able to bring Squarewave; he's small enough. TT: Sawtooth, though... TG: o nooooo TT: I know. TT: I don't want to leave him behind, but he's so big. TG: could u make him smaller tho? r like a temp chassis till u can build him another 1? TT: Would I even have time to do that? TG: bro we got so much time TG: licterally all the time in the world TT: I'll see if I can. TT: I'd hate to have to leave any of them. TT: Will the carapaces be alright without you? TG: i gotta hope so @ least TG: theyre resilient lil guy i beliebe in them TT: I do, too.

#exposition #p;logs #OH GOD IR EACHED THE FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT OF THIS HANG ON #if tumblr fucks with the colors of this i'm not going to try to fix it god it's so long #longpost #arc: but the past ain't through with you

[pumpkinpaix]

Hey, something I’ve been wondering since I first watched CQL: in ep 5, there’s a line where Wen Qing is talking to Wen Ning and says something like ‘Our family has been doctors for centuries, but I can’t cure my own brother’ (that’s verbatim from the US Netflix subtitles) and I’ve always wondered about that word, ‘cure’. As someone who lives with mental illness, I’m a little sensitive to the idea of a mental affliction being ‘cured,’ as though it’s a malady to be remedied, as though there’s something ‘wrong’ that can be ‘fixed’. The word ‘cure’ brings up all that discomfort for me, but I only know English, and I’m curious to know how accurate the concept of a ‘cure’ is to the actual conversation taking place there? I think a lot about the way neurodivergence is discussed in CQL, and I don’t want to misjudge connotation based on translation error.

hi there! so this ask is *checks* a month old yikes, but i’ve been thinking about it for a long time so here we go (finally)! :D

so here’s the scene in question:

[ID: two screenshots from episode 5 of the untamed. wen qing is speaking to wen ning. the subtitles read ‘我却治不了自己弟弟的病’ and ‘but i can’t cure my own brother’. /end ID]

with regards to your grammar/language question: 治 can mean both “to treat” and “to cure”. there are certain sentence constructions that can make it clear which it is, but not all of them do so.

for example, 治好 is definitely ‘to cure’ - the grammar there is [VERB + 好] can mean either “to finish VERBing” or “to VERB well”. so, to finish treating = to cure.

however, in this case, that’s not the construction that’s being used, and I would say it’s not clear-cut. “VERB + 不了” is “to be unable to VERB”. because 治 is ambiguous on its own, what she says here, “我却治不了自己弟弟的病”, comes down to “but I am unable to treat/cure my own younger brother’s illness”.

what I think is maybe a more complicated issue is the idea of mental illness and/or neurodivergence in CQL and how understandings of it impact our perceptions of the characters/narrative.

I’ve seen a lot of interpretations of Wen Ning’s affliction in CQL to be neurodivergence, but I’m actually quite surprised when I hear this. i believe the illness wen qing and wei wuxian refer to when talking about wen ning is his susceptibility/weakness towards resentful/yin energy, which manifests in fainting spells and long bouts of unconsciousness. to me, that is not analogous to mental illness or neurodivergence so much as something like epileptic episodes brought on by exposure to specific triggers. by CQL canon, we know that he has not always had this -- he contracted the illness after his encounter with the guanyin statue that sucked away part of his soul when he was a child, and this now gives him a weak constitution and makes him largely unsuitable for night hunting, especially unsupervised. this is what wen qing is trying to treat and/or cure. in mdzs, he does not have this condition, and wen qing never mentions anything about trying to treat or cure him at all.

given that this condition is most likely a creation for the sake of getting around censors at least in part (basically: a way to create a reason for why wen ning isn’t “dead” -- in addition, probably was also meant to increase wen sibs screentime/sympathy), I’ve always seen it as a bit of a handwavy physical condition that was tacked on as opposed to an actual statement about his character, if that makes sense.

in general, I’m hesitant to outright assign labels of neurodivergence or mental illness to mdzs/cql characters because I think that labels like that are inherently societally and culturally dependent. with the rise of identity politic rhetoric in the US and all of that kind of getting tangled up with our conceptions of being ND or mentally ill, I worry about trying to analyze mdzs/cql through such a lens because identities are so inextricably tied to environment. even if both i and a character could be “diagnosed” with the same condition, I think it would be undeniable that our experiences of such would be very different because we come from different cultural backgrounds. not just, chinese author vs american reader but like, fantastical xianxia chinese conception of a character vs chinese-american conception of identity.

alskdjfl idk if this even makes sense, but!! basically, I actually don’t think that CQL discusses or really portrays neurodivergence at all, not in such terms. I think it’s completely appropriate and valid to headcanon and interpret characters in ways that resonate with you! i certainly do, lol (morally scrupulous twin jades anyone? :D 🥃), but im nervous about asserting that any CQL characters actually are/have xyz condition because I don’t think that a discussion on that front is particularly meaningful. I know that this hesitance comes both from my own views on what neurodivergence/mental illness mean and how useful those terms actually are, and also from a very personal anger over some moral injunctions that I’ve seen people place on portraying characters’ “real” or “coded” mental states that are seriously misguided, harmful, and extremely culturally american in their claims (that will probably be a separate post though lol).

that isn’t to say there isn’t value in thinking about how one can interpret characters in one way or another, or that there isn’t value in discussing how unintentionally, a character might fall into archetypes that evoke certain identities and how that subtext might or might not impact a person’s experience or takeaway from the media! but I think all of that has to be contextualized as opposed to generalized. /o\

this.... came out a lot less coherent than i wanted it to be, but my brain is Not having it for some reason. I hope that I at least managed to answer your question/help you along in your continuing thought process!!! :D

(ko-fi)

#vulcansmirk #asks and replies #mine #mymeta #wen ning #mdzs #mdzs meta #cql meta #the untamed meta #the untamed #cql #neurodivergence #?? #i guess

[dreamscapesin1582]

Vampires + Model MC

SCENARIO:

MC used to model for the ads of their travel agency. It escalated there and somewhat she received a few offers of modelling for catalogs and women’s magazines.

For some reason, she had a few of those with her when she got teleported to 19th century France and she fell in love and blahblahblah.

One day, she was shopping for groceries when her lover entered her room and found some interesting books peeking out of her purse.

Let’s say it’s the summer edition… aka swimsuits :))))

IKESEN VERSION: Oda Forces  ||  Uesugi-Takeda Alliance

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

*eyes emoji*

“oh shit”

what did i just stumble upon

he backs away, then thinks that it must be a future thing

“so we’re good” then he takes it again

“she never told me she used to model”

browses through every page with a furrow in his brow

like yall really be telling me that ppl see this for free?

where was this when i was cold and alone in my throne

the future is w i l d,,,

he’s not that fond of books but he will definitely keep this one

f o r   s u r e

when mc gets back, napo will def ask her abt it

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

“all these years in solitude and i still get blessed by the world”

why do i even go outside, i wonder

anyways mozart tries to put it back

mozart really tried to put it back

narrator: mozart could not put it back

makes sure no one is around before opening it again

“will this be the reason why jean will finally disown me”

nah lets just call it…….. m o t i v a t i o n

whenever he is in the music room, there are two (2) things in front of him

sheet music and the magazine

conclusion: he has no shame

“ITS FOR THE GLORY OF MY MUSIC MC”

LEONARDO DA VINCI

this one is up for any adventure amirite

so when he saw the magazines?

he just found the fucking treasure

yeah thats right im talking bout u

love yourself my hoes

a n y w a y s

after all those centuries, leonardo da vinci has never been this interested in anything

i mean being dead inside and all

he will examine the shit out of that magazine

the p e r f e c t i o n

he would admire how accurate the pictures are,,,,, and how s e x y

smirksmirksmirksmirk

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

…………..what do u even expect lmao

jk guess what

contrary to common belief, the moment arthur witnessed the sheer power that is your body dressed in full glory

is the moment all his blood evacuated to his face

and ejected itself through the orifice that is his nose

b o l l o c k s

bless the gods that created the female sex

bless your mother

“oh fuck it bless everyone”

and he meant it

he blessed everyone with the collection of your pictures

imagine theo snapping his neck once it reached vincent lol

VINCENT VAN GOGH

he was just innocently killing time in your room, waiting for u

and then the devil inside him presented itself through a magazine

just poppin out of nowhere like “sURpRiSE moThERfUcKEr”

anyways he was like “oh!”

oh my go od ne s s g ra cio u s

anyone can see the sun in sunshine boi

considering how hot his face feels

it doesnt help that the pictures were clear and pretty

accurately taking every curve–

“broer i was wondering if that next painting is done—BROER?!”

that’s theo finding him passed out with the evidence lmao

ISAAC NEWTON

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA he’s gone bro

the brain of the genius is now dysfunctional

“iS tHiS LegAL???????”

he looks at the pictures with both horror and sexual frustration lol

nervously takes it away

for science part 2

cue mc coming back later in the day

“isaac have you seen the magazine in my purse?”

spits tea

“huh w-what magazine no i didnt see a magazine idk any magazine what is a magazine even”

mc is partly amused at how he said that in a second

“god pls take me away”

here it is,,,, i couldnt help myself since i keep seeing my model mc hcs blowing up my notifs lolololol

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark #cybird #ikemen series #ikevam napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #ikevam mozart #ikevamp mozart #ikevam leonardo #ikevamp leonardo #ikevam arthur #ikevamp arthur #ikevam vincent #ikevamp vincent #ikevam isaac #ikevamp isaac #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikevam headcanon #ikevam hc #ikemen vampire hc #model mc

[simplyotometrash]

Hello! I hope it’s okay if I’m requesting something again (It’s me from the fashion mess request ^^) Would you be able to do a scenario where gn!mc sorta remembers that Oh right! They’re a human and therefore can age and yknow die and they go to Asmo to voice their worries? I always wonder how someone who is A, immortal, and B, is as “self centred” as Asmodeous would react to someone being scared of death, idk I’m just in a angst reading mood-

I can surely try! I'm not too good at angsty stuff but this is the best I have for you!

Asmo x GN! MC/reader

Warnings: probably really badly written angst smh, don't judge me because I am rusty

Asmo had never thought about your mortality before. You were his human, his muse. The only person he felt he loved as much or even more than himself. While his narcissism was all a façade, it was hard to love anyone to the extent he loved himself. Until you came along. It felt strange but wonderful, beautiful but scary. He did not realize just how vulnerable being in love could make him feel.

You, on the other hand, had so much love to give. You were loving to all the brothers, though only Asmo was the one who garnered romantic affections. You just knew there was something sweet and kind behind his self-centered act. You were right, of course. The day you two started dating was the day you temporarily forgot that you were mortal.

Not now, though. You were looking through your belongings when it dawned on you: you were mortal. You were destined to grow older and eventually die. Being in the Devildom, you honestly forgot all about your own mortality. It was easy to forget when you were surrounded by magic. Hell, you knew a sorcerer who was centuries old and didn't look a day over 21. Of course you forgot about it. You let yourself believe that you were privy to escaping the clutches of your own mortality.

Needless to say, that spiraled you into a bout of existentialism that you could not shake. Being at odds with your inevitable fate was scary. You weren't even going to die soon. You were young and had so much life ahead of you. It paled in comparison to the many centuries your friends and boyfriend spent alive. They had lived for so long, never growing old and never worrying about their own death. You were just a human. You weren't anything special. You didn't have whatever magic that Solomon had to stay alive and young. You would die and everyone would eventually forget about you.

Asmo had been in his room when you showed up. You knew exactly where to find him. He had just begun to run a luxurious bubble bath for himself that he was already planning to invite you over to join him in. That was when he heard his door open and your smell hit his nose.

"Dearest! I was just about to come for you. I'm running us a bubble bath and-" He stopped at the sight of your face. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, picking at your nails, and you looked utterly distressed. "Darling MC, what's wrong? Why're you upset?"

His concern was enough to break you. You flew into his embrace and began to pour your worries out. "Asmo, I'm...I'm afraid. Being here, being surrounded by magic and people who don't age, I forgot that I'm just a human. I...I'm going to get older and older while you all stay young. I'm going to die one day."

You spilled your heart to him and he merely held you close, rubbing small circles on your back and rocking you in his arms. "I find your mortality to be beautiful, MC. It's something I can't possibly begin to understand. You have a purpose in your life, no matter how short it is compared to mine. You humans do so much with the time you're given and make such an impact on those around you. Your memory lives on for years."

"But one day I'm going to die and...and I'll have to leave you..." Your sobs broke his heart. He knew you didn't want to leave him or his brothers. You were happy there in the Devildom. But it had to hurt knowing that you were the only one who would grow old and die.

"And your memory will live with me for the rest of my days. None of us would ever be able to forget you or how you touched our lives. You brought us back together as a family. You gave me more than I can even say. But," he said, "if you really want to look into extending your lifespan then I think that's something we can do together."

Truth be told, Asmo's suggestion was partly selfish in intent. He was trying so hard to provide you with comfort and kind words. Help ease your worry about your mortality. But he did not want to think about losing you. He would love nothing more than for you to be with him for years to come, centuries even. Losing you would break him. You, the one he loved more than he loved himself. The one who touched his very heart and reminded him what it's like to love and be truly loved by another person.

"Now, how about we stop this talk for right now. It's upsetting you and all this stress is bad for your skin! Let's get you one of my robes and then into the bubble bath we go, my darling!"

You knew he was only trying to help ease your worries. He wasn't good with tears. But for now, you could say you were content. Your fears were heard and you would work through them together, hand in hand.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me oneshot #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo oneshot #waylonwrites

[soysauceharry]

barefoot in the park

the enemies-to-lovers orchestra!au in which you and harry are dueling violinists competing for the same prize, but you might just win something else along the way.

A/N: so happy to have been a part of the pick your poison fic challenge!! this was so fun to write and i can’t wait to share it with you all. big thanks to anna @for-fucks-sake-h​, anne @oh-honey-styles​, and kate @andwhenshesays​ for putting this all together! make sure you check out all the other stories!

thank you to tans @gucciwoodnymph​, nora @smokeinherperfume​, laura @afterstylesmadeit​, and ash @you-sure-are-magneato​ for beta reading this!

[word count: 11k] // language, smut, angst? idk i tried

You stand at the steps of Henry Wood Hall and look up, taking in the old church as it looms over you. It’s gargantuan, like a weirdly rigid fantasy character preparing to wage war over a city of unsuspecting individuals. You wonder how you’d fare in a battle like that: you against this centuries-old monster. Six months ago, you wouldn’t even have considered defeat an option. But, six months ago, the devil incarnate didn’t take up space in its halls.

“Legs not workin’ anymore?”

You don’t bother turning around, knowing fully well that the source of the voice will soon inhabit the space by your ear like a fruit fly on a quest for spoiled apples. True to habit, a warm body bumps your shoulder not two seconds later. Lucky it wasn’t the shoulder holding your violin case, you think, otherwise he’d have a completely different storm coming.

“Thought I’d wished this in a dream,” Harry Styles says, and you can practically feel the smugness dripping from his tongue. “Our star second chair violin, caught in a bout of stage fright. Could it be?”

You hate the patronizing way he says the words. Second chair. As if it’s a dirty thing, to be the effective second-in-command of the entire orchestra. A chair you’ve kept warm for three years; a chair for which you made your fingers bleed, playing to hundreds every night with bandages on your knuckles. And here Harry is, reducing it to something akin to an insult.

Devil incarnate.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you snap, reflexively taking a step away from him. “I don’t have stage fright. I’ve never had stage fright, and don’t you think for a second—”

“Whoa, hey—relax, Jesus.” He holds his hands up in front of him, violin bag strapped carefully across his back. “Stick up your arse, much?”

“Irritating as fuck, much?”

And this is where the air changes, as Harry’s eyes narrow into slits. The sea-glass green is nearly gone as his lips curl into a less-than-pleasant scowl. “Anger isn’t very becoming of a woman,” he says in a low voice. You scoff, rolling your eyes. He speaks to you like a child, as if he holds any sort of authority with the orchestra, even in the three months he’s been here. “Might want to tone the queen bitch energy before making your case for concertmaster.”

You clench your jaw and fist at the same time. The moon-shaped indentations on your palm will last well into the evening. Nothing about this situation is fair, but you have to remind yourself that your hard work and lack of curly-haired distractions would put you at the top, where you belong.

“We’re late. M’not making excuses for you,” you mumble, already heading up the steps, not bothering to give him a second glance behind you.

-*- 

The war between you and Harry had started with a fateful meeting at the beginning of the season.

The principal conductor’s office is a cramped space, each wall lined with bookshelves overflowing with sheet music and theory books. You’d only ever been in there twice before: once during your interview for the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and again to accept the first violin position. Even in those quick visits, you know the office barely has enough space for two people, let alone three.

Yet you’d walked in after being called in after rehearsals one afternoon, shoulders rolling forward to make yourself smaller instinctively. There had been someone else in the chair, and you’d watched as the conductor’s smile grew even larger when he’d introduced the stranger. He had turned in his chair, dimples carved into his cheeks, and you’d returned his warm expression eagerly. It would be nice to have some more young people in the orchestra, you thought. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous as well.

“This is Harry Styles. He’s come to us on loan from Vienna. We’ll be putting you both on trial for Pieter’s chair this season.”

Three sentences, and the illusion had shattered.

The concertmaster’s chair would be opening up at the end of this year’s season, and you’d thought for certain it would be yours. Full stop. No question. Three years into your tenure at the London Philharmonic and you’d bet your violin on it. To be the leader of the orchestra, second-in-command only to the conductor, before the age of thirty… just to have the opportunity ripped away and dangled above you like a teasing treat for a cat. And, adding insult to injury, the hand that dangled the treat above you belonged to the most vile, self-obsessed, narcissistic individual you’d ever met.

A higher power was having too much fun.

And so it had gone for the last six months—you and Harry each taking turns playing as the concertmaster for each repertoire presented to the public. It’s April now, and you only had until next month to prove to the board that you deserved the chair. The battle has been equally matched up until this point,, but the spring showcase is up next and this show tends to draw a more enthusiastic crowd. It isn’t the time to fumble.

Every second you aren’t in rehearsal is spent in one of the practice rooms in the basement of the building. That’s where you are now, on a Friday afternoon, normally a day off but each hour not used for practice is an hour wasted. Going on hour three and you still have yet to successfully play through the first movement with no mistakes.

Mahler is tricky, no doubt, but you feel practically incompetent with how poorly your rehearsals have been going. One more botched measure and you might just snap your bow in half. When you violin screeches with yet another wrong note, you throw your arms down with a huff, muttering a quiet fucking hell to yourself.

It’s the perfect time to take a toilet break, you suppose, lest you start talking to yourself. After resting your violin and bow back in the case, you grab your water bottle and head out of the practice room toward the toilets down the hall. 

“Oi, second chair!” 

You choose to ignore the nickname, willing it to be a figment of your imagination, and continue down the hall. Harry says your name, louder this time, and you keep walking toward the toilet determinedly. Just a few more steps—no, his footsteps are getting faster—almost there, just—

“Mahler giving you some trouble, is he?”

That makes you stop. You turn, already suspicious of what this encounter could entail. “Sorry?”

“I heard you.” He nods his head back toward your rehearsal room. “I’ve been next door. The screeching was distracting me.” When you start walking back toward the toilets, he falls into step beside you. Breathe, you coach yourself. “How long have you been at it, then?”

“Few hours,” you mutter. “But I’m almost done. Just tweaking a few things.”

“You tellin’ me that or are you trying to convince yourself?” When you look at him in offense, he simply shrugs. “What? I told you I heard you.”

You stop in your tracks then, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. His lips twitch with a hint of a smirk and he mirrors your position. A door opens and closes down the hall, and the muffled sounds of other musicians practicing echoes around you. 

“Are you always this much of a nuisance?”

“Can’t a friend check on another friend when they’re having a tough time?”

The superiority practically oozes from his frame. “We’re not friends,” you say bluntly.

“Acquaintances, then.”

“Coworkers.”

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Come on, love,” he jokes, knocking his elbow against yours. He looks far too satisfied with himself. You scowl, completely ready to move on from this conversation. “Sure you don’t want any feedback? You know, I could actually—”

“I’m really not in the mood, Harry,” you sigh, stepping out of his space. “Spare me this one afternoon from your ridicule, please.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

You scoff at the affronted tone of his voice. Facing him again, you look him dead in the eye. He looks on expectantly, making you roll your eyes. “I’m sure it was going to start with you offering to swoop in and be the man of the hour. Just drop it, okay?”

He’s silent for a moment, so you take the opportunity to shoot him a saccharine smile and turn away again. You only make it a few steps.

“Wait.” He grabs onto your arm, keeping you in place. It’s a full second before you whip around, shrugging his touch away. He doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s a certain chippiness in the air around you. “For the record, I would do better with the Mahler and we both know it.” A pause, as if he’s waiting for a reaction. You don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your jaw clench. “But I’m not actually here to gloat.”

“Shocker,” you mutter.

“I have a proposition for you.”

You close your eyes to center yourself. “No, I will not reorganize your sheet music for you. You’re a grown man, Harry.”

“Very funny.” He crosses his arms, making himself look bigger. It’s unnerving. You want to take a step back, but you’re determined to hold your ground. “This isn’t even me asking for something. I’d be doing you a favor.”

“What kind of bloody favor could you possibly do for me?”

“I want to help you with the Mahler.”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Are you havin’ me on?”

“Swear on my mum.” He puts his hand over his heart for effect. “I know I can make you better. Indulge me.”

A thousand different emotions flood through you at once. Bewilderment, annoyance, and, most of all, anger. Does he really think you’re that inept, knowing fully well you’re the youngest person in the orchestra? And you’re second chair? And you’re clearly a better violinist than he is? 

“How dare you?” Anger seems to be the emotion you’ve decided on. “You think I’d stoop that low? Let you sabotage me and take the chair for yourself? D’you really think I’m that much of an idiot?” 

“Will you at least hear me out?”

He grabs for your arm again, but you’re quick to step out of his reach. “I bloody will not,” you hiss, unable to keep the rage from your trembling voice. “Go bother someone else with your stupid ideas. I don’t have time for this.”

Harry’s face shifts into a similar one of irritation. “Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? I’m offering to help you. I know this symphony like the back of my hand, and I know how to play it well.”

“Then let me crash and burn! Isn’t that what you want?” You step up to him and poke his chest as you say between gritted teeth, “I would sooner snap my violin in half then accept help from you. Understood?”

He leans down, encroaching on your space even further. The proximity brings heat—to your face, to your chest. This heat feels different, and maybe it’s because you can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the steady rise and fall of his chest, labored slightly with the weight of the argument. Suddenly, your words feel too harsh. You’ve taken his olive branched and burned it while it was still in his outstretched hand. 

“I don’t know what you’ve got goin’ on up in there,” he says calmly, much to your surprise. He reaches up and taps on your temple, and you can’t do anything but stay stock still. “But it might be worth working out if you want to keep your sanity.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” you reply shortly.

“Unsolicited advice is my specialty just for you, isn’t it?” His lips quirk upward. You track the movement. “Think about it. Give me an answer later.”

He retreats, a metaphorical white flag flying in the space left. You’re left to wonder what the mysterious emotion is dancing behind his eyes as he leaves his face blank, unreadable. It reminds you of his face while he plays, in the few instances where you’ve caught him during rehearsal. Razor-sharp, hyper-focused. Like he has a goal in sight, and he’ll do anything to achieve it.

Your mouth goes a bit dry at the thought of being that goal. 

-*-

The pub is crowded, but your table is blissfully empty. 

“I just knew I was bound to botch the entire recapitulation!” Mei’s voice is a bit shrill as she yells, trying to tell her story over the incessant buzzing inside the pub. Your best friend’s blue hair shakes with the intensity of her words, and you can’t help but squint as you take a sip of your drink, nodding as she continues. “It isn’t fair that I’m basically carrying the entire section! Since when is brass just one person?”

“It isn’t.”

“It isn’t!” she emphasizes, taking a long pull from her pint. “I’ll throw an entire fit, tomorrow, just watch. They can’t just…”

You look up when she trails off, watching her gaze fall to something behind you. You turn, craning your neck to see over the crowd as the door opens and more people come spilling into the pub. “Oh!” Mei exclaims. “There’s George. M’gonna tell him what happened.”

George, another member of the horns, is trailed by a few of the other younger players of the orchestra. A pub night out isn’t uncommon, and they’ve been happening more and more often since the rehearsals have become more grueling. They all gather to toast to a free evening with sore fingers and stiff necks, but at least the company is decent. 

For the most part, you think, as none other than Harry walks in behind the group that’s headed straight for the bar. It seems like there are enough people around to interest him, mercifully sparing you from any interaction. Thankfully so, because you’re still reeling from the conversation earlier in the afternoon.

An offer of help. Insanity, no other explanation. You couldn’t begin to determine what had come over him, but there couldn’t have been any way he’d be offering that purely out of the good of his heart. You know Harry well enough—

Well. Do you know Harry well enough? Six months is a long time… but have you actually ascertained anything beyond the parts you’ve chosen to cling to? 

Beyond his irritatingly conceited nature, what lies beneath? A pretty face, no doubt—you might hate the man, but you aren’t blind. Once upon a time (for the few seconds before he’d opened his mouth in that fateful meeting) you were even drawn to him as any moth would be drawn to a luminescent, scintillating flame. 

You watch him now, as he rears his head back in a laugh across the bar. In place of criticism and scrutiny, you apply a lens of contemplation, perhaps aided by the alcohol buzzing in your system. It makes everything feel loose, including your stream of consciousness. Now, instead of inherent and unbothered annoyance, he exists as an objective person of interest. 

And maybe you can see it now—what everyone else sees. 

There are hard lines and there are soft curves. The angled cut of his jaw paired with the delicate slope of his cheekbones. Everything comes together in symmetric harmony. You blink a few times, slowly drinking him in through the neon-tinged lighting of the pub. His sweater and trousers are molded perfectly to his body, the fabric shifting as he gestures in response to someone. As a musician, you have a profound appreciation for all forms of art. Harry’s physical appearance seems to qualify. 

When Mei returns, you’re still observing Harry from a distance, but this time your brows have pulled in, mouth set in a frown. “Don’t do that, you’ll get wrinkles.” 

She swats at your shoulder, making you flinch as the rest of the bar comes back into focus. “Ow, fuck off,” you grunt, straightening up in your chair. “D’you tell George, then?”

“Mmhm.” Mei nods once. “He agrees with me. As he should.”

“Good lad.”

The two of you lapse into silence. Mei fidgets, as if she wants to say something but won’t out of courtesy to you. It’s an easy friendship, often with many things left unsaid simply because you two can pick up on each other’s mood pretty easily. So, with a barely concealed sigh, you turn to her and say, “What else did George say?”

A look of relief passes over Mei’s face. “Well, not George. Harry.”

“Ah.” You press your lips together in a wry smile. “Chatting shit as usual?”

“Not really, actually. Said something about wanting to talk to you, but,” she pauses with a shrug, “I said you weren’t in the mood.”

No doubt a continuation of the conversation from earlier that day. You’d rather listen to an orchestra of three year-olds playing Symphonie Fantastique than have Harry Styles psychoanalyze you once again. “If he gets within five feet of me, I’ll scream bloody murder,” you mutter, pushing back from the table. “I’m getting another drink.”

Wary of eyes following you, you head to the bar and plop down onto an empty stool. The bartender starts on your drink and soon enough, a fresh cider is on a delicate paper coaster right below your nose. 

Two drinks in and you’re overthinking your rehearsal to the point of it being painful. Your double stops had been shrill, your arpeggios sloppy, and you could still feel the frustration when you’d completely dropped the solo in the second movement. You can’t remember the last time you’d had a practice session this bad. Chalking it up to the difficulty of the symphony isn’t a good enough excuse. 

Your mind veers left toward a darker corner, one that speaks in sinister whispers. It starts to tell you that it’s the pressure that’s making you crack, making sure to win the battle between you and the concertmaster’s chair. Are you even worthy of sitting in such an esteemed position? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted… but do you even deserve it?

Swallowing thickly, you blink and refocus on the drink in front of you. You down the rest of it and immediately flag the bartender down to order a third.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

You can feel Harry’s eyes on your face, but you keep your gaze trained astutely forward. The heat on your cheeks slowly rises. Chewing on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying anything, you wait until your drinks have arrived and immediately bring yours to your lips to take a deep sip.

“Serious business tonight,” Harry comments. “No cheers for me, then?” You turn to look at him, watching as he takes a sip of his own drink. He instantly makes a face. “God, I hate cider.”

“Good.” You turn back and lift your bottle for another sip. “You can leave now.”

“But I came to have a chat,” he counters, stepping a bit closer. “C’mon. Entertain me.”

You scoff into your drink, not fooled by the teasing connotation to his words. “Think we chatted enough earlier today, hm?”

“Your stubbornness is honestly admirable,” he notes with an air of admiration. You offer a tight-lipped grin without much heat. He kicks your stool with the toe of his Vans rhythmically, just enough to bring your awareness away from your drink. “Have you given any thought to my offer?”

“Let’s see.” You face him and tap your chin, pretending to think. “Yep. Still not happening.”

“Come on, you can’t do that,” he groans, trapping your legs between his before you can spin back to face the bar. “Give me one good reason why you won’t take me up on this.”

“It makes absolutely no sense!” 

“Since when does camaraderie not make sense?” 

“Since we’re literally competing for the same thing,” you deadpan. Harry’s biting back a smirk—it’s a shocking contrast to the way you two had nearly bitten each other’s heads off earlier. The alcohol seems to have lightened things up a bit, which makes you say your next words without much thought. “Think about it. We hate each other. Everyone knows we hate each other—”

“—I never said I hated you.”

And that. That makes you rear back. “But… but you do,” you state slowly, though you don’t sound convinced. “We do, don’t we?”

“Dunno. Do we?” He shrugs, and you suddenly feel a bit unhinged with the way this seemingly isn’t a big deal for him. “Hating you wouldn’t be my first choice. Was quite lookin’ forward to getting to you know, actually.”

“Okay, well, I’m not exactly fond of you.” Harry looks amused, but he lets you carry on. “Don’t you think it would look weird that we suddenly became best mates? Changes like that don’t happen overnight.”

“I’m not asking to be your mate. I just thought you could use some help.”

“But why would you want to help me?” 

You watch as Harry’s face morphs into something resembling a smirk. You don’t like it. After being subject to nothing but grimaces and frowns, you suddenly realize you don't know what Harry looks like when he isn’t irritated with you. His eyes track yours through droopy, booze-heavy lids. The curl of his lips is a novelty you aren’t quite sure how to process. And his body shifts closer, infringing upon a carefully constructed bubble. He’ll pop it, you think, but you can’t find it within yourself to mind.

“I’ve got to make sure you’re a worthy opponent, don’t I?” he muses. “Can’t take the concertmaster offer in good conscience if I felt like I didn’t work for it.”

“So you think they’d hand it to you on a silver platter if you asked right now?”

“Darling,” Harry drawls, and you feel yourself stiffen from the unfamiliarity. “I know they would. It’ll be mine, inevitably, but I at least want to see you put up a good fight.”

You can feel your jaw tick with all the tension in your body. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“Care to show me?”

Your eyes widen. For a moment, neither of you says anything, but you can hear the slight challenge in Harry’s voice. It wouldn’t be a normal conversation if you two weren’t trying to one-up each other in some way. You lower your gaze and take a big gulp of your drink, wincing slightly as Harry looks on. Then, his smile widens, and you already know you’re about to hate what comes out of his mouth next. 

“Did you know the woodwinds had a bet goin’ that we’d sleep with each other before the Christmas showcase?”

“They what?!” you splutter incredulously. “What the fuck?”

He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “S’just what Mei told me. I personally thought it would happen after Don Juan—all that passion, innit?”

You realize that Harry is insinuating he's thought about you two sleeping together. Your fingernails dig into your thigh. “Please stop talking. I will pay you to stop talking.”

“What?” Harry questions through a laugh, nudging your leg with his foot once more. “Is the concept that horrifying to you? I take offense.” 

“As you should!” you huff, already feeling too drunk for this conversation. In a flourish, you slap your hands down onto the bar top and take a deep, long breath. The room feels like it’s one somersault away from throwing you against the wall. “Why would they bet on us?” you grumble, fuming in a way you’d never been before. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Is it that ridiculous though?” 

There’s a pause as you glance over at him. Harry’s eyes flit across your face as he slowly breaks out into an impish grin. You narrow your eyes, staring daggers as his teeth dig into his lip. “Beg your pardon?”

“You haven’t thought about…” He gestures between the two of you, referencing exactly what the woodwinds had apparently expected to happen nearly four months ago. “...at all?”

Your ears start to burn. Cursing your subconscious has no impact on the fact that you have, unfortunately, woken up from far too many dreams involving a certain violinist’s fingers. But you can’t help it—you stare at them every day, trying to ensure that your own fingers can replicate the complicated patterns written in his music. So sue you if you dream about those fingers being put to use elsewhere.

“Of course I haven’t!” you squawk. “Why would I?”

The leering gaze you receive in response makes you realize Harry doesn’t believe you for a second. You turn back to face the bar and fiddle with the tiny black straw in your drink, ignoring the way the right side of your body heats up as he draws closer. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he murmurs, voice almost indiscernible over the din of the pub. His chest brushes your shoulder; you go rigid. “Would you blame me?”

“Easily,” you counter, though there isn’t much heat in your voice. “It’s never even crossed my mind.”

The bold-faced lie sits in the air between you. Now that you’ve started thinking about it, you can’t stop, like you’ve finally lost control of the boulder you’d been pushing up this hill of antagonism and discord. Now, in the bleak light of the pub, Harry’s lips look fuller and shinier and far more delectable than you’d ever imagined.

You can tell he knows you’re lying. The conviction in your voice is gone, replaced with something less unnerved. Still, he doesn’t say anything as he rests an arm on the bar, caging you in even further. “I wish I couldn’t read you like a book,” he says. “Then maybe I’d walk away and fully stop bothering you.”

You turn to glance at him through your lashes, noses just inches apart. Observing him, you notice how he’s leaning forward, encroaching on your space, practically inhaling the same air as you. “What, d’you want me to beg?” you ask. “Want me on my knees?”

“Wouldn’t be opposed.”

It’s impossible to ignore the heat building in your belly. You need to get out of there now. You hold his gaze for a few more seconds, unblinking. Then, your mouth twists into a grimace. “Fuck off,” you grunt, pushing away from the bar. “I’m going to the toilet. Don’t follow me.”

In the time it takes you to get to the back hallway where the toilets are, you manage to calm down, but only slightly. Harry’s ability to crawl underneath your skin is driving you to the brink of insanity. And now, paired with this weirdly unsettling feeling of wanting to throw yourself at him, you aren’t quite sure how to handle anything, really. 

The toilets are blessedly empty, so you take your time in washing your hands. Your reflection looks a little wild, eyes slightly unfocused as your mind replays your conversation over and over again. At surface level, the question was whether or not you’d accept Harry’s help on the Mahler—what that would entail, you had no idea. But there’s a different question lingering underneath, now that this new admission of your (reciprocated?) assumption that you’d fall into bed with him some way or another.

Would you let it happen?

Fate was playing a sick game with you. Your sworn mortal enemy, the very person trying to derail your entire career and everything you’d ever worked for, was being presented to you like a steak on a platter. All yours for the taking. You just had to give in, just once.

Would that be so bad? 

You scowl at your reflection. Of course it would.

Pulling open the door, you fully intend to walk straight past the bar and grab your purse from Mei’s table so you can catch the Underground before the last trains leave for the night. But you bump into a body—a hard, solid chest underneath a mohair sweater—and let out an indignant gasp. You’re backed into the bathroom once more and soon enough, Harry’s pressing you against the door as it clangs shut.

For a moment, there isn’t a single sound other than your breathing. Your noses barely brush, and your gaze is focused on his slightly parted lips as he breathes shallowly. 

“What do you want?” he whispers throatily. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re drunk.”

“M’not,” he counters instantly, pressing even closer to you. His hands are on your hips, large paws that take up way too much space on your skin. “Tell me, love.”

“If you know me so well, why don’t you tell me?”

“I need you to say it.” 

“Harry,” you say in exasperation. “This isn’t—this isn’t us. We both know that.” 

“Why can’t it be?”

There’s a tingling in your abdomen from his proximity that’s steadily getting stronger the longer you stay pressed up against him. He takes the momentary silence as an opportunity to slot one leg in between both of yours. The heat makes your gasp, and you knock your head back. Harry follows. 

“Why can’t it be us?” he repeats, voice low. “Just for tonight? Just once?” 

He’s daring you to make a move, to take that final step and plunge into the unknown. Somehow, you know that it’ll be like falling into a bottomless abyss. His eyes look too bright, lips pouty and bitten, and you want nothing more than to be engulfed in the brazen touch dancing across your back. Just once.

Imperceptibly, you nod. Harry’s face shifts into something darker.

It’s settled, then.

“Meet me outside. My flat’s just a walk.”

As quickly as he’d entered, he disappears again. He leaves a whirlwind behind him, and you’re left physically gasping at the sudden emptiness in front of you. His body had burned against yours. You wonder how it’ll feel when clothes are no longer a barrier. 

Dashing to the mirror, you turn on the faucet again with shaking hands and wet a tissue to wipe at your neck. It doesn’t do much to cool you down, but you don’t know how else to tame the burning sensation spreading rampantly across your skin. You almost want to slap yourself to get rid of the wild look in your eyes. “Get it together,” you tell yourself through gritted teeth. 

The pub has livened up since you left for the toilets. Mei is still at your table, chatting animatedly with George and some of the other horns. When you approach, she sees you and looks at you curiously. “Where have you been, babe?” she asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You grab your purse and make hasty eye contact with everyone at the table. “Feeling a bit tired, is all. Think I’ll head out before the last train leaves.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. See you tomorrow?” You don’t bother waiting for an answer as you kiss her cheek in a farewell and wave at the rest of the group. With your bag in tow and your cardigan pulled tightly around you, you dodge other patrons until you finally make it outside. The air is chillier than before, making goosebumps arise almost instantly.

No one is outside. The outside seating is completely empty, and not a single person is in sight. All you can see are the harsh lights of a Tesco’s across the street. Your heart plummets. He’d said five minutes, and here you were, like a complete imbecile who’d fallen for his empty promises—

“Hey.”

You whip around to your left. Harry’s jogging toward you with his phone in his hand, cheeks ruddy from the cold air. “Sorry, was just making a call.” 

“S’fine,” you reply, though your voice wavers. You feel a bit off-kilter, the entire situation seemingly taking place in an alternate universe. But then Harry grabs at your arm until you let go of your cardigan, and you watch as he interlaces your fingers. He squeezes your hand once, eliciting a soft ‘oh’  from your lips. 

“This okay?”

Your eyes flick from your joined hands to his face. He looks apprehensive, waiting on your reaction. It shouldn’t feel as natural and comfortable as it does, but maybe this is what it feels like when two musicians hold hands. Like a symphony being written by two strangers, just for one night.

“Yeah,” you tell him, squeezing back. “Let’s go, then.”

-*-

“Bloody fuckin’—”

You cut yourself off with another groan when your violin shrieks with the wrong note. Again.

Thirty minutes into your session and nothing seems to be going accordingly. Despondence rushes over you at the sight of all your music scattered about the room, notes waiting to be brought to life, but your brain is hindering you from doing so. It’s still left to debate whether or not you woke up in the right state of mind this morning, especially after last night—

Stop thinking about last night.

In an attempt to center yourself, you close your eyes and breathe in through your nose, exhaling a loud sigh through pursed lips. Water under the bridge. Just once, you remind yourself, and nothing more. You refuse to acknowledge the dam of feelings being held back by a measly wall of twigs; nothing else matters except the performance next weekend. 

Your renewed sense of self might be a ruse, but you’re going to roll with it anyway.

Steeling yourself, you raise your instrument back up and set your chin on the rest. The measures of Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony dance in front of your eyes. The strings of your violin can snap them back into place; you just have to start playing—

Three quick raps on the door break you from your focus. 

“Are you—” You cut yourself with a pained groan, jaw clenching tight. What had you done to have the most ungodly twenty-four hours. “Who is it?”

“Open up.”

You blanch. The first thing that comes out of your mouth is—

“N-no.”

There’s a pause. “Are you jokin’? Open the bloody door!”

“Ugh, just—hold on.” 

Setting your violin down gently in your case, you stand and toe over to the door while trying to avoid your sheet music strewn across the floor. The door swings open and standing there is Harry, disheveled hair and all, shoulders and torso and legs tucked into a sweater and trouser ensemble that involuntarily makes you tense. He’s leaning against the frame, forearm resting above his head with his other hand on his hip. He looks every bit of something out of a dream, but all you can do is scowl.

“What do you want?”

“I’m here to help you. Like we agreed.”

“I don’t actually recall agreeing to anything.” You look at him pointedly, crossing your arms. He smirks, clearly amused. “Don’t you have a session with Pieter, anyway?”

“He cancelled. Good thing, too, since I woke up late.” 

It takes everything in you not to smack him. You both had woken up late, your clothes scattered across his bedroom like a hurricane had torn through. You probably wouldn’t have woken up until much later if Mei hadn’t called you when she did.

“Anyway,” he carries on. “I figured you’d be here. I’m tired of rehearsing my shit, so let me help you.”

“Your shit?” you question. “You got the Dvorak already?”

He grins, raising his eyebrows a few times. “Jealous?”

“No.” 

“Liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“You wound me, baby,” he says with a faux-pained expression on his face as he clutches at his heart. “C’mon, let me in.”

Before you can object, he brushes past you and into your rehearsal room. The rooms are small, not designed to hold more than three people at a time. It’s equipped with a chair, a music stand, and a mirror, and right now Harry takes up too much space. And he’s standing on your sheet music.

You close your eyes and breathe. 

“So, how are we doing?” He claps his hands once, rubbing his palms together eagerly. “Kind of wish I’d gotten this one, not gonna lie. Mahler’s such a legend.” 

“Well, it’s mine. So.” You’re indignant, and you’re acting like a little bit of a brat, but you can’t help it. He’s in your space and it’s throwing you for a loop. Everything is just… off-kilter. “Are you seriously going to stay?”

Instead of responding, he picks up your violin from its case—and suddenly, you’re hyperfocused on the way he’s handling your instrument, your baby. But he’s a musician, so he knows the importance of an artist’s tool, so he moves with nothing but grace as he maneuvers it to rest under his chin, bow already poised in his other hand.

“What are you—”

The opening notes of the Resurrection Symphony ring out smoothly, not a single grating note audible. Harry plays the measures effortlessly, not even looking at the sheet music as his eyes drift closed, brows pulling inward in concentration. He looks everything like the poised and professional yet passionate and emotive musician you see during rehearsals. It looks even more powerful up close. 

He doesn’t play more than twenty seconds of the symphony, but by the time he rests, you’re fully sure you’re drooling a bit. It’s rendered you speechless. All your quips have flown out of your head, replaced with a buzzing in between your ears that seems to get louder as each second passes. 

Somehow, Harry can sense it. “Are you alright?”

Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m fine.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Harry’s eyes flick to your lips in a split-second, so quickly that you almost miss the motion. Last night’s memories swirl in front of you. Everything’s been exacerbated by him playing in front of you just now, with his strong arms commanding the instrument like he’d ruled over you in the bedroom. You could easily tell him that, but what would that reveal? That you probably enjoyed yourself too much? That you want it to happen again? That maybe… maybe you don’t hate him as much as you thought, but you don’t know how else to act? 

“Is this about last night?”

Your nostrils flare. “We’re not talking about last night.” 

Harry stays put, not saying anything. He watches you carefully as you fidget under his gaze. Then, he sets your instrument back down and steps forward. 

Everything happens very quickly. 

He takes your face in his hands, leaning down and fitting his mouth squarely over yours. You inhale sharply, but the familiar, warm feeling of his hands on your skin makes you melt into his embrace. You clutch his sweater in both hands as he tilts your head to the side and licks into your mouth. It’s hot—it’s too much, but not enough.

Just as you roll onto your toes to deepen the kiss even more, however, he pulls away. Both of you are panting, and an inextricable feeling of bewilderment passes over you. Harry doesn’t look too far off, blinking quickly as if a spell had come over him.

He clears his throat. “Now we’re not talking about last night.”

Stupefied, you watch as he turns and grabs your bow and violin. All you can do is stare, hands staying limp by your sides. “C’mon then,” he urges, pushing the instrument toward you. “Don’t have all day.”

“But you—”

“Not talking about it.” 

He won’t budge. You scoff and take the violin from him, stalking over to the music stand and adjusting your sheets. “Bloody nuisance,” you mutter to yourself. It’s hard to ignore him while he’s staring at you like a predator, but you try your best anyway. “Should I just start from the beginning?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupts, stopping you. “What kind of posture is that?”

A quick glance in the mirror shows a horrendous arch of your shoulders. “Leave me alone. I’m exhausted, all thanks to you,” you grumble. Still, you roll your shoulders a few times, tilting your neck one way and then the other to loosen up a bit. You raise your violin back up and settle your chin on the rest, arms poised to begin playing. “Better?”

“Just—here. Let me…”

Stepping closer, he places a hand along your spine. You tense up, but then his fingers dig into your skin and you remember just how much pressure those fingers could apply in a different circumstance. His touch dances familiarly, and if you close your eyes you might be able to transport yourself to last night, in a moment so shockingly similar that your eyes drift close for a split second. You can picture it now, reliving the way his hand flits lower along the column of your spine, lower and lower—

“Stand up straight for me,” he murmurs, pushing his hand into you so your back loses its roundness. Your gaze meets his in the mirror, and he nods. “Good girl.”

Is it a daydream or a nightmare that you’re reminded of? Your time spent together appears in camera flashes, bright and blinding and far too disorienting. A nightmare would be preferred; that way, you could immediately chalk it up to your subconscious bringing out your most suppressed desires for one night and one night only. But now, this touch has you thinking much differently. In the realm of a daydream, you find yourself sinking into it, not shying away. 

“I thought we weren’t talking about last night.”

Harry’s fingers stay on your shoulder. His voice is surprisingly steady when he speaks. “We don’t have to talk.”

You close your eyes, feel his lips on your neck, and the symphony starts again.

-*-

There’s a photograph on the wall that looks like it has three people in it. You know one of them has to be Harry, but you can’t make out the other two people in the frame. It’s in your line of sight, directly across the room, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on it for a split second when they flit open in the darkness.

Then, your vision goes blurry again.

“Oh, fuck—Harry!”

Nails digging into his scalp, you snap your eyes shut instinctively as he licks a broad stripe up your slit, throwing your head back as a moan pushes out of your lips. His hands burn where they’re pressed against your torso, holding you down against the mattress. You can feel his sheets sticking to your clammy skin, shoulders digging into the mattress, feet nudging against his lower back. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles, lips grazing your center. “You like that, hm?”

“Yeah,” you babble nonsensically as his tongue prods at your entrance, making your hips buck against his mouth. “Yeah, god, so good—”

“Stay still.” It’s an order, not a suggestion. “Taste so good, baby. Knew you’d be a feast.”

He laps at your wetness starvingly, unrelenting as each swipe of his tongue sends you careening toward a release you haven’t felt in ages. Gone are the calculated roles of enemies, adversaries clashing in battle for the same prize. The cloak of nighttime veils your true selves in this moment: unabashed and rough, finally giving into the desire that’s been dangled like a treat between you. Harry whispers your name into your core before tracing the letters of his own along your folds, and you close your eyes and fall.

-*- 

It continues.

The Mahler goes swimmingly. You receive a standing ovation and a proud look from the conductor. The orchestra is also clapping respectfully, but Harry nudges his arm against yours in silent acknowledgment. You feel warm for the rest of the evening.

Now, the next morning, waking up in Harry’s bed, you ponder what that warmth could mean. 

The blinds are open so the sun can filter into the room, casting its rays across the hardwood floor. Harry’s place is simple, shared with two others but usually empty since they travel. His room is an assortment of full bookshelves, sheets of music, and various articles of clothing. You see the sweater from the first night you slept together still in the same spot on the floor by the door.

In the morning light, the photo on the wall reveals Harry and two women of striking resemblance. His smile is bright, almost blinding. Seeing it immortalized on the wall makes the pulsing warmth in your chest grow stronger. 

To your left is the real thing, still asleep. His lips are pouty with his face squished against the mattress. His hair is longer in the photograph, but now it seems much curlier. It’s flopped over his head as he sleeps, obscuring most of his forehead and eyes. 

Rolling over to face him fully, you study him as he sleeps. Last night, it had been even easier to agree to go back to his after the post-concert swanky get-together that donors to the LPO always host. You’d changed out of your concert clothes and into something more formal; the dress is lying in a heap on the bedroom floor, right next to Harry’s suit.

You shouldn’t be there. Simple as. It was only meant to be once, but now it’s happened three times and you don’t know when you stopped thinking of Harry as someone to beat and started thinking of him as someone to claim. It’s unnatural, the way your dynamic has shifted. No longer are you bickering at rehearsals, the cheap shots and low blows swapped out for careful critiques and playful ribbing. He flirts with you in front of everyone, for Christ’s sake. This shouldn’t be happening.

But the warmth in your chest can’t be ignored, and the longer you stay in his bed, the stronger it grows. You reach a finger out to trace Harry’s arm that’s up by his face. His skin glows in the morning light. 

“Hey.”

You look up, still letting your fingertips drift across his arm. He’s got one eye cracked open, watching you through a film of sleepiness. “Morning,” you reply.

“Tickles.”

Your cheek twitches in a smile. “Deal with it.”

He inhales sharply, moving his arm to yawn into his closed fist before flipping onto his side. The arm you were tracing winds around your waist to pull you closer, and you let yourself be drawn into his chest as he rolls over you, burying his head in your neck. “You were amazin’ last night,” he mumbles, the vibrations of his voice playing across you skin. “Bloody perfect.”

“Which part?”

He chuckles and pulls you against him tighter. “Was mostly talkin’ about the Mahler, but that thing you did with your mouth was pretty great, too.”

Fingers running through his hair, you reply, “Maybe I should’ve played the trumpet instead.”

You receive a pinch to your hip in reply. Now that you’re both fully awake, you can feel his length against your thigh as he shifts to drop more of his weight onto you. Your feet drag along the downy hairs on his calves. He shudders and playfully bites at the juncture of your head and neck. 

“What time ’sit?”

The clock on his table reads 8:34. “Early enough,” you reply. “Rehearsal’s at half-ten.”

He hums, trading teeth for lips as he sponges delicate kisses up the column of your throat. Your eyes drift closed, soft breaths hitting your cheek when he whispers, “Shall we go again?”

As he speaks, his cock gives a little twitch against your thigh. “Eager,” you comment through a light laugh. Harry pulls back just enough to knock his forehead against yours. His elbows dig into the mattress on either side of your head so you’re fully caged in between his arms. There are worse places to be. As close as he is, you can still make out the curve of his lips and the slight indentation of his dimple. 

“Can you blame me?”

You lean up onto your elbows and slot your lips against his, letting your tongue drag against his for a brief, drowsy moment. He kisses you back unhurriedly, a soft, audible sigh leaving his lips. When you separate, he lets his lips catch the tip of your nose in the briefest peck. Through an involuntary smile, you say, “Go on, then. Haven’t got all day.”

Like an overly excited puppy, Harry springs into action. Soon enough, he’s tearing another condom wrapper open and sliding it on before resuming his position over you. “Wait,” you tell him before he can line himself up. “Let me flip over—”

“—No.” He stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay there. Want it like this.”

Your mouth dries. You’ve never done it like this—each time has been facing away from him, almost punishing yourself in a way so you can’t look at his face when he makes you reach your peak. It’s been the only way to still keep him at arm’s length even while you’re connected in the most intimate way possible. 

But you nod, and everything changes.

Harry keeps all of his weight on you with his face tucked back into your neck as he thrusts his cock in, both of your groans echoing through the room. It feels like relief to have him inside you again, to know that these feelings are real and they come alive any time he touches you. You’ve never had the luxury of slow, sleepy morning sex with someone before. It’s a first—and it’s with Harry. Something shifts inside you, and the warmth blisters into a fiery blaze. But it also reaffirms the worst possible thought—you don’t hate Harry. Not even close.

-*-

Two weeks later, you’re wrapping up the last rehearsal of the season. Excitement is in the air at the thought of concluding the LPO’s incredible run with Dvorak’s violin concerto, but you feel an extra ounce of tension at the thought of the selection for concertmaster being so soon. 

Soon, as in, tomorrow.

Since November, you’ve been waiting for this moment. A month ago, you couldn’t wait to taste the sweet satisfaction when you’d finally be awarded the position that you’ve been working toward for your entire life. 

Things are a bit different now.

Now, all you can think about is how Harry would react if you got it. Or, how you would react if Harry got it. You’ve been neck-and-neck in this race for the entire season, but you know the potential lead given to you by the Mahler could easily be destroyed and swept away by Harry’s performance tomorrow evening. The concerto sounds like it was written specifically for him. You don’t stand a chance. 

And maybe that’s your own fault. Maybe, this whole thing with Harry threw you off your game. Could that have been on purpose? You don’t want to think ill of Harry, especially after seeing these brand new facets of him over the last few weeks. He’s a completely different person, like the cold exterior was just a ploy to fuel both your drives toward success. And now that the prize is just within reach, the ruse is gone, and he’s given himself to you in his truest form. 

The chair, or Harry. Which one is the prize?

As everyone starts packing up, you linger with your bow and violin still perched on your thigh, staring absentmindedly at your music. The chatter increases in volume, but you can still hear Harry talking to George and the other horns. Your eyes flick to his form across the room—as if he can sense it, he turns and looks over his shoulder at you as he speaks.

Your gazes meet. For a split second, neither one of you acknowledges the other. Then, Harry’s smile grows, and he shoots a wink your way.

Perhaps he is the prize, and you’ve already won.

-*-

“Mei, I have a problem.”

Mei pauses with her nail polish brush in the air. “That’s a first.”

“Shut up, I’m being serious,” you grunt, flopping over on the couch dramatically. Mei’s apartment serves as the perfect backdrop to unwind before the performance tomorrow evening. “Listen. This is important.”

She makes a show of putting the nail polish brush back in the bottle before shifting on the armchair opposite the couch to face you. “Right, then. Go on.”

Unnerved under Mei’s expectant gaze, you chew on the inside of your cheek for a few seconds. Verbalizing everything will make it seem so much more tangible, but it needs to be done. Going into tomorrow’s performance with a clear mind is the priority. 

“I’ve been seeing someone,” you say, all bravado gone from your voice. “Well—not really seeing. We’ve been shagging.”

Mei’s mouth is a perfect circle. For a split second, she’s frozen. Then she jumps as if she’s been shocked. “Oh, carry on!” she exclaims, immediately grabbing a pillow to clutch tightly to her chest. “This is the first time you’re telling me about someone you’re shagging! Is it someone we know?”

Embarrassment floods through you as you nod, and Mei claps with delight. It would be so much easier to keep quiet about this, but you can trust Mei to give you the advice you need all while she takes the piss. “I’m not telling you who it is, though,” you say firmly. “I just need your advice.”

“But I need to know who it is so I can actually give you proper advice.”

“That makes… no sense, Mei.”

“Sure it does,” she counters easily. “Like, if it was someone who I hate, obviously I would tell you to stop. But if it was someone who I thought would be good for you, then I’d say differently.”

That makes you pause. Your mouth twists into a grimace when you think of Harry, and how as far as anyone else is concerned, you’re still sworn enemies. “What if… what if it’s someone I hate?”

A beat. Mei’s expression morphs into one of steady contemplation, and you can see it on her face when the lightbulb goes off.

“Oh, my god. Fuckin’ finally. I swear, you two are completely clueless.”

And—

Wait.

“Wait—what?”

“Is this your problem, babe? That you’ve been fucking Harry and it suddenly popped into your mind that you might actually fancy him?” Mei scoffs as if she’s offended. “Don’t insult your own intelligence, my love.”

“Mei! What the fuck?” Your mouth drops in astonishment. “How did you know it was Harry?”

“Who else would it be? Bernard?”

You wrinkle your nose at the thought of bedding the elderly violinist. “Does that mean everyone knows?”

“Probably.” Mei shrugs. “Nearly half the orchestra put money in the pot on you two.”

A faint throbbing sensation starts at your temples as your mind whirls with all this information. Could it be that this was meant to be all along, and you were just standing in the way of your happiness? You couldn’t deny it—he brought a certain joy to your life that you’d never experienced before. An excitement that rattled your bones every time you saw him. 

“Is it really so bad that you like him?”

Mei’s question hangs in the air. Looking down at your lap, you lift your shoulders hastily. “I… I’m scared,” you confess, not even bothering to deny her assumptions of your feelings. “I didn’t think I’d ever change the way I felt about him. I mean—Mei, you saw the way we were around each other.” Mei hums in assent quietly. “Some of the things I’ve said… There’s no guarantee he feels the same way. This could just be sex for him.”

“How would that make you feel?”

Through a dry laugh, you reply easily. “Devastated.”

In the silence that follows, you feel the weight of that single word. Every fiber in your being wants to avoid the crushing disappointment that could arise from confronting Harry. 

Mei stands and comes over to you, plopping down so she can wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Well, you won’t know anything until you have a conversation,” she tells you earnestly, squeezing your body against hers. “Just talk to him, babe. Tell him how you feel. You could be surprised.”

The advice seems daunting, and all you want to do is reject it. But it’s the last night of the season, and you don’t know when you’ll see Harry again after tomorrow. You sigh, pinching your eyes shut for a brief moment.

Tomorrow, then.

-*-

In the hours that follow after you wake up after a fitful, restless sleep, you try to focus. Your game face is on, mostly for the symphony, but also for the conversation with Harry. Your plan is to find him after the dress rehearsal in the early afternoon, before everyone breaks to get ready for the performance tonight.

As you walk toward Henry Wood Hall, violin case strapped across your back, you go over what you plan to say. A moderate amount of practice went into coming up with your thoughts, but going in on a whim probably would have ended up in disaster. You need Harry to know exactly what you’ve been feeling, but it all ultimately boils down to a single sentence.

I have feelings for you.

The most terrifying five words in existence.

You know Harry tends to hang out in one of the atria before rehearsals, so you figure you’ll wait for him there since it’s a bit early still. Taking the stairs two at a time, you rush up to the door and pull it open, letting the heat of the old building blanket you in its warm embrace. As you round the corner, you hear some voices drifting down the corridor—

It’s Harry. With Pieter. 

You whirl backward reflexively and press yourself against the wall. Your heart is thudding in your throat as you crane your neck as far as you can without revealing yourself, trying to listen in on what they’re saying. It’s completely immoral, but the sight of Harry with the soon-to-be former concertmaster on the day the new concertmaster is supposed to be announced doesn’t exactly feel like a coincidence. 

“...I’m glad to hear you’ve accepted the offer, Harry. It’s a great opportunity for you. And you’ll get to stay here—no more cloudy Vienna!”

Your stomach lurches. Static, white noise filters through your ears as you stand there, petrified, while Harry and Pieter chuckle as if your entire world hasn’t come crashing down.

Eyes burning, you push yourself off the wall and start walking back in the direction you came. Your stoic facade clicks into place by the time you enter the rehearsal space, the entire interaction tucked away in the back of your mind as you compartmentalize your priorities. Right now, all that matters is the performance.

When Harry walks in, you don’t even spare him a single glance.

-*-

It’s a smashing success. You didn’t expect anything less.

And now, standing at a table with an empty champagne flute, all you want to do is disappear. Because across the room is Harry, surrounded by donors and other members of the orchestra, being fawned over like some boy band sweetheart. It’s ugly to feel resentment, but you can’t help it. He played you—you were just a game to him, nothing more.

You’ve half a mind to get absolutely plastered at the open bar, but then there’s no guarantee that the horrid feeling in your chest won’t explode out of your mouth if Harry dares to cross you. You’ve been successfully avoiding him since before the performance, barely responding to his greeting when he’d taken his place next to you on stage. You ran off after the applause before he could even say anything. It might be obvious that you’re avoiding him, but he has yet to say anything.

Still, you can’t let yourself be cornered. Now that he’s occupied, you decide to sneak off to the toilets to retouch your lipstick—whatever excuse you can find to leave the ballroom. With all these old men and women in their overpriced gowns and stifling, musty perfumes, these parties are unbearable. Your situation only makes things worse.

The hallway is empty, thankfully, so you let a little bit of the tension loosen from your back. Your face drops into a frown, a stark contrast from the hardened smile you’d been faking all night. Everything feels heavy with a weird sense of grief, like you’d lost something of yours.

But he was never yours, so does it even count?

Just as you’re getting to the end of the hallway, a voice calls out your name. You still midstep.

“Wait!”

Harry jogs to meet you where you are. You notice he has a casual grin on his face, and it makes your heart tear in two. Of course he thinks nothing is wrong—he’s gotten what he wants. You’re the loser, not him.

“Are you leaving?” he asks when he reaches you. “Bit early, isn’t it?”

“Was just goin’ to the toilets.” You cringe inwardly at how meek you sound. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

As you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist. “Wait,” he says again, softer this time. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you afterward. Wanted to congratulate you, but you ran off.”

“Sorry,” you mumble halfheartedly, gaze dropping to the floor.

He peers at you, darting his head down to try and meet your eyes. His inquisitive gaze makes your skin crawl; you want to be anywhere else but there. “Have I done something?” he asks, though there’s still a hint of a smile on his face so you figure he thinks you’re fooling around with him. “Are you avoiding me?”

“M’not avoiding you.”

“Hey, c’mon. Look at me.” Twisting your lips to the side, you glance up. His face is too open, too vulnerable. It’s exactly how you’ve felt this entire time, but now you feel jaded about everything. You’re not sure how to handle it. “Talk to me, please.”

“M’fine, Harry.”

“Baby…”

“Don’t—” you cut yourself off, letting a soft scoff escape your lips as you shake your head. “Don’t call me that.”

His demeanor changes. “What are you on about? If I’ve done something, come out and say it.”

You knew he’d be fiery during confrontation, especially if you were accusing him of something. But seeing it in front of you makes you want to shrink away and run from him. His grip on your wrist has tightened, but you shake him off and square your shoulders, prepared to take on this fight.

“I think you know exactly what you’ve done,” you say coldly. “Got the job and fucked the girl. That’s all you wanted, right?”

He rears back, like your words have knocked the air out of his chest. “How’d you know about the job? Actually, no. What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Harry, don’t play dumb! I heard you and Pieter talking, I know you got the chair.”

At this point, your frustration is overpowering your ability to think clearly. Though your vision is red, part of you aches at the turmoil flashing across Harry’s face. It’s probably hard for him to realize he actually hurt you—that you actually have feelings. 

“Did you not hear what I said five seconds ago?” he says after a pause. “I followed you here to congratulate you. Clearly, Pieter hasn’t talked to you yet, though.”

You stare at him blankly. It doesn’t make sense. “But I heard—”

“You heard what? That I didn’t get the chair? That they still wanted me to stay?” Harry scoffs, hands on his hips as he shakes his head. “This is brilliant. They offered me second chair permanently. And I said yes.” He pauses, kissing his teeth with his tongue. “Though if this was the response I’d get from you, I think I’d rather go back to Vienna.”

Your breaths come out in shaky exhales as you start to connect the dots in your head. If Harry was offered second chair, and he came here to congratulate you, then that means—

“I got it?”

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he sighs, gesturing in front of him offhandedly. “You did. Congratulations, concertmaster.”

Concertmaster. 

Every piece of you wants to shout with joy. It was yours—you’d done it. But the victory feels bittersweet, because now you’ve made yourself look like a complete idiot. And you’ve hurt Harry, who’s standing in front of you looking dejected. The culpability of your actions floods through you like a tsunami.

“Fuck, Harry—I’m sorry. God, I feel like an absolute idiot,” you say, stepping toward him. “Let me explain, please.”

Though he stays silent, he doesn’t leave. So you take that as your cue to start talking.

“When I heard you yesterday, I was going to talk to you,” you start carefully, monitoring his expression. His face gives nothing away. “I was going to tell you that…” Your chest tightens before you can say anything. “Fuck, this is hard.”

Still staying silent, Harry slots his fingers through yours. It gives you the courage to keep talking.

“I got scared and I—I thought maybe what we have meant differently to you than it does to me,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“What does it mean to you?”

You look up, seeing his eyes locked on you. His hand squeezes yours tightly.

“Everything.”

A look of relief washes over his face. You feel your pulse jump at the thought of him thinking the same thing as you, and it feels as natural as breathing when he drops your hand, only to pull you in by the waist. His forehead presses against yours, and you let your arms drift up and around his neck. 

“The chair stopped mattering to me a long time ago,” he whispers, as if he knows to put your insecurities to rest. “It’s always been you.” 

You smile, and he mirrors it, ducking down to kiss you for a dizzying second. It feels like coming home—it feels like everything. 

#1dff #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

[mintbees]

thinkin bout broken pantheon again...got any fun tidbits u want us to know about the characters?

YES i do ive been thinking about broken pantheon again too - lust for the majority of his time on earth didnt use his natural hair color because up until late last century having bright red hair wasnt possible let alone normal, its also because hes slowly gotten more comfortable being himself outside of the pantheon - misery so far has only been making sexual comments towards triss and it may sound like she just wants to fuck triss (which i mean, that too ofc) but she actually just developed a super big crush in the two (2) weeks she stayed at her place shes just terrible at expressing softer feelings - the gods can change their shapes but doing so in the long term takes a lot of energy the more extreme the change is. - that water in the librarys giant tank that just stays within the same shape is SUPER hard to make so knowledge having a whole tank of the thing is a HUGE flex - idk if ill ever get a nice moment to put this in explicit canon but triss is a transgender woman and shes been written as such from the start - lust is currently in college for psychology, triss is still in college too either as an art study or as a anthropology student - he’d deny it but knowledge loves kids and is really good at taking care of them - this wont make sense with how little you’ve seen of/know about the pantheon but most gods on the pantheon are work obsessed, the goddess of balance and knowledge have it the worst, both will do anything to assure the pantheon stays in working order

#asks

[sonic-candy]

Astro Boy + Jetter Mars Headcanons/ AUs

FINALLY got my brain cells in order so I could type this up. Thanks to @z-skull for their great Tenma Headcanons, as they motivated me to finish my messy ones but I’ll tighten it up later.

Age Gap AU

( @jheunart and @mitosis-jones are responsible for this AU, not sure if their still in the fandom. Search ‘Age Difference’ on my blog for some of their artworks.)

ATB!Hiroshi x older!Tenma (This Tenma is mix of Little Astro Boy, 03 and Pluto. So normal with bouts of flashiness and moodiness.)

Hiroshi Ocahnomizu

(Graduate?) student interning at the ministry. Mokoto is his lab partner in an actual lab on campus. (Idk how this type of stuff work) She still has her crush on him. He has a tiny crush on her Moriya, but that doesn’t last very long.

Has a small studio apartment near campus. His internship pays decently but he also has a robot repair gig not too far away.

Has a freestanding hammock in the lab closet when he decides to pull a all nighter or he needs to take a quick nap. Tenma tries it out and decides to buy a double size one to put in his backyard.

Stays up to date on technology, mainly robotics. He read and heard about Tenma’s works and meets him while working at the ministry.

Six (A106) is his best work thus far and the reason he got the internship. The other numbers are still around as well.

Tries to eat healthy but as a college student, easier said then done. Has a bit of chub but pretty sturdy and able to handle heavy equipment.

Bisexual, slight preference to men. Attracted to personality more-so then looks.

A bit clumsy with romance but he tries! Not really into theatrics, more into 'simple but sweet' gestures.

Umataro Tenma

Is a good dad and makes time for Tobio. They usually watch movies or go somewhere educational like the Aquarium or the Planetarium. Hiroshi (and sometimes Ran) tagged along with them. They try to go the amusement park during the summer. He still a bit of an workaholic and sometime works over time.

They still live in the house from '03 verse. That HUGE mansion from The Last Mystery of the 21st Century? Maybe him and Hiroshi commissioned it?

He keeps to his self and trust very few people. Those he trust and respect will be teased/lightly picked on. But he won't hesitate to defend or help them any way he can. With sassiness of course.

Still prideful and a bit impulsive when it comes to his work. Basically the BlackJack of Robotics, but not shady. He’s a perfectionist and will to go all out to get the results he want. This attitude is a doubled edged sword, but it part of the reason he becomes minister.

Hiroshi is the first guy he ever fell for. He experimented in college, here and there. His work came first. (maybe later dated and married Hoshi? IDK!)

Bisexual, no preference. Attracted to personality over looks. Only flirty with people he's attractive too. Not as smooth as he thinks he is. Is romantic with dashes of theatrics.

Might be Yamanoure cousin in this Au but IDK

Ect. Thoughts

Hiroshi and Tobio hit off really well! They bond over anime, video games and robotics. He would babysit Tobio when Tenma is in full workaholic mode and help him with his homework if needed. Ran and Mokoto meet Tobio when Hiroshi brings him to the lab. Once Hiroshi and Tenma start dating, they babysit him.

Reno and Uran are also in this Au but I got nothing for them right now. Same goes for other characters.

Jetter Mars/ Astro Boy Au (I suck at names I know)

Tenma and Yamanore are (Distant?) cousins. In fact they both went to the same college. The have a something of a rivalry but still care for each other. Or maybe He can be Hoshi's Cousin? Hmmm.

Yama doesn't live in Metro City so he don't see his nephew very often. He's proud of his smart nephew and He met and approved of Hoshi and Tenma, even attending the wedding. And was crushed when she died as she was one the few people who he cared for and put up with his attitude, even morso when Tobio died. Hm, still working on this one.

Yama is/was secretly jealous of the Tenma family due to not having any family of his own. He dated a bit in college but nothing official due to his jumpiness and aloof attitude.

It's canon that Yama did Mars body but not brain. So he calls his cousin to help him and they work on Mars?? Mars could physical age and grow with naon tech or something. Astro body frame was/is not compatible with them so Tenma decided to build another body compatible later on?? Lots of holes here, yes yes.

I came up with the name 'Okuran' for Yamanoure. Okura is the name of an ancient Japanese poet, Yamanoue No Okura, and the Japanese name of the Okra plant that his sideburns resemble. They also look like squid tentacles. If Tenma can be a horse/bird, he can be a plant/squid. Might change up the spelling.

Other characters appear but I got nothing for them right now.

#astro boy #Astro boy headcanons #jetter mars #jetter mars headcanons #umataro tenma #hiroshi ochanomizu #dr yamanoue #I was trying to post it around 11pm but the e button on my laptop decided to stop working in tumblr drafts #when I started to tag and cite people #so I switched to mobile after taking a break #sorry im ranting #that just irked me a bit

[cbsidian]

INTRODUCING  — VIDA ESPINOZA

Age: 30 (439)

Species: Vampire

Affiliation: Factionless

Occupation: Businesswoman who likes to deal in the shadows 

Relationship status: Single

Sexuality: Bisexual

FC: Eiza Gonzalez

BRIEF BIO.

Vida was born in 16th century Spain and was sent to the French court by her father to be a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Catherine de’Medici. Vida thrived in France, indulged in the country’s Renaissance movement and just generally had a good time. Lots of debauchery because that’s what they did in the royal courts.

Had many potential suitors, had a couple of husbands who all died under ‘suspicious circumstances’, but Vida played the mourning widow very well. She was very skilled at card games and liked to gamble, was very good at fooling people so she would win and this caught the attention of a vampire at court. Of course she didn’t know he was a vampire at first, and they became quick friends. Like a trickster duo. He eventually offered to turn her with the promise of higher stakes, and so she agreed. 

Once turned, they fled court and travelled throughout Europe together, fooling rich nobles, toying with them before taking all their possessions and killing them. Over the centuries, Vida realised she relished in the kills that were calculated and trained to become an assassin. 

So she was a cool badass assassin for a while, people hired her to take out important people and she got paid hella money for it. She lives in incredibly lavish lifestyle and doesn’t like poor people, sorry bout it.

Vida and her vampire bestie eventually parted ways (haven’t really plotted this as it could be a potential plot interest in the future) and she moved to New York, where she set up her own little spy academy type thing for women only. Women who are desperate, have no one but have a fire in them that Vida knows will make them kickass. So she offers to take them in, train them up, and send them off into the city as her little spies. Killing people, gaining information, setting people up etc. Vida literally doesn’t care what she or her girls get paid to do, as long as they get the money at the end of the job.

Vida has her fingers in many pies but they’re mostly underground shady kind of businesses. Big risk, big reward type of thing. She has a club called The Armoury which is basically a front for her spy training academy, and it’s essentially her ‘headquarters’.

She is factionless but she doesn’t particularly like the Nygaard family. Thinks they’ve been running the faction for too long and they’ve gone stale, the leadership could do with some new blood. She’s still civil with the Nygaard’s because she doesn’t want to step up until she’s ready, but there’s some healthy rivalry there.

Her girls have been bringing back information regarding the myth of ‘rare species’ and slowly, Vida has been building her strength and her ranks in secret because she can feel a war brewing and wants to be ready to take that throne from Ivar.

CONNECTION IDEAS.

Maybe your character hired Vida/one of her girls to get some juicy information or murder someone or threaten someone etc idk but could be interesting

Maybe Vida knows something about your character that no one else/not many other people know, oops

Maybe your character used to be one of her girls that she trained up??

She is the type of woman to not get attached to her lovers AT ALL. they’re there for her own benefit, whether it’s purely physical or it’s a manipulation tactic for her to get closer to someone else or get information. But she’ll make them feel like they’re the only lover she has, and the best one she’s had.

Homegirl needs friends too, I don’t want it to seem like characters have to choose her or the Nygaards. Her rivalry isn’t like that, she’ll make remarks about them but still attend their parties and shit. She plays nice with them... For now.

#( muse intro. )