#i say as if this is a spoken medium where i cannot take back words. instead of tags where i very much could choose not to post

[fantastickkay]

Album Review of the Week: Lana Del Rey - Did You Know That There's A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd (2023) ☆☆☆☆

LDR's ninth album opens with The Grants whose intro reflects a rehearsal of background singers which then morphs into a relaxed piano ballad. Her vocals are strong and better than ever thus far. The track swells into an emotionally gripping crescendo as the background singers take their posts, the piano grows more insistent and strings begin.

The album's title track Did You Know That There's A Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard is next. The vocals are not quite as clear, we get back to the mumbling that tends to plague LDR tracks. Meanwhile, the melody flows like a swirl of autumn leaves on a soft, windy day. The pleading cries of "when's it gonna be my turn / don't forget me" echo throughout the track and again swells into a driving chorus, really folding you into this soundscape that is being introduced to you.

Sweet continues the piano ballad streak, it's a bit more sleepy and not quite as gripping as its predecessors.

A&W was the second single for this album and what made me interested in hearing the entire project (I tend to skip some LDR releases, mostly because it's hard to keep up with!) The second half is what gripped me at first but the more I listened to it, the more I appreciate the entire seven minute track. Something about the melody when she says "this is the experience of being an American whore" just really snaps you into it, as do the urgent high notes in the verses. Once we hit the four minute mark, the bass comes in and I was like 👀, excuse me... hello! After lamenting trouble finding love due to her apparent promiscuity, we get into a sassy moment where she tells them they're f*king up big time! And then I find myself bopping big time to a Lana Del Rey song, which doesn't happen too often just because they don't usually go this hard!

the judah smith interlude is an instant skip, bye. i hate the yelling!

Saving the moment, Candy Necklace comes in. The piano on this one is absolutely haunting. The music video definitely made me pay more attention to this track. I love the chorus's melody and how it quickens pace throughout. The piano solo is so incredibly gorgeous! This is followed by the Jon Batiste Interlude, he was featured on the previous track, and we get more of that haunting piano which is really great. It is also accompanied with studio chatter and some playful vocals from our main songstress.

With Kitsugi, we enter a portion of the album that doesn't have a lot of re-listen value to me. I'll play the songs when listening to the album in full but I don't think about them otherwise, just too slow! Maybe it is leftover fatigue, but Fingertips is somehow less interesting.

Paris, Texas picks things up with an interesting piano riff and vocals that closely follow its melody in a music-box fashion. One can nearly picture a ballroom waltz.

And now, for a title so long you cannot even read it in Spotify if you tried! Grandfather Please Stand On the Shoulders of My Father While He's Deep Sea Fishing. It has an almost movie-like quality as it picks up, almost feels like you are entering a fantasy world. Perhaps, an ocean that you can fly and breathe in, enjoying the scenery and wildlife around you.

Let the Light In is a good medium between the sleepy ballads and something that makes you pay attention. It is a sweet duet with Father John Misty that makes me think of a sleepy morning with the one you love!

Margaret takes a while to grab my attention, but I do really like the ending with spoken word and then the background singers become more prominent. That brings a more casual feel to end this string of more serious tunes. I really like the piano as it fades out as well.

Fishtail brings some bass back into the equation and even has some vocal effects which is unusual!

Okay, now we get into the fun part and the REASON I went straight to Target after work the day this came out. Peppers! The energy, the reverb, the beat, the hook. I never thought I would hear Lana Del Rey chant "hands on my knees" let alone follow it with "angelina jolie". I can see this being a great end-of-the-night cool-down track at the club. And then it takes another turn with a 60s bass line?? Ugh, so good.

Taco Truck x VB is my favorite track off of this album. What a closer! The instrumentals are absolutely fantastic. Spoiler alert - let me tell you when it morphed into Venice Bitch I lost my damn mind!!! That is one of my favorite songs of all time and having a "mini" version is so much fun as well as the fact that it was spiffed up a bit.

One thing I don't really love about this album is how the volume fluctuates, that is a big pet peeve of mine. It is very quiet and then we get to a song's climax and suddenly I have to scramble to turn it down a bit!

Although I do feel this album is a bit bloated and could lose a few tracks, the ones that I enjoy are songs that I kind of cannot stop listening to and this album has been in the back of my mind ever since it came out. I really wish I could appreciate Lana Del Rey the way that I know a lot of her fans do, but even though I am not there she still fascinates me a great deal.

While most of this album is the usual fare, there is a lot more experimenting as well which I absolutely love and hope to see more of in the future!

#album review #lana del rey #did you know that there's a tunnel under ocean blvd #2023 #2020s #new music

[savetooru]

apostasy

when i was younger i told myself i’d either rack up a body count of five hundred novels before treacherous twenty or i’d give up paper cuts and bleeding ink and find more suitable ways to pluck trembling teeth. it wasn’t going to make me a genius. i knew that. but it was going to scare my father, how i could become anybody i wanted. i assumed most parents fear that their children might one day grow to be cannibals, so i was determined to gobble shit up, right. i’m sure everyone is nodding their heads in assent. yes. back to cannibalism. at an age before all i did was avoid the dentist, the only thing it meant was that you consumed whatever made you tick the most. such as the setting sun. such as dusk, your mother's singing and puff, the magic dragon. such as fa mulan in the 1998 animated musical adventure film, mulan. such as the monster in your closet with your prying eyes and your sunken heart and your dislocated pinky. such as the endless howling of a man responsible for a third of your birth. at some point, the medium ceased to matter. i swallowed hundreds with a belly full of cold flame fury. i was going to eat every word ever spoken or put to pen. i was going to defy death at a great distance. turn my gut into a fireplace where all blasphemy goes to burn. out of barren soil and cracks in the concrete i was going to take all the terrible, timely, taboo and spit it at his feet. i was, also, coincidentally— sixteen. we grow up, theoretically, as the years lay behind us in ratty, dogged sleeping bags, but in no greater instance than the act of consumption. i grew out of a diet better made for wolves in the space of a single character. i learned to let go the way all sixteen year olds learn to let go: i fell in love with a boy trembling, warped in his ire. for all he denied it, the spitting image of his father. (they say a flower cannot choose the field where it blooms, but what of the seed from which its body emerges? everybody has always said we've looked alike. once upon a time, that i was just like you. you, who yelled for the lights i hadn't left on, who swore if i so much as shook in my sleep. was it wrong to wonder if you ever realized how small i used to be, and how big your voice seemed? was it so terrible to resent you for all i'd been made to eat?) about mine: he was old at thirty-five, all tremor-wrought and stout enough to fill in his trousers. he didn’t have to try to scare me then. now young again at fifty-eight he frightens me most in the quiet. in the fleeting half-lucid moments he’ll look down at the only pair of loafers he owns and tell me i’m free to do whatever i want with my life, no matter how much he grinds his soles in contempt. no matter how much he’s dug his heels in my ticking. i know he’s only saying this because he’s scared his heart will stop beating. i’m horrified to find i’m scared his heart will stop beating. every so often i feel sick with acrid attachment and bitter respect. on days he isn't hungry, or cannot stomach our slightly-overcooked rice grains— he is less my father and more an old man. this has run on for much longer than i expected, but in hindsight, opening your mouth is what cannibalism trains one to do. i guess all i'm trying to say is that you didn't ruin me. dad, i'm the biggest, baddest, good thing in the room: after all, i've become the kind of person who forgives you.

#002 #todoroki shouto: origin as a means of therapy #actually just todoroki shouto period as a means of therapy #it feels very wrong to be like wow i ate him and it healed something in me but that's exactly what happened

[semischarmed]

Clarity

My hot roommate Zach is the perfect man. I think I won the cosmic lottery when we got paired freshman year. “Roommates for life!” he shouted, as he wrapped a tone arm around me in a side-hug. I chuckled, of course. Who knew the cutest guy in our dorm was such a dork. I remember that moment vividly, committed every last detail to memory. In what he likely only barely remembers, I recall to the last detail. I play it back often -even moreso, nowadays: The crisp autumn breeze. The filtered sunlight through amber trees, bathing us both in golden afternoon. The warmth of his touch, and the unintended taunt from his arm pulling me towards him and his jacket ever so slightly wrapping over my back. The slight, dense smell of coffee wafting from him and his minty breath cutting through. Thats how I remember him. Warm. Sincere. Safe. Zach would probably say that was the moment we became best friends. I, on the other-hand, would say that was the exact moment when I fell for him.

We did everything together from then on: Ate together, joined the same clubs, signed up to the same classes- that first year we were inseparable. Best friends to a tee. I’m not even sure what he saw in me- the guy was a hell of a lot more sociable than I was. He could literally find anyone else on campus, yet I had the privilege of being his roommate and friend. I commit that wonderful first year to my life. It is my happiest year to date. I commit that version of Zach to myself as well.

Trouble started early in our second year. He spent all summer back home, hanging out with his high school friends and his brothers. When we finally met back in our new room, he seemed distant. Still, I made the effort, getting closer and closer to him every day. He’d been sending signals too, I think. A stray touch, just a half second too long. A lingering stare in my direction. A gentle smile when I ask him a bout his day. I had to know for myself with certainty. 

So, one terrifying October night, I asked him straight up.The fucker laughed. Cruel, hideous, insensitive laughter. I’d never felt more alone in my life than when he laughed at my confession. That broke something in me. I quickly ran to my bed, crying myself to sleep. Without skipping a beat, Zach left the room to grab a bite to eat, seemingly unchanged by my outright confession. I had never been so humiliated in my life, yet only he would ever know. Still I felt him hold that over me in the weeks to follow like a dark cloud. Of course he’d still offer hangouts. He’d ask for help with some dumb assignment or try to get me to open up by faking some issues about himself. He was mocking me. I felt his sneer, ever-present from behind. Thats when I began researching alternative methods to exact what I needed from him.

Why a private university had a book like this is beyond me. It was a spellbook. A dangerous one, at that. All manner of incantation and processes regarding the human soul. I poured myself the next few weeks on its pages religiously. Translation is a massive pain in the ass but it gets done.

“Love cannot be created by spell,” it stated. Leave it to a fucking book to let me down too. I wiped away stray tears until I caught sight of the last batch of spells. I sighed at its contents. Fine. I couldn’t make him love me through magic, but I could have him the next best way. His body. The final section of this book of spells is, of course, the curses and enchantments required to possess another being.

———

The preparations have been made. It’s another late, awkward night in our room, where he just passes by, gives me a nod and a grimace and then heads to bed. This night would be different. I chant the words. The price is steep. Half of my body’s lifespan for the ability to take someone over in their sleep. That’s the one I settled on. Of course, there were more permanent spells outlined, but this seemed to be a happy medium.

The magic is dark in nature, and I feel the cloud over me deepen. I feel myself detach. It’s weightless, but grounded. Makes sense, given the purpose of this spell. I watch my target and lick my astral lips. There he was, happily dreaming without a care in the world. I study every curve, like sculpture. He is muscled, but tone. Zach likes to sleep with his shirt off, so I get to see what powerful chest up close. I watch as powerful lungs, drawn in air before gently dispersing it. Perfection. I watch that beautiful face lie still in a satisfied smile. Angelic. This body is power, incarnate. My power, soon.

I follow closes until I am but inches from his face. I stir around him, slightly. I want him to know it’s me. Bleary eyes open and he gives a weak smile when he sees me. “Dude-” the smile quickly fades to shock. “Wait what the fuck...” in sinful glee I push into my man. He involuntarily absorbs my particles, my spirit. He tries to push me away, to get me off him. Hands are useless to stop me. I phase through them with no resistance. His breath quickens as he begins to panic. This only further brings me into him, as he is forced to breath in the only air around him-me. 

Then, he starts choking, trying to force the parts of me in him out. I am unfazed. Instead, in I keep filling into him until all of me is inside. This is the way we were meant to be. He pulses and convulses and chokes while I align myself into him. I revel in Zach. In being Zach. Despite all the shit he pulled this year, he still is perfection. My perfection, now. 

I command his lips mine. “Invoke me. Become me. Manipulate this body. Explore us. Stay, in me. I want you here, forever.” They’re not words he usually uses. I rile in a frenzy when these phrases leave his lips at my behest. When his voice becomes my own and I make us moan. When his body complies with my every whim. When Zach’s flesh is mine. It is euphoric. Orgasmic even. I intend to follow through, to reward it. To pleasure it. God it feels good being in him. Being him. He may not love me, but love me he will, even if indirectly. Every waking moment I spend inside this man will be a moment of him loving himself, loving me. Now, And then I feel it. I clutch my head in pain. Zach.

Veins strain in his forehead as he puts every last effort to exorcise me out. Resistance almighty in this body. In tears I feel myself stripped from momentary heaven. He chokes as a dense fog that is me escapes his mouth. He is successful.

When I am kicked out of his body abruptly, I flare in anger. How could he do this? How could he? I look back at my slumbering form. No matter. My resolve is steel. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I knew somewhere it had to come to this. I chant the final curse mentioned in the spellbook. The price is the steepest of them all.

I watch as my physical form dissipates. I writhe as I am renewed with newfound energy. Potency. Virility. I’ve put in everything. Everything I ever was into becoming him. Zach would be mine, no matter what. 

Before he can readjust, before he can even think about what had just occurred, I flood back inside my man. Inside my body. My one true body, now, given what I had to sacrifice. I make him smile while he takes me in. Smile in preparation of a new, permanent driver. I thrust my astral form inside its new home. It’s warm. Roomy. muscular. We make this body grin, shout, cry, writhing all the way in its sheets in our battle for control. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing when he fights me- but he always was a natural in everything he picked up. I feel our shared muscle contract and relax as it is forced to accept its two masters- soon to be one. Soon to be me. Zach’s soul was strong but no one was a match for the full force of an entire human body-turned-spirit. I feel his soul start to lose footing. Jackpot. Immediately fill take its place. My place.

I was far deeper in Zach now than I was before. His essence struggles, trying to escape me but I keep us steady, hold us tight. Our minds begin to connect this time around and we sync. The book said this was a necessary step. I blink away our tears into a satisfied smile. Our face is flush from the fight, flush from my greatest victory. “You’re mine forever,” I think to myself, My words. The verbalization of my invasive thoughts in his head- they’re spoken in his tongue. In his jock-like inflection. I even now think in his voice. Of course, it’s relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. Yet it is undeniable proof. The finality of it all. Proof that my body no longer existed in this world. Proof that for me, forever, Zach would be my default. Just one last step to it all. One last push- I’ve already given this much, there was no going back. I would displace Zach as the true owner of this body. It’s as the final line in the book states: “Encapsulate their soul, devour it, digest it, make it yours. Then, true control at long last.”

Tears stream down our shared cheeks as we both realize the true gravity, the true consequences of my actions. We are synced now, but I haven’t yet completed the process. So, our emotions are a mix. So, it’s bittersweet. He’s mine. We’re one. I’m finally with Zach in a way most intimate. Despite it all, he isn’t fighting back. Why?

I rage inside him, wanting him to be mad, wanting him to hate me, to give me justification my ultimate transgression. He offers none. Instead, I am hit with borrowed clarity. More of his memory floods into me and I begin to cry. 

I watch my every worst moment through his lens, relive the demons of my past and yet, from his perspective they never looked quite as dark or traumatic as I had made them out to be. Even my confession itself, my initial catalyst, had merely been a blip in Zach’s mind. If anything, he had been more concerned that his own nervous laughing was the cause of my spiraling. I quickly realize how much wasted time I spent, building up Zach into this god in my head. My god. In the end, he was human after all.

I feel Zach pull instances of himself from my memories in turn. It turns out he had many, many insecurities as well. Many moments where he needed validation or support. Many moments, even in recent memory, where I had never picked up on on his fear and self doubt. An offhand comment here. Some self-deprecation there. Of course, stupid me always there to respond by telling him to quit joking around. I felt the months of torment he felt in my coldness after my confession. He wasn’t making fun of me or being an ass, he wasn’t even patronizing (well, he wasn‘t trying to at least)- he thought he was losing a friend. The guy was just a bit oblivious. God I was so dumb. Of course, he blames himself for my eventual actions. Poor guy. Zach didn’t deserve any of this- he never did. “Thank you” he cries in new clarity.

In mental tears I begin to undo my connection to him. It’s not something he had the capacity to do himself- I made that a reality when I used my physical form as tribute. I know the price which must be paid, for my greatest sin, born from misunderstanding. There wouldn’t be much left for me- the price for the spell was my physical body after all. It didn’t matter. I made that choice for myself when I recited the spell. But Zach... he had no choice at all. He still had a chance at a life. A life well-lived with knowledge and confidence gained from my memory. It was the least I could give him.

I begin to drift away as I balance the cosmic scales. I detach the last of myself from Zach, ready to give him back his body, ready to return him to his life. It’s merely a reverse of the process from before, yet it all feels lighter somehow. I take it as a sign of karmic justice. Of course, I am scared. Who knows what awaits me? Maybe I can find another body to inhabit. Maybe one in a coma. Maybe i’ll be reincarnated. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’ll just vanish on the spot...

Zach doesn’t give me the chance to find out. I feel his astral hand holding on to mine. His face is sympathetic. Kind. Warm. Like it used to be. Like it always was. His body leans up to pull me into a warm embrace. I start crying in spirit. “You, you don’t have to do this-” 

“I know” he says. He pulls me tighter. “Roommates for life, remember?” Now he’s crying. “There’s no way to go back- we both know that, but you still got a life to live-we both do.” He smiles as he guides me to himself. I reattach to him. We weave our souls as one. “C’mon man, I told you I grew up sharing a room.” I am a complete mess of emotions at this point. Unworthiness, Love, Relief. I feel his mess too. Neither of us knew where to go from here, but we both knew we’d face it together.

The experience was sobering, to say the least. We cried together that night. We cried at newfound realization. We cried at irreversibility of what I had done. Hell, we even cried at the extra rent that had to now be paid. I had no way of undoing what I did, and Zach wouldn’t let me go. In the end, we decide to just give it a go, a resolve to live as one person. “Zach 2.0,” as he jokingly put it. Dork.

———

“A happy accident,” is what Zach called the events of that night. He always was the optimist. Although, these days, I’m a bit of an optimist now too. I am Zach now too, after all. All things considered, we’ve done quite well together. Zach 2.0 was everything. We were smart, intuitive, confident, compassionate. We’ve made this body the healthiest it’s ever been. Hell, together we even graduated with honors, something neither of us could ever hope to do alone. Both our parents were real proud of that one- he told mine at my funeral that we had been together and we’ve been in close contact ever since. By no means were we the perfect man though. There was no perfect man. We’ve had our share of fights, struggles, times where one of us would take full control of this body we share, shut the other out.

Once in a blue moon, we both dream of what our lives could have ended up as, had I not done what I did or had he let me disappear that night. In retrospect, I really do think my life had a lot of things going for it. Hindsight is always 20/20, as he likes to say. I saw many an opening, so many areas for improvement that my younger self was blinded by in lust and perceived betrayal. There was so much life I could have lived, had I just not opened that stupid book. I don’t dwell on it too much though. We’re both quite happy sharing this body. I’m living in one body with my crush, whats not to like?

The first few months were quite jarring. Our friends and family would see us happy and outgoing at one moment and then flip to quiet and reserved on a flip of the switch. Gratefully, they been patient with us, assuming it was the byproduct of a grieving boyfriend. The more years I grow with him, the more alike we have become. Sharing one body and living one life tends to do that. I’ve probably rubbed off on him a little too. He’s just a bit more analytical now, a bit more perceptive, and I’ve learned to let loose every once in a while. Altogether, we make a great team. We’ve even managed a slew of relationships along the way. Hell, he’s even gone out with some guys-no doubt a byproduct of my soul being a part of him. Of course, in the ultimate cruel twist of fate, they never last- he tells me “none ever match me”. Well of course they can’t. I’ve lived every moment with him, felt his every thought, lifted him when he was up, consoled him when he was down. Ironically, in a roundabout way, the spell did end up causing love, causing for him to fall for me- at the cost of us never being able to be a couple in the physical sense. Guess you really can’t have it all.

In the few years we spent together my love for him has only deepened. I know he feels the same way. We are one person, after all. All things considered, it’s not a bad setup. If love on the physical plane happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t- then we still always have each other. Regardless, I’m sure we’ll find someone out there for the both of us, someday-there’s that optimism again. Of course, we don’t pine for it. Our main focus has always been each other. Growing together. We’ve got a whole life yet to live. And he’ll have me with him every step of the way. And we can’t wait to face it all, together.

-End-

Eh, it’s a bit underdeveloped but I’m not a novelist and I didn’t want to spread this out over parts. Going for something a little different with number 14- hope y’all like it!

#male possession

[starsstruck]

cloudbusting; part six.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. midnight confessions, cozy closing shifts, and new lovers. 

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, mentions of anxiety, sexual content words: 21.3k

series masterlist

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be)

a/n: thank you for everyone’s patience as i wrapped up the series 🥺 the final part is here ! very bittersweet for me, i am both very nervous and excited to share this with everyone ! tina @sunflowers-styles i truly cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done to help me out ily to the moon ! 💞❤️ as always please share and let me know what you thought ! happy reading to everyone 🍊💞

The last time you spent a long time analyzing paintings was when your mom came to visit you in the city and the two of you went to the MET together.

There were walls and walls of art that you didn’t really know the context to – ranging from the medieval period to the surge of postmodernism – things that you had remembered but didn’t really know what they meant. At the time, your mother had been the one excited to go, but the more hours you spent at the museum, the more you found a liking to the art.

That said, that was the last time you really went to a gallery. That was until this past month.

You didn’t really know how long you had spent inside the small gallery.  

Harry lingered by your side for a bit, telling you that if you had any questions about the art or if you wanted him to stay by your side, he could do just that.

You had told him not to worry about you, luckily just as Aleena came by your side and gave you enough of a reason without telling him to go away.

You didn’t want him to go away, you actually did want to stay by his side. But you felt so incredibly guilty and overwhelmed that you knew that you would babble all of this in one breath if you were to stay by his side.

So instead, you stayed at a safe little distance. Walking around the space of the gallery, taking in every small detail of his work. There were sunrises and coffee cups, brushes of fingertips and shut eyelids – everything was so intricate and so beautifully planned that if you weren’t in a room full of people you would probably cry.

You always seemed to be not that far from Harry, once and a while catching his eye from across the room. Time seemed to have flown by, and as the night slowed down and people filtered out, you soon started to realize just how late it had gotten.

Harry had told you after, after what? You felt almost silly, waiting around. You didn’t even know what you were really waiting for.

“My husband is coming to pick me up,” Aleena squeezed your arm from where she stood next to you. “Did you want a ride as well?”

She watched from next to you, as your lips were bit together with nerves that never really seemed to leave your system. After thinking over her offer for a second, you smiled at her. “I’ll be okay, thank you though.”

“Okay,” she returned that warm smile she always had, offering you some ease. “Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

Just as you were nodding and promising that you would get home okay, you saw Harry with his eyes focused on you and a quick pace in his step as he walked towards you.

Nerves bubbled over inside of you, grateful that Aleena hadn’t left just quite yet as he turned to talk to her. “Have you had a good evening?”

Aleena’s eyes drifted over to you, where you stood more or less frozen with your hands woven together, trying to not think too much about how intoxicating it was to be standing close to Harry once more.

“I have – thank you for inviting us,” she shot you another look before turning back to Harry. “Everything looks great.”

Harry nodded with a smile playing on his lips, a little humble nod of his head as he accepted the compliment. He seemed to be about to say something else, when Aleena’s hand gripped your arm once more as she glanced down at her phone. “Oh! My husband is here – I’ve got to head out.”

She pulled you in for a little side hug, waving goodbye. Once again reminded you to let her know when you got home safe and her eyes flicking between you and Harry as she spoke wordless things to you.

As she walked away with her coat hugged around her frame, a small moment of silence passed between you and the honoured artist of the evening before you even dared to look at him again.

“Did you have a chance to look through everything?” Harry directed all of his attention to you once you did look at him. You laced your fingers together nervously and played with the ring on your pinky. The both of you knew that you had seen everything twice, but he needed to say something.

Nodding, you cleared your throat. “I did.”

“And?” He had his own hands fidgeting with each other behind his back as he watched you.

“I love it. All of it.” You offered him a smile. You saw a light pink tint his cheeks, eyes flicking away from yours for a moment.

“Did you have any questions, or…?”

You paused at his question, looking around the emptying room. “I mean just,” you met his gaze once more. “How?” The word was a breath of air past your lips, as you were still so completely incredulous as how he had done all of this. “How – how did you do all this?”

One side of his lip curved higher in a smile, dimple popping as he watched you sheepishly. “Spent a lot of time at the café, sunshine.”

Your heart sped up at the use of the little pet name he had graced you with. “We need to talk. I – I want to talk to you about everything.”

The words were blurted from your mouth, drawing his attention to focus solely on you as his chest visibly expanded with a deep breath. “Yeah, we do.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head, voice dropping. “Good. I – I wasn’t fair to you Harry.”

He was quiet for a moment, nearly a moment too long but he looked at you with that little half smile and gave you a little hum, before nodding his head at painting to your right. “Which was your favourite?”

You were a bit caught off guard from the way he changed to conversation, but you felt yourself melt a bit closer to him. He took a step towards you to stand next to you, both looking at the paintings in your vicinity.

“All of them,” you said quietly, a truthful answer to his questions. “All of them are my favourite.”

You felt his gaze on the side of your face, meeting his eyes when you looked back at him. His lips were drawn into the biggest smile you’d seen from him all night, a breathless laugh emerging from you at the sight of it. “Not too good at making decisions, are you?”

“Not usually,” you hummed, all the ‘I don’t know’s’ that you’ve spoken coming to mind.

“That’s okay,” he murmured quietly, eyes catching with someone as they waved goodbye to him from across the gallery before he looked back at you. “Can I show you my favourites?”

You smiled. “I thought you said that this one –” you pointed to the smaller frame you had both worked on, “– was your favourite.”

“Mhm it is,” he hummed. “But there are just too many of them that I love.”

A small laugh sounded from you, nodding before he motioned for you to follow him. “I really like this one,” he angled his head to a canvas filled with warm tones, brushing of fingers and peels of mandarin oranges littering the surface.

“I started eating so much more citrus fruit after I met you – is that weird to say?” Harry laughed, a bit nervously in your opinion, as you joined his light humour at the confession.

“I don’t think that’s weird,” you told him, observing the painting again.

“Good,” he mumbled, only briefly stopping with you before he started to move across the gallery once more to another painting.

“This was one of the first one’s I made,” he explained, stopping in front of a large work. There were only unmarked figures and bright spots of colour over the frame, warm toned browns and oranges overpowering the entire thing. As you looked closer, you saw the majority of these unknown people were interacting with each other: small shows of affection of held hands and arms over shoulders.

“It was after sitting in your coffee shop for so long the first time. I knew I felt warm, and comfortable there – just didn’t fully realize why yet. Went home that day and started this one.”

You had no idea what to say. He had started these the first time he had gotten coffee at your work? You wanted to wrap yourself in the canvas and live in the peaceful world he had created within the frame.

“I love the way you paint the café, makes me want to live there.”

“Me too,” he laughed, his arm nudging yours lightly to keep guiding you along. It was the first real touch he’d given you all night.

“This was the first time I painted you,” he stopped in front of a medium sized canvas, splashes of blue mixed into his usual warm tones as a seemingly far way figure was mostly turned away from the viewer.

Although there were no distinct features, there was a certain likeness to yourself that you had no idea how Harry had managed to capture. You looked as if you were almost floating above, other figures around you not as detailed or pronounced.

“I didn’t realize…” you spoke, more so to yourself as you leaned in closer towards the thick canvas.

“Me neither,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t realize it was you that I was painting at first. I finished it the day after we kissed.”

He turned back to face you. “I could talk about these,” he motioned to the room around, “all of these, forever. Just want to show you some of my process – how this all came to be.”

“I know I’ve said this already but it is so breathtaking,” you spoke truthfully.

Harry smiled dreamily at you, a small flush of pink on his neck as he nodded at the compliment. “And I know I’ve already said this, but it’s all you.”

Your breath stopped momentarily in your throat, as Harry was looking at you like you were the only person he ever wanted to see.

Though something pulled his attention away for a moment, and he was soon clearing his throat and glancing around the room before he spoke again. “We should be getting out of here soon – it’s just past eleven o’clock.”

Was it? You had no perception of time since you’d step foot inside the room.

“Do you think, um,” your lips were tight between your teeth. “That we could go somewhere, walk around…”

“I’d love that,” Harry responded nearly immediately, the nerves in your stomach settling just the slightest bit.

He needed to grab something from a room in the back before you left, and he was soon by your side with his familiar bag slung over his shoulder as he guided you out the door.

You didn’t know where you were walking really – if there was somewhere he had in mind or if you were mindlessly wandering. You didn’t care that much though, you trusted him, you knew that much.

There was a cold bite in the air, enough to make you shiver as the wind picked up the slightest bit. You were hugging your arms to your chest, feeling almost weird walking with the distance that was between you and Harry.

There were a good five minutes in complete silence, before you couldn’t bear the quiet anymore. You slowed down slightly to catch a quick glance at him, taking a breath.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. You don’t deserve this. I owe you an explanation.”

“What happened?” He asked quietly, your name low in his mouth. “I thought that we were…” he trailed off, letting you finish whatever thought he had.

You sighed, having planned so many things to say to him but at the moment it all left your head. “I got scared. I um, got insecure,” you laughed nervously. “It’s dumb, really.”

“It’s not,” he shook his head. “Your feelings aren’t dumb.”

You had both stopped walking by this point, stopping by a little park near the water and finding an only slightly damp bench to sit on. You kept your eyes focused on the ground, before braving a glance at him and bearing your heart.

“I really started feeling something for you – more than I thought I could in such a short time. It’s kind of… terrifying to me and unknown and just. I found any thread to pull at to let everything fall apart.”

He was quiet, watching you intently with the little furrow between his brow as he listened. “I get … anxious over every fucking thing.” You spoke in a long breath, blinking quickly. “And I let myself – I get in my own way all the time. Overthinking, finding any small reason to pull back, pushing you away when I really didn’t want that.”

“I feel so lost, most of the time,” you kept speaking. “And you’re like, this big ball of light that came into my life and I didn’t… didn’t feel like I deserved it.”

“It’s okay to not know what you want.” Harry said softly, only briefly cutting in.

“Still,” you exhaled. “It doesn’t excuse the way I was so shitty to you, and,” you took another breath. “I didn’t mean what I said last time.”

“I um, I realized that I really like you. And I don’t feel like that very often – there’s a reason that I haven’t ever really been in a long-term serious relationship – I scared myself into thinking that you maybe didn’t feel the same…”

Harry was still quiet from next to you, and you dared to cast him a glance after your confession. He had a smile building on his lips, one that you weren’t expecting to see. “You were worried I didn’t feel the same?”

“Well…”

“Ate you out on the floor of my studio – don’t just do that with anyone.” He spoke softly. You felt yourself warm at the way he spoke, eyes briefly tracing the pattern of leaves splattered across the ground. “Spent all my free time in your café, all my free time just bugging you while you were working. Painted an entire show just about you –”

He cut himself off, taking a breath as he quietly murmured your name, getting you to meet his eyes again. “Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the moment I met you.”

Harry fell quiet for a moment again. “I forgive you – and I hope that you can talk to me about everything. Anything that makes you anxious, any reason you doubt yourself – I’m here for you.”

Your heart grew ten times in your chest. “I don’t deserve you…”

“You really need to stop doubting yourself,” his tone was light, eyebrows raised as he watched you with a smile pulling at his lips. “You deserve everything.”

“Harry –” you inhale deeply, insides feeling warm and fuzzy at his confessions. “Thank you. For everything. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Again, he fell quiet with his eyes flicking around the two of you before he leant back on the bench a slightest bit. “You never answered my question, you know.”

“What question?” Your confusion was clear on your face.

“From that night – after we painted,” he paused, watching your brows fall closer together in your confusion. “I asked if you thought things happened for a reason.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the memory of the question barely there. “Why’d you ask?”

“I like to think that things happen for a reason,” he mused, not really answering your question either. “Not that we’re all born with a written path, but that you stumble upon people and opportunities based off of the decisions you make.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t really put it into words,” Harry mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s like because of the decisions you make, it kind of … guides you in a certain way.”

You thought over his words, slowly nodding. You agreed that you didn’t think everything happened for a reason, with a planned path for everyone. Though you had never really thought about it in the way that Harry had just described it, and you found yourself agreeing with him.

He kept speaking in your silence. “Like, you don’t have a planned path for you but maybe just a small one. One that changes at every decision and turn in your life.”

“I like that,” you quietly spoke, bottom lip between your teeth.

“Like…” his hesitation made you look up at him. His expression was light, small crinkle in his eyes that held a smile, while he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Like how I walked into your coffee shop because I like the colour tangerine, and then I met you.”

His words made your heart leap in your chest. Any thought left your head, the only thing coming out of your mouth was a breathy puff of air.

“I remember thinking,” he kept speaking, confessions tumbling from his lips. “That it was a bit of a silly name ‘Tangerine Coffee’, made me curious. But… it brought me to you.”

You didn’t know how to properly respond, no one ever telling you anything of the sorts that made you feel the way you did – that made you feel like you could give yourself completely to this person without a doubt in your mind. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him senseless, until you were both gasping for air.

“That’s,” you cut yourself off, starting over again. “Harry –”

“Listen,” he rushed. “I like you, so much so if I haven’t made that obvious yet. I want you, in any way you’d have me.”

Your legs felt like they melted into puddles, taking a breath before telling him. “I want you too – I never wanted you to go anywhere.”

His expression softened, and you saw his hands lace together with his fingertips fidgeting with each other as if he wanted to reach out to you but was restraining himself. “I hope that I make you good, I don’t want you to feel afraid – about anything.”

His words sat heavy in your head. You once again found yourself with so much you wanted to say to him and return his affections but didn’t find the words to say them.

“Do you think we were meant to meet?” You said instead, voice slow as you tried not to let your breath stop in your chest.

“I don’t know,” he spoke honestly. “But I know that now that I have, I can’t imagine my life without you.”

His words warmed your heart. “Me neither.”

Now that you had started, you couldn’t stop. “Harry I can’t apologize enough for how I panicked like I did. With past relationships, they’ve never really gone anywhere – I never really felt anything. Nothing past initial interest or attraction. And then with you… I didn’t realize what I was feeling and then when I did, I let it fall apart.”

A burst of wind passed through you again, and as you hugged your arms around your chest tighter, Harry’s shoulder pressed against yours.

“I’ve only really been in one serious relationship,” Harry started. “When I was twenty-one. Lasted for a couple years, but the longer it went on the more I realized it was more so just… easy to stay together. I had just left school, and wanted to move out here. She didn’t – it didn’t end really well.”

“I moved out here, started over. Felt like nothing was really going to ever work out, but slowly it does. It’s odd – when you’re in your mid-twenties you feel like you need to figure out how you’re going to spend the rest of your life – as if you don’t have your entire life. Looking back, I was much more hurt, and lost, than I realized. I thought… that I wouldn’t feel that strongly for anyone again. But I’ve realized that that can easily change…”

His words calmed you. You held your tongue for a second, before asking. “What about Rory?”

Harry laughed. “Why do you ask?”

You were nearly embarrassed about the confession. “I don’t know. I was… jealous of someone who gets to know you like that.”

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous about, sunshine.” He said, tone light. “We were just friends who dated and it didn’t work out. I’ve seen her, I don’t know, three times in the past year.”

“Oh…” you softly said.

“When I say that things can quickly change, I mean how quickly I started to like you. What I’m trying to say is that… it’s okay if it takes you a few tries.”

He made butterflies erupt in your stomach as you told him. “I also thought I could never, um, like someone as much as I have.”

He turned his head so that his gaze never lifted from yours. “Can’t get enough of hearing you say that.”

You held his gaze, watching the quirk in his lips as he brought a hand up to your cheek. You hadn’t realized the way you had missed his touch, until the few quick brushes that night. Feeling his bare skin against yours again just felt right.

Turning your face slightly while you moved closer towards him, you quickly glanced at his pretty pink lips. You didn’t really know why you felt nervous about kissing him again, but after telling yourself a quick fuck it, you leant forward until your mouth pressed over his. 

His hand easily slid from your cheek to wrap around the back of your neck, drawing you in closer as his lips easily accepted your kiss. You felt yourself both calm down and erupt in excitement as you kissed again.

Although, the moment found itself short-lived.

The first drops of rain always seemed anticipated. First a wet spot on the cement, and then a drop hit your nose.

The third drop to hit you is when you start to realize that you are outside without a cover, without an umbrella.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, head titled up as he glanced at the drops falling from the sky. His hand retreated from you, disappearing into his big ivory tote bag and pulling out a folded black umbrella. “Don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

“No,” you brought a hand to cover your head, a makeshift cover for yourself as the rain picked up. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, at the interruption of your moment.

“Here,” he unfolded the barrier against the rain, lifting it up over both of your heads. Extending his bent arm that was holding the handle out to you, silently inviting you to loop you own arm in with his.

Accepting the invitation, taking a step closer to him as your side pressed against his. Your arms tightly woven together, he tugged on your arm lightly as he glanced at you under the umbrella.

“I really don’t want to call it a night…”

“Did you want to,” he continued, pausing as he bit his smile down. “Come back to mine? To keep talking,” he quickly added. “We can have some tea if you’d like, warm you up.”

You laughed lightly, nudging him with your hip. You felt a rush of tingles down your spine, a rush of excitement rather than a rush of anxiety. “I’d like that.”

There was something so cheesy about walking arm in arm under the umbrella with someone in the rain, with someone who liked you and you liked just as much. Something so cheesy, something that would happen to Bridget Jones, something so small that you were so overjoyed about having that you squeezed his arm just a bit tighter.

You had no idea what time it was, and you didn’t care. Getting on the train together, watching Harry under the harsh fluorescents as he sat next to you with his thigh pressed against yours.

He was glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a light smile seemingly permanently etched across his lips as he watched you yawn. “Tired?”

“Not really,” you said truthfully. “Well maybe a bit, but not tired tired. Just relaxed.”

He let out a sigh, smiling with you. “Me too.”

The journey wasn’t very long. Sharing the umbrella once more as you walked side by side to his place, feet splashing in the growing puddles that lined the sidewalk.  Part of you always loved the city at night when it rained – everything was still so bright as the lights reflected off the wet road.

It wasn’t long until you were walking up to the familiar building, letting Harry lead you up the stairs and into the warmth. His place was just as you remembered, seemingly cozier at night with the warm dim lighting coming from his lamps. You followed him inside, kicking off your shoes and heading to the kitchen with him.

Eyes darting around his place to take in the place as you’d only really seen half the place last time while Harry walked to his kitchen, part of you eagerness to have a look around also due to the little cat that you hadn’t gotten out of your head.

“Oh!” Exclaiming maybe a bit too loudly in the otherwise quiet studio, at the sight of the little calico that was lightly running towards the two of you. “Where have you been hiding?”

Bending down to trace your fingertips over her back, reveling in the way she rubbed her head over your leg. “You’re just a little baby,” you cooed, ecstatic when she let you pick her up. Holding her small frame against your chest, watching her enjoy the way you dragged your nails behind her ears.

“Not so much a baby anymore – she’s nearly ten,” Harry chuckled near you, grabbing his electric kettle and bringing it over to the sink to fill with water.

“Really?” You directed your question to Harry, not his cat. “She’s so small, I thought she was a kitten.”

He smiled. “She’s just little. Actually is a bit of an old lady.”

“No,” you looked back down at the little calico. “You’re young at heart, aren’t you?”

Harry laughed at your conversation with his cat, turning on the kettle and pulling out two mugs from the cupboard. “When’s her birthday?” You continued with your questioning, lightly placing her back down on the ground when she started to squirm.

“Not too sure,” he hummed, leaning back against the counter to face you. “She was a stray – there are ways you can test all that but why go through the trouble, you know? Fairly certain of her age and I like to think her birthday is in the fall.”

“I get that,” you agreed. “How long have you had her for?”

“About three years now,” he said, as the kettle got louder. “She’s fairly independent, likes to do her own thing but also loves attention.”

“Have you ever painted her?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve tried a few times, yeah. Could never quite capture her though, I don’t know. I’m bound to try again soon, though.”

“Would love to see that,” you hummed. The click of the electric kettle letting you know it was done, and Harry turned to riffle through another cupboard.

You watched him pull out two little tea bags, placing them in the mugs and twisting the strings around the handle of the mugs. You smiled to yourself, noticing he did the same thing you did when you made tea at work. 

He handed you one of the mugs, leading you over to the flower-patterned couch he had on the adjacent living room. You held the mugs between both hands, the hot ceramic instantly warming you.

Easily falling back into conversation with him, talking until the tea grew cold and forgotten by the edge of the coffee table. 

“Your coworker, I realize I don’t know her name – the one you brought to the show with you tonight.” Harry asked, after he told about the various times he had come into your work a few months ago but you were not there. 

“Aleena,” you told him, smile on your lips.

“Yes, Aleena. She would always bring you up when I came in and you weren’t there. Somehow – she always talked about you with me.” 

Small groan leaving your mouth, recalling the various conversations you’d had with her about Harry. “That sounds like her,” you warmed under his light stare. “I did talk about you with her…” 

He shuffled on the couch, eyebrows raised with a silly little grin on his lips. “You did?”

“Well….yeah I did. Talked about you a lot too – even with my brother out of all people and I never tell him anything.” 

“You did?” He pressed, moving a bit closer to you as his hand nudged over your forearm. You glanced away from him, shaking your head with a smile. “Didn’t realize you had it that bad for me.” 

“Shut up,” you tried to push him away, not doing a good job of it and not really caring all that much. 

“Only teasing,” he hummed happily. “Like getting you flustered.” 

You looked back towards him, trying your best to bite away the smile growing at your lips as he did often in fact, make you flustered. 

“Are you not very close with your brother?” He asked after a moment, voice soft once more. 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re just … very different people I guess. I feel bad sometimes, that we’re not really close, but I don’t think we have a bad relationship or anything.” 

“That’s okay,” he said, hand on your forearm now tracing light patterns over your exposed skin, with the sleeve of your sweater pushed up. 

“We’ve tried a bit harder in the past couple of years, especially since my parents split. We both saw how it affected them.” 

“Affected how?” 

“Well like my mom specifically just… seemed so heartbroken for a long time. Even if she wanted the divorce just as much. It’s hard, seeing a parent like that.” 

He nodded, eyes focused on the movement of his fingers of your arm. The little calico cat had made its way onto the couch as well, demanding your attention for a moment as she tentatively placed a paw over your bent knee. 

“The period of grief,” Harry started after a moment, pulling your attention away from the cat that was resting by your leg. “Any kind of grief – it’s hard but it’s important, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well like – it shapes you. Like I wouldn’t want to go back to the person I was before. It’s good to let yourself look back, it helps you move forward. But you should be focused on only moving forward, if that makes sense.” 

You didn’t like the idea of Harry having been in pain. 

“Yeah that makes sense,” you nodded after a moment.

He continued. “I think I do that – when things aren’t going well I think back to a time that was better in the past, even if it wasn’t really that much better.” 

“I hope you feel happy now.” 

He glanced back at you, meeting your eyes. “How could I not?” 

A moment passed. A moment where if there wasn’t a cat sitting between you, you were sure that you would topple over him and make sure to never leave him. And with the way he was looking at you, you were certain he was thinking the same thing. 

“I don’t mean –” he paused, fingertips still dancing over your forearm. “Did you want to stay the night? It’s late and raining, and well, you can if you’d like.”

You thought it over for barely a second, every fibre in your body jumping at the suggestion. He was right that it was late, it was likely past midnight. It’s not that you lived that far off, but it would be a small pain to have to walk home in the downpour.

And plus, you very much liked the possibility of ending up cozied up with Harry under the warm covers.

With a short nod and the inside of your lip between your teeth, you glanced at him. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

He nearly sprang off the couch. Holding out a hand to you, you let your palm fall against his as you stood to your feet. He brought you around the corner, to where his bed sat in the back of the studio. Just like the rest of his place, it was warm and inviting.

A dark brown dresser next to a closet had some clothes sitting on top of it, that he quickly grabbed and put them back in their place inside one of the drawers. The tones all around you were deep browns and oranges making you feel cozier just by being in the secluded space. You were busy looking around, at the little images he had on the walls and over the pictures you assumed were of his friends and family.

“Did you need something to change into?” His voice brought your attention back to him, where he was still standing by the dresser and digging through one of the drawers. You glanced down at your sweater covered dress.

“Yes please,” you smiled. “Anything is fine, a shirt or maybe a hoodie? I get cold easily...” you trailed off lightly, eyes meeting his and his expression was the cause for your loss of words.

You didn’t really know why, but he just looked so soft and pretty and so happy to have you with him it was leaving you for a slight loss of words.

He nodded, turning away from you again as he looked for something for you.

“Is this good?” After a second, he passed you a light gray sweatshirt, the fabric soft under your fingertips.

“Should be,” you spoke softly, unfolding the material. You placed it on the edge of the mattress beside you, eyes meeting his for one more brief second before turning away from him completely so that your back faced him.

As if some sense of privacy since you weren’t facing him, although you knew that wasn’t the case as you could feel the burn of his gaze on your back. Biting away a smile even though he couldn’t see the little smirk dancing on your lips, you tugged off your heavy sweater and let it drop next to the sweatshirt on the bed.

Next was the dress, fingers pulling at the zipper until the material was loose enough to fall off your form. Leaving you in nothing but your navy-blue underwear that left not much of your bum covered, you could feel the hot stare Harry had on your bare back as he remained quiet behind you.  

Grabbing the sweatshirt from the bed, pulling the thick fabric over your head in a quick motion and settled it around you until your arms were through the sleeves and the bottom hem covered just enough. It smelled like him, it wrapped around you so nicely you didn’t think you’d want to take it off.

Turning around, you lifted your eyes until they landed on Harry’s face. His gaze shot up to yours, before dropping down once again as he made no move to hide the way he took in your appearance in his baggy sweatshirt.

“Right,” he coughed. If you squinted, you could make out the little red tint on his neck, even in the dim light. “I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere.”

He led you to the small washroom, walking through the open door and bent down to search in the cupboard that sat under the sink while you watched from the doorframe.

With a small ‘aha’ muttered past his lips, he rose to stand in front of you with a green toothbrush in its cardboard and plastic packaging. He wordlessly opened it for you, tearing the cardboard from the back until the brush was free and ready for you to use.

“Did you need anything else?” He murmured, shifting forward so that he was practically pressed against you in the doorway of the washroom.

Wordlessly shaking your head, your gaze locked with his until he stepped past you so that you could further enter the room and shut the door.

You easily found his toothpaste next to his brush that sat in a little ceramic cup on the counter. After brushing your teeth, you casually searched through his drawers, picking up miscellaneous objects and placing them back in their spots until you found a little pot of moisturizer.

Washing your face and patting small dots of the cream just around your eyes, you glanced over the rest of his possessions in the washroom with a little casual snoop.

The countertop had a few items spread across the surface; a cologne that you brought under your nose, some hair styling product, a little bottle of light purple nail polish, and a little dish that had a couple rings sitting in it.

Realizing you were probably taking a bit too long, you shot one last glance in the mirror before heading out from the bathroom.

You found Harry picking up some stray clothes from on top of his dresser and folding them back into the drawers. He turned around at the sound of your footsteps on the floor, lips turning into a smile as you neared him.

“Good?” He checked, as your fingertips wove nervously together.

“Yes,” grinning back at him, “thank you.”

His turn in the washroom, you didn’t know what to do while you waited. Obviously sliding into bed was the answer, but for whatever reason you felt it best to wait for him to come back. Instead, you walked around the space near his bed, looking at various things he had on the walls and resting on his shelves.

Head tilting to read the titles of the books sitting on his shelf, finding primarily books on artists – some you had heard of but most you hadn’t. Fingertips skimming over the spines of the books, plucking a thin one with a title you were fairly sure was in French. Delicately flipping through the pages, pages of small bits of texts surrounded with little black and white drawings. Everything was in the foreign language to you, though you stopped on a page when you caught the little scribble of English words on the page.

“…they go even farther perhaps, towards the unknown, into the light and joy.”

You didn’t know what to make of it, not having the context of what the rest of the words were saying but you simply enjoyed this phrase paired with the sketches of a couple and dark waters.

“What ya’ looking at?” His voice behind you caught you a bit off guard, feeling as if you had been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to do.

Turning around, you held up the book still in your hands. “Sorry,” you weren’t sure why you were apologizing. “Was just looking at your books.”

Harry walked over to where you were standing, taking a look at the book that you held. “It’s nice, no?” He hummed, taking hold of the book when you extended it out to him. “It was a gift – feels a bit lost on me though since I haven’t had the time to flip through and translate everything. I do really like these artists though.”

“Who wrote it?”

“An artist from the twentieth century – or actually parts of it were written with their partner too. It’s essentially all about the story of their love. I’ve looked up translations for a few things here and there, this one here,” he pointed to the page you’d opened it on. “I really like it.”

You nodded with a small hum, squinting to re read the words on the page once more.

“It’s just – beautiful, y’know? Going into the unknown, with the one you love.”

Still staring at the book in his hands thinking that he was going to speak again, you looked up at him when a silence fell through the room. He was already looking at you, standing closer than you’d previously realized. He had his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes clear as they seemed to scan your every thought.

Something about standing in a warm cozy room while the rain poured outside, reading stories of love with a man who had recently declared his affections for you. Something about it that made a warmth spread through your chest, and a peace that you had never felt settle over you.

“Did you want to go to bed?” The question was quiet, Harry’s voice subtly cracking is if he hadn’t used it in a while.

You were on the verge of making a joke about him being presumptuous, but you were glad that you held it in as a part of you revelled in the way that a thick layer of anticipation seemed to settle in the air around the two of you.

“Yeah, I do,” was all you said instead.

Harry moved first, placing the book back on the shelf where you’d found it, and made his way over to the bed that sat on the other side of the room. You had only just noticed that he’d changed since you last saw him, long legs nearly bare as his bottom half was only covered by a pair of briefs and a teeshirt over his chest.

With his back turned to you as he turned off the large lamp on the other side of the room, the only source of light now coming from the dim lamp on the bedside table. You couldn’t help the way your eyes dropped to his backside, black fabric hugging over the curve of his ass – impossibly attracted to the man before you.

Eyes falling to a newly exposed tattoo to you as he turned around, not missing the slight bulge in his front before your eyes darted back up to meet his gaze. He had obviously caught you staring, a smirk on his lips that he was doing a terrible job of hiding.

He wordlessly walked over to the edge of his bed, pulling up the covers before sliding his legs over the mattress and settling in underneath the duvet. He looked at you expectantly, patting the spot next to him with his palm smoothing over the pillow.

Silently following his motions, lifting bare legs over the mattress to fall in opposite of him. One of your legs hit his under the heavy blanket; neither of you moved. You were on your side, daring to face him as he peered down at you.

You weren’t close together, but you weren’t that far away either. If you reached out you could easily brush your hand across his cheek, and he could lift his arm around you to pull you in closer. A thick beat of silence passed, gaze only breaking with the occasional blink of an eyelid.

You took a step into unknown waters. “I’ve never felt so comfortable anywhere or… with anyone. So, thank you.”

His lips curved in a dreamy smile. “Why’re you thanking me?”

“Just,” you bit your lips together, voice quieter than the pouring rain. “For making me feel that way.”

“’Course,” the word was so quiet, deep from his chest. “I intend to make you feel all kinds of good things.”

A breathy laugh at his words, paired with a little shake of your head. Though you felt the eruption of butterflies through your stomach, they weren’t nerves and rather were warming your body and making you feel even better than before.

“I’m serious!” He urged at your reaction to the slight innuendo. Lifting himself so that his elbow was tucked under to hold himself up to hover closer to you, leaning forward to press a loud kiss to the side of your forehead.

Turning your head at the action, faces mere inches apart. Letting your eyes dance over the line of his nose, to the dip of his cupid’s bow, until they were tracing the soft curves of his lips.

“You make me feel the same, for the record,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, as you watched his mouth form the words.

Momentarily realizing that you had only gotten one quick taste of his lips that night, that it had been weeks since you’d properly kissed him, you were overcome with the strong urge to kiss him until neither of you could breathe.

Your hand moved on its own accord, reaching across the miniscule space between you until your upper body was somewhat twisting so that you could thread your fingers through Harry’s hair. A light touch against him, curls slipping between your fingers as you saw him lean into your hand.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing as you, as his hand raised to hold a light grip of your forearm and pulled himself closer to you. Leaning down until his nose brushed over your cheek, you let your eyes shut while your mouth parted open.

You raised your head off the pillow, lips puckering and landing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The hand in his hair was pulling him closer to you as he captured your mouth with his. A feather light touch of smooth lips on top of yours, his hand on your arm sliding until it slipped down to rest over your hip. He was pulling you up with a light pressure to draw you in closer, until you were fully resting on your side as well.

“Sunshine,” Harry called against your lips, a quiet hum in his voice. His forehead rested against yours, while you folded your legs towards him to rest more comfortably as you laid propped up on your side.

Then he kissed you, making you forget any fear you’d ever had. His lips moved with yours, not so much with hunger but with desire, wanting nothing more than to feel as close to you as possible. You felt him lick over your lips, easily complying to him as your tongues met with hot need.

His hands were quickly on you, one trailing over your cheek to hold you firmly over your jaw while the other landed against your middle to tug you over towards him. Mouths parting with a hot breath, barely a second apart before they were pressing messily against one another again.

He was pulling quiet gasps from the back of your throat, swallowing every noise you made against him to hold them to memory. Your hand in his hair scratched along his scalp, freely pulling at the soft strands and repeating the action when you felt his chest vibrate with a muted moan.

While your swollen lips pressed hotly together, you felt his hand slide over your hip, resting heavy there for a second with fingertips treading lightly as if considering whether or not to venture lower. Apparently deciding a yes when you whimpered over his lips, his palm smoothed over the curve of your bum and gripped tightly into the skin, the action causing your lower half to push further against him with need.

Tense air of desire surrounded the two of you, actions growing heated while your breathing grew heavier. His hand couldn’t stay in one place, pinching your skin between his fingers as it moved down to your bare thigh. He hooked it in the fold of your knee and pulled your leg up over his own so that you were partially over top of him.

You let out a whine at the feeling of his touch on you, his hand resting where it was for a moment before trailing up north once more. He pushed his palm against the curve of your ass, your hips rubbing onto his thigh in a small motion.

Your leg over him was tightening around his hips as if holding him in place, while his fingertips played with the edge of your underwear and snapped the band over your hip before they were digging into your skin again.

Your mouths parted for a moment, your tongue tenderly licking over his lips as he raised his head towards you to search for more. A soft moan was heard from the back of his throat when your lips fell from his mouth and moved down his jaw, starting a series of feather light touches before your teeth nipped the skin under his earlobe.

His hand smoothed over the top of your hip, edging up under your sweatshirt and over the small of your back. He was gripping you tighter as you kissed down his neck, licking over the sensitive skin. You felt his stomach clench under you, a whimper of your name past his lips when your nails dug into his scalp.

“God, you’re unreal,” Harry panted from above you. “Make me feel – like never before –”

He cut himself off with a groan, while you moved one of your hands along his chest to venture lower and lower with your nails scratching over the fabric of his shirt. You were kissing up the column of his neck, edging the fabric of his shirt up until your fingers met his bare skin.

His lips slid along your temple, own hand leaving from under your sweatshirt and taking a light grasp of your hand just as your fingers edged around his hips and closer to the elastic of his briefs.

“I…” he paused, stopping your hand while you looked up at him in his hesitation. “Fuck I’m sorry – I can’t now, if that’s okay,” he groaned low against you. You saw him squeeze his eye shut, blinking a few times before meeting your eyes.

“I want you,” his voice was raw, and he pushed his hips against yours to accentuate his point as you felt his hardening length through his clothes. “You have no idea how badly I want you. It’s just – been such a long day – I wanna be able to give you everything you need.”

His words sent a rush down your spine, eliciting a little unintentional whine from your throat as you rested your chin on his shoulder and watched him speak. “And ‘m worried I can’t right now –”

A yawn interrupted him and stretched out his jaw, as if his words brought the display of tiredness along.

“Fuck,” he laughed through the yawn. You pushed yourself up a bit, face hovering close to his with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “See? I don’t want to fall asleep on you.”

You kissed his jaw, with a quiet whisper. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, watching you shake with a little laugh. “I… I’ve never wanted anyone more,” he whispered hotly against you. “I just…”

“No need to be sorry,” you murmured, capturing his mouth as your teeth grabbed his bottom lip and your hand cupped the side of his face. When you pulled away from his mouth, you nearly missed the small breath of a whine that was sound from the back of his throat.

Brushing your thumb over his cheekbone, you moved your head just far enough away so that his features weren’t blurry to you anymore, while you kept your eyes locked with his. “And I really want you too.”

The weight of his hand left your waist, skin feeling cold without it but instead he wrapped it around the back of your neck, pulling you back in. His fingertips scratched lightly over your scalp, a soft contrast to the way his lips so greedily caught yours.

“You have me,” he whispered, teeth clashing when he spoke. “All of me.”

A whimper echoed past your lips at his words; at the feeling of his mouth on yours, and the way his legs tangled between your own. Mouths slowing against each other, a nearly lazy kiss while you both tried to catch your breaths once more.

You took a breath, wanting to give him as much as he was giving you but not finding the words.

“We can… we can just kiss, yeah? I don’t want to stop.” You mumbled against his mouth while his hand smoothed over your cheek.

“Yes,” he moaned into your mouth. “Just want to hold you close, and…” he never finished his sentence, true to his word and held you close against him and kissed you deeply.

Continuing like that for you didn’t know how long, quiet moans and heavy breaths being the only sounds in the room, hands still gripping each other tightly.

After a while, you felt a small bit of exhaust yourself. The light movements of Harry’s hand running over your arm and up to your neck were starting to calm you down in a way that had your eyelids growing heavy.

Lips slowing over his, you planted lazy kisses over the corner of his mouth and over his chin, while he cupped your jaw to gaze down at you. Eventually, your lips brushed over the column of his neck until you rested your head over his shoulder with a content hum.

Both with swollen lips and heavy eyes, you lay quietly together as sleep slowly took over. His hand kept moving in soothing motions from the curve of your shoulder to the bottom of your scalp, the slow and gentle motions starting to lull you to sleep.

“Long day for you too,” he hummed quietly, words lacing together and his chest vibrated from under you. “You worked today, no?”

Gently parting your eyes at his words, titling your head up so that you could look up at him. “How did you know I worked today?”

A light smile grew on his lips when his eyes met yours, his lips skimmed over your forehead. “Coffee lingers on you.”

“You can smell it?” you giggled. You could always smell it on your hands, your clothes and your hair. But you never knew anyone else noticed.

“Mm I can,” he inhaled exaggeratedly. “Smells good, sunshine.”

You turned your head towards him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder with a laugh. “I’m glad.”

Resting your head against his shoulder, lips puckering to press a soft kiss over his neck before you settled back down over him with a little hum as your eyes fell shut.

You started to slip your leg off of his, but a hand on your thigh quickly stopped you to keep you in place. “Stay right here.” The words were whispered over your forehead, quiet command that had you easily complying.

A peaceful silence fell over the two of you, the only sound coming from the small breaths leaving the two of you. The patter of the rain seemed to have quieted down, and part of you secretly hoped that it would pick back up soon so that you could lounge around the following day without any guilt.

The feeling of his chest that rose and fell under you, paired with the steady beating of his heart and the soft strokes of his fingertips against your skin was soothing you in a way you had never known. “Goodnight Harry.”

“’Night, sunshine.” His voice was barely audible, fingers gripping you just a bit tighter as sleep seeped through your body, an overwhelming sense of peace surrounding you as you rested pressed together. 

The heavy rain was the first thing that you recognized in the early morning. The second thing you felt was the warmth all around you; there was the heavy duvet paired with the familiar and calming noise of a heater going off. The third thing you noticed was the man pressed against you, a thigh between your legs and a hand wrapped around your middle.

You peaked your eyes open, trying to gage what time it was simply from the blinds that had never been closed. The dark grey – nearly black – sky wasn’t giving you too much of an indication but you knew it had to be very early morning.

You were almost in the same position that you had fallen asleep in: on your stomach with your head over Harry’s arm and your hand wrapped around him. You gently moved your head, tilting it up to look up at the presumed still sleeping man by your side. Harry looked so peaceful, eyes shut and lips only slightly parted.

You took a moment to think over everything in the past twelve hours, everything from the night before that had you positively melting in the best way possible.

With the calm that surrounded you, you jolted in his grasp when suddenly he shuffled and his raspy voice sounded in the air. “Morning,”

Head lifting a bit more to get a better view of him, you watched him turn his face as well so that he could peer down at you. “Did I wake you?”

“Been in and out of sleep,” he hummed, his tired eyes glowing when he met your gaze. “You’re awake early.”

“What time is it?” You yawned, moving your hand from where it rested on his chest to rub at your eyes.

“Just past six-thirty,” his eyes never left you, as you felt his hand over your sweatshirt move in small circles.

“I’m used to waking up early – and hey you’re up early too.” The small hint of a laugh sounded through your tone and you felt yourself waking up.

You saw his eyebrows furrow. “Do you have to get to work?”

“No,” you shook your head, content smile gracing your lips at the reminder that you in fact did not have to go into work. “I’m off today.”

The crease in his brow disappeared, a mirror of your smile on his own mouth. “The whole day?”

“The whole day,” you confirmed.

He shifted, keeping you close while he rolled over to his side and helped you do the same until you were both lying facing each other. Limbs were still tangled, one of his hands keeping a tight grip around your back and he had a leg still between your own. Your arm was reached between the two of you, moving to brush along his neck while the other one rested underneath your head.

“And any other plans for the day?”

“None,” your voice dropped back down to a whisper, his gaze intent on yours as you felt his hand slide lower over your back. “What about you?”

“None,” he mirrored, voice still carrying a slight rasp. Silence fell over you again, this time only the rain against the window filling in the gaps.

You were about to speak again, when a slight move interrupted you. A slight move of his leg between yours that caught you off guard when his thigh brushed over your covered centre in a motion that could be seen as accidental but with the way he was looking at you, you were sure he had every purpose in the world.

“D’you have any dreams last night?” He spoke quietly, voice low for a reason you were sure to be other than the fact that he had just woken up.

“No, I – I don’t think so,” you hummed, feeling his thigh move once more to rest easily against your underwear covered heat, as if taunting you to rub over him. “Did you?”

“Mm I thought I did,” he said slowly. His hand stopped at the small of your back, applying a steady pressure to nudge you forward; both closer to him and over his thigh. “Thought for a second that last night was a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered.

You saw his eyes glued to your mouth when you spoke the words. Watching his eyelids briefly flutter closed, your head moved over the pillow just the slightest bit as if moving in to kiss over your jaw but he stopped himself.

“Certainly wasn’t,” he murmured, gripping your lower back tighter when he pushed you over him with a little more force. A whine from your lips was barely audible when your centre rubbed over him with a bit more pressure.

“How do you feel?” His voice seemed to drop even lower, smooth in your ear. “Still tired?”

“No,” you whispered, a growing ache dropping through your stomach and straight to the spot between your thighs at the growing tension. “You?”

“Wide awake,” he breathed out, a slow blink before his gaze met yours once again.

It was as if unspoken words were shared between the two of you, conversation from the night before of “not right now” fluttering through both of your heads. Was now the time? The anticipation was slowly driving you crazy. You certainly wanted now to be it, and with the way he was looking at you, you found it safe to assume he felt the same.

He brought his hand that wasn’t against your back to the bottom of your jaw, somewhat tilting your head up so that your face was angled towards his.

“I’d really like to kiss you again,” he hummed softly, eyelids still heavy as his thumb brushed gently over your skin. He looked at you in a way that made you feel like you were on fire, a way that would normally have you avoiding his gaze but right now all you could do was stare back at him with hopefully just as much intensity.

“Then do it.”

You caught the way his eyes fell down to your lips when you spoke. You wrapped your arm further around him, pulling yourself closer over the mattress until your chests were nearly completely pressed together. Pressing down just the slightest bit over his thigh, enough to have him grip you tight and he didn’t waste another second before he got everything out of you he wanted.

His mouth landed along your jaw, a series of loud pecks in a line leading to your chin. His shoulder against yours, he twisted his body until he was hovering over you and pushing you onto your back. Supporting himself on his elbows, he took a second to gaze down at you as one of his hands cupped the side of your face.

His thumb made contact with your mouth first, softly tracing the outline of your lips with the pad of the finger before his mouth captured the trail he had just drawn.

Every kiss with him felt like the first time, like every nerve in your body was alert and that Harry was the only thing occupying your mind. His mouth moved languidly on yours, soft strokes of your lips sliding together. His tongue easily slipped into your mouth, smooth licks over each other in slow movements.

His chest pressed against yours, half his body resting over you as his chin bumped yours as the soft kisses deepened. He was giving you everything he possibly could, wanting to savour every moment as the soft mutterings of “we have all day” rang through his ears.

A hum resonated through your chest, the feeling of his hand smoothing over your neck warming your skin. He repeated the motions, holding a grip to your jaw. He seemed unable to hold you in just one place, touching you, feeling you wherever he could.

His other hand had slid between your bodies, gripping into the material of your (his) sweatshirt tightly. The fabric had ridden up on your thighs, the hem of it sitting right below your stomach and your bare legs tangled with his. The blanket over the two of you was falling off to the side, neither caring all that much as heat was coursing around you.

Breaking apart for a moment, both of your breathing growing heavier and you could feel his heart beating faster against you. Your eyes parted open, meeting his gaze while the lip that he had bit into was then tucked between your own teeth.

You felt a laugh slip past your mouth, chest lightly shaking and you saw his mouth widen in a dimple popping smile. You didn’t know why you were laughing, just feeling so light and at peace in that moment that you couldn’t help the little giggle of bliss.

He leant back down, teeth clashing in another elated kiss. Picking up right where you had left off, smiles slowly falling as a subtle intensity grew. Your soft chuckles being replaced with quiet moans, hasty fingers gripping at each other as if the other were about to disappear.

Heavy tension floated between your bodies, unable to help yourself from the small jolt of your hips over his thigh. He urged you to repeat the action, pushing against you hotly while your mouths greedily indulged the other. You could feel him resting hard against your leg, the thought of having been the one to get him there just further turning you on.

Both your arms wrapped around him, one holding into the thin fabric of his shirt while the other was laced through his hair. Your tugs in the strands were growing tighter when he drove his hips forward. You felt one of his own hands venture lower under the duvet, meeting the bare skin of your hip and grabbing into the skin. Pulling your leg around him, allowing space for him to settle in between your legs.

His head hung in the crook of your neck, peppering pecks over the curve before he was sucking soft kisses over your skin. Moans no longer being muffled by his mouth over yours, he quietly urged you on with a never-ending series of kisses.

“Really gonna kill me,” he muttered, the hint of a smirk evident in his voice.

A breathy laugh was all you could muster, focused on the way his hand was edging under your sweatshirt and feeling over the warm skin of your tummy. He pulled himself away, chest heaving in the air as he moved down to press a heavy kiss over your mouth. His tongue moved slowly over your lips, pulling away with a tug of the sensitive swollen skin.

Harry sat up on his knees, shifting over so that he was by your legs with his hands still holding you. The action had caused the blanket to nearly fully fall off, now only barely covering half your legs. Your eyes skimmed over his form, dark shadows beneath every dip in his body. You couldn’t help but stare at the clear as day outline of his length in his briefs, seeming painfully hard and heavily restrained by the thin fabric. You had to bite back a moan at the sight.

He was leaning forward again, his other hand pushing up under the shirt that was riding high on your middle. His eyes followed his motions, the heavy silence interrupted when he cleared his throat.

“Can I undress you?”

His sultry tone and heavy gaze had caused goosebumps to rise on your skin, no matter the heat that surrounded you. “Yes please.”

A hand on either side of you, hem of your sweatshirt hitting his wrists as he pushed up slowly over your chest. His fingertips trailed over your skin as they did so, trickling up and over the swell of your breasts. Soft graze over your nipple had a little gasp emitting from the back of your throat, your eyes flicking up to his to see his gaze glued to the new skin exposed to him.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, as you lifted yourself up a bit to help him push the shirt up and over your head, before it was completely forgotten and tossed aside. He hovered closer to you, hands following the line of your shoulders before dropping down to palm over your breasts.

Massaging them in both hands, fully cupping over them as he felt their weight in his palms. He wasted no time, dropping his head lower until his lips met the skin he was so enamoured by.

Hot lick over your nipple, lips circling around the skin as you felt a hum of vibrations when he moaned around you. Both hands were all over you, as if he was unable to stop his indulgence in his admiration for your chest. You gasped into the air when his teeth grazed over your overly sensitive nipple, leaving it nice and wet before he watched the nub harden once more in the cool air.

A trail of his mouth along your upper chest, stopping with swift nips at your skin followed by soft sucks. He was no doubt leaving a few marks to keep an impression of his mouth on you. Giving the majority of his attention to your other breast, hands still occupying as much space on the soft skin as he possibly could.

The sight of wet patches over your chest had you let out an involuntary moan, the feeling of his mouth over you driving the ache between your thighs to a nearly unbearable pressure.

“Harry…” you whined, hand trailing over his neck and to his scalp as you called his name once more.

“Completely fuckin’ breathtaking,” his voice vibrated over your skin, as he pressed a loud kiss over your sternum. “My sunshine,” his lips moved over your collarbone, “angel,” a kiss to the column of your neck. “My tangerine orange.”

His mouth was over your jaw, as he fell back down to his side to rest over the mattress. One arm supporting himself so that he could lean over you, the other still resting at the underside of your breasts while his thumb rubbed small circles into your skin.

“A tangerine?” You giggled around the words, unable to help but sound breathless as your head was spinning over the attention he was showing you. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, pupils a bit blown and a lopsided grin on his mouth. “You’re going to peel me open and eat me?”

You didn’t realize the innuendo behind your words until they left your mouth, the sudden memory of the way Harry had made you cum on the floor of his studio causing the heat between your legs to grow. A silly little smirk grew on his lips, a soft hum from his throat before he spoke again.

“Yes, exactly.” His chest shook with a laugh, lips puckering to land a kiss over your skin.

“You’re so sunny,” he whispered, hand venturing lower over your hips.

His tongue licked over your skin, “taste delicious.”

The hand on your hip slid over to your thigh, pinching your skin as it slid to the inside of your leg. You parted your legs instinctively, allowing him more space. “Want to spread you open.”

Your eyes briefly fluttered shut at his words, just as his lips fell to your mouth, kissing you deeply. The action nearly distracted you from his hand that was still sitting low, massaging into the skin of your thigh.

“You have to –” he took a heavy breath, your eyes opening to meet his when he spoke. “You have to tell me what you want, okay? Need to make sure you feel good.”

“Okay,” you breathed, promise in his words heavy. “You too.”

“What do you need right now, sunshine?”

His fingertips were so close to where you longed to feel anything. You found yourself at a loss for words for a second, hyper focused on the feeling of his hand tickling your inner thigh. “Can I?” He brought your attention back to his words whispered over your neck. “Tell me if I can.”

“God, yes,” you moaned into the air, arm around him gripped him tighter just as his fingers grazed over your covered clit. His thumb started with small circles over you for a brief second, reveling in the way your legs shook with the pressure that he had been building.

“Feel that…” he groaned, when his fingertips slipped past the elastic. He pushed your underwear aside for two fingers to slide through your wetness.

Your legs parted unprompted, making space between your thighs for his hand as he felt his way through your slit, no doubt soaking his fingers on you before pressing over your clit. He breathed a quiet curse, withdrawing his fingers from you to push your underwear down. Peeling the fabric off your lower half, you lifted your hips up into the air to make his job easier.

The garment easily forgotten, you kicked it off by the end of the mattress and focused on the way Harry’s fingertips circled over your clit. His head lifted from where it was hanging by your shoulder, feeling his hot breath hit the side of your cheek. You turned your head on the pillow, eyes meeting his.

You think you felt yourself grow wetter just by the way he was watching you so intently, as if he was silently demanding that you keep your eyes locked with his. His beautiful eyes watched every reaction you had and every sound you made due to his hand between your thighs.

Drawing him in closer with the arm you had around his neck, he complied and landed a kiss to your cheek. Moving to the corner of your mouth, before fully capturing your lips with his in a deep kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, just as his fingers slid over your slit until one was pushing into you. A whimper resonated through your chest, the feeling of his finger slowly dipping into you already had you clenching. He bit down on your lower lip, sharp inhale at the feeling of your warmth around him.

Unable to kiss him properly as heavy breaths left your mouth, he dragged his lips down your jaw until they were latched to your neck once more. You brought your other hand to his chest, nails digging into his skin as your back arched with the slow and steady feeling of his finger inside of you.

Pushing your hips onto his hand, his palm pushing against your clit as you did so. You couldn’t help the moan at the feeling, paired with his teeth nipping and lips kissing over the sensitive skin of your neck. As he laid on his side, you felt his length push against your hip with small nudges into your skin.

His lips slid lower, just as he pushed another finger inside of you with a slow motion. “Good?”

“So good,” you responded quickly. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t intend to,” he muttered, listening to you with his fingers pushing in and curling against the spot that had you bucking up to meet his movements.

His lips kissed down the swell of your breasts, mouth circling over your nipple with a soft hum from his chest. Teeth grazing over the sensitive spot, pulling whines from your throat as he continued to tease you.

The deep pit of tension from the bottom of your stomach was building, as you felt yourself craving to feel come undone below him. You could hear his fingers move in your wetness, the obscene sound somehow turning you on even more as your arousal was evident.

His mouth left your skin, lifting himself up slightly so that he could watch you. Your hips were pushing up trying to find a rhythm with his fingers, his palm tight against your clit as you couldn’t get enough of the feeling. You were shamelessly chasing your high, already feeling edged closer and closer to it after the long-built anticipation.

His thumb brushed your clit, the pressure as he worked to push you towards your high. Your nails were digging into his chest, gripping him tightly from the side as you pushed your back into the mattress with an arch to spine.

Euphoric sensation floating through your veins, heading straight to your wet centre where his fingers were swiftly working you over. Pumping the two inside you in fast motions, hitting the post along your walls that had you biting your lip so hard you were sure to taste a sting of blood.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, voice breaking out of a whisper as you couldn’t help the raise in tone. You felt good, overwhelmingly so and you wanted nothing more than to feel yourself come undone over Harry’s hand.

“Please, do” his voice was low, hoarse. “I wanna feel you.”

You whimpered at his words, eyes shutting tighter with moans leaving your mouth at the pleasure shooting down your legs and up your spine.

A hum was sound from his throat, he spoke a small “love” in an attempt to grab your attention.

“Look at me.”

Complying at the roughness in his voice, your eyelids parting open to watch him with parted lips and clammy skin. His eyes were dark, intent on your every breath. Arm flexing as his fingers quickly fucked you, while your hand grabbed his bicep tightly when you felt you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His pace was quick, deep and calculated, noticing what moves he did that made you moan. It was so intensely attractive to you, how closely he watched and wanted you to enjoy yourself.

You could hear mumbling incoherently, unable to decipher or even try and listen to what he was saying as the pressure built and built until you were coming undone around him.

Hips jolting up as he curled his fingers, rubbing over your clit while you choked around your moans. You held him tightly, nails digging into his shoulder as you felt like you needed to hold on to him, onto anything otherwise you would drift away in your pleasure.

He breathed heavily while he watched you, falling back down to his side with his face resting in the crook of your neck. His fingers slowly withdrew from you, still pressing light touches onto your sensitive clit causing your legs to twitch at the feeling. “Harry.”

“Dreamt of you like this,” his words laced together, muttered against your skin. He gave you loud smacks of kisses onto your shoulder, along with his soft mutterings. “Real thing is so much better.”

With hot cheeks and swollen lips, you lifted yourself up on one elbow to hold yourself up and face him. He fell onto his back, just as you were positioned seconds ago and withdrew his hand from between your thighs. Wet fingers raised, slipping them past his lips to taste you with a low hum from deep in his chest.

Gripping your jaw with said hand, pulling you in for a deep kiss. As much as he kissed you this morning, as much as he kissed you in the past day, you could not get enough of the feeling of his mouth. Your own hand lingered over his chest, tracing uneven patterns over him.

You dug your nails a bit harder into his stomach, feeling it clench from under you. Almost as a soothing action for yourself as you settled from your high, you ran mismatched patterns over his front. Dipping lowered and teasing the band of the briefs that he was still wearing, your nails dug into his skin just as an audible groan left Harry’s lips.

He muttered a quiet “killing me,” over your mouth, his hand leaving your jaw and landing over your own hand that rested on his chest.

His fingers laced with yours, and he carried your hand with his and placed it directly over his bulge. Squeezing your hand in his, matching whines from the two of you at the action. Yours at the weight of him in your hand, and his at the feeling of finally having your hands on him.

As if you had switched positions, this time you held yourself propped up on your side so that you could hover over him. His hand left yours, soft groan as you freely palmed over the very defined bulge in his underwear. You kept your eyes stuck to your motions, not even realizing the way your lip slipped between your teeth at the feeling of him.

Pushing yourself up on your hand, sitting up with the rest of the blanket falling off your body. But you didn’t care, you didn’t need the extra heat.

You tugged at the elastic that sat tight against his hips, fingertips slipping under it and over the hot skin. Casting him a quick glance, seeing his eyes locked on your hands, chest rising and falling with a small furrow between his brows.

You pulled down his briefs to the middle of his thighs, watching the way his hardened length rested against his skin. One of your hands trailed up his thigh, resting just under his hipbone. A sharp breath on Harry’s part was heard as your other hand firmly gripped his length.

Circling your fingers around him, a soft stroke until your palm became sticky with his precum. Moving your thumb over his tip, applying more pressure as you saw the way his stomach clenched and his legs jerked with a bend in the knees.

Your silent gaze landed on his face, just as he looked up to meet your eyes. Withdrawing your hand from him, you pushed your thumb past your parted lips to wet it nicely. His eyes greedily watched the way you sucked, moaning your name as a beg while his hand gripped yours on his thigh.

Bringing your hand down to circle your wet thumb over his tip again, giving him slow tugs while you listened to every noise he made. Every small pant of your name and whine into the air. You had never felt more turned on by someone else’s reaction to you than right now.

“You look,” you bit your lip with a smile, looking for the right words as you slowly pumped your hand around him, “really sexy.”

He tried to let out a chuckle, the sound being cut with a moan when you circled your thumb over his tip.

Bending down, you pressed a kiss at the underside of his navel while you worked over his length. Kisses pressed following the trail of hair that led south, before Harry grabbed your shoulder to stop you. “You can’t…” he choked as you sat up straight once more, withdrawing every inch of skin from his so that you were no longer touching at all. “I’m already bursting for you, I don’t want to –” he paused, “– I mean, do you want to have sex?”

You leant forward, palms over his chest once more as you found yourself unable to go without touching him. “Yeah, I really do.”

He pushed himself up, sitting closer to you. “Okay,” he rushed, one hand running through his hair. “Okay.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his flustered state, watching as he yanked his briefs off the rest of the way down his legs, letting them fall to the floor. He pushed himself up more until he was sliding off the bed, your hands falling from him once more while you watched him stand. “I know I’ve got condoms somewhere –”

And then he was walking away from you, with a quick “stay where you are!” called over his shoulder. You did just as he said, falling down to your back and rolling over to your side with your head resting on your hand, watching him disappear around a corner.

He was back moments later, from the washroom you presumed because you didn’t know where someone would keep condoms other than by their bed. You watched him stand at the edge of the mattress, head dipped down as he threw the wrapper to the ground and rolled the condom over himself.

He took a heavy breath, lifting his legs to kneel over the mattress as he reached out for your legs. Large palms over your calves, he slid them up with soft circles of his thumbs into your skin before he spoke a low “can I have you on your belly?”

Easily complying, you fell forward so that your chest was pressed into the mattress and your cheek against the pillow. You felt his hands slide up your legs, over your thighs until he was gripping the swell of your bum. First you felt his breath hit your skin, then his lips kissed over the skin with a light lick on his tongue. Continuing the motions as he moved up, from the bottom of your spine until he was laying on his side right next to you. Touching you all over, you felt one of his hands graze over the soft skin of your stomach and pull you up, so that your back was pressed firmly into his chest in a spooning position.

Adjusting yourself gently, bending your knees so that they could support you over the mattress. You shifted your lower half, his cock pushing right against your bum. You felt his lips glaze over the crook of your neck, face buried in your skin and he peppered the surface with kisses.

“Are you okay like this?” His voice was muffled by your skin. “We can do it however you’d like…”

Twisting your head so that your eyes could meet, you shot him a reassuring smile. His gaze was heavy on you, desire written all across his features as he followed the small nod of your head. “More than okay.”

He leant forward, forearm wrapping around you to grip your jaw and press his mouth hot and hard over yours, just as a moan of your name resonated through his chest. You could feel him pushing against your bum, the anticipation of feeling him inside of you causing the ache between your legs to become nearly unbearable. His mouth parted from yours, hot promises of making you feel good pressed against your jaw before your cheek was resting against the pillow once more while you were silently begging to feel him inside of you.

A hand was between your bodies, he was gripping his length to push over your folds and get himself wet over you. A quiet moan at the feeling, you couldn’t help but nudge your bum back to rub over his cock. He repeated the action, quiet curses leaving his mouth as his tip found your entrance and he slowly but surely edged himself in.

The intense feeling of him filling you had you gasping out his name. You were certain it was a combination of the closeness of the position and simply the fact that it was Harry behind you, as you’d never felt yourself melt completely into another person like this.

His hand circled around your side, parting your legs a bit further while you pushed back into him. He didn’t stop until his hips were pressed tight against your backside, and a low exhale fell over your shoulder.

“You feel,” he stuttered lightly, firm grip of his hand over your hip.

“How does it feel?” You breathed, turning your head around once more to gaze up at him. He moved his hips, painstakingly slow for the both of you as you moaned at the feeling of him inside of you. His head fell down to brush his mouth over your jaw, hot breath fanning over the expanse of your neck. “Feels incredible,” he babbled. “You’re so fucking… feels amazing.”

Your cheek fell back over the pillow, eyes falling shut and he started to pump his hips into you at a steady pace. You could feel him everywhere around, hitting so deep within you. Soft moans of praises were freely falling from his lips, never seeming to go that long without skimming them along your skin.

His hand slid up from your hip, resting over your lower stomach to guide you over him while he pushed quickening thrusts into you. You let out a heavy pant at the feeling of him rubbing deliciously against spots that made your vision blur. Your hands fisted into the pillow, moving your hips in small rolls to push back on him.

He pumped into you harder, hitting dipper as the pleasure within both of you grew. You moaned when one of his hands slid up your tummy to grip your breasts, massaging the sensitive skin in a way that had you clenching around him.

Your name fell from his lips, kisses planted on the nape of your neck. There seemed to be virtually no space between both your bodies, connected so closely it was making you dizzy.

His fingers pinched over your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from your before he moved his hand up to grip your jaw. Titling your head towards him once again, not wasting a second before he leant over and connected your lips. Kisses were rough and messy, licking over lips and hot moans pressed together.

He trailed wet kisses over your jaw, and to the bottom of your earlobe. Muttering hot praises into your ear, telling you how hot you felt and how much he wants to feel your come undone for him. His hand skimmed back down over your neck, blindly grabbing at your breasts and sliding down your stomach.

The sounds filling the room were filthy, paired with the heavy rain outside and the occasional loud motorist. It was something out of a dream, the serenity of your surroundings paired with the euphoria you were feeling.

In a steady rhythm, hips snapping in time together as Harry’s teeth tugged on your earlobe. He was making every delicious sound possible, losing himself in the feeling of you. Shallow breaths hitting your skin as the feeling of his forehead resting over your shoulder weighted over you.

You hummed, lifting your arm around so that you could stroke your fingers over his cheek, pushing through his hair.

“Can – can we switch positions? I wanna see you…” you called, feeling his hand over you stop moving.

“God,” he said quickly, words hitting the back of your shoulder. “Anything you want.”

He slowly withdrew himself from you, both letting out small pants of the feeling of no longer being connected to the other. You pushed yourself up, sitting on your legs as you turned yourself to be able to properly see Harry.

His hair was falling wildly over his forehead, lips deep pink and eyes dark as he watched you move around him. His hand was still on your hip, pressing against your skin as if to push you to lie down on the mattress, but you softly shook your head.

“I want to be on top,” you whispered while you lifted a leg so that you had a knee resting on either side of his hips, your hands landing on his shoulders to help him fall against the mattress. You lowered yourself to sit just at his hips, hovering over him with a kiss planted directly on his mouth. Kissing him deeply as one of your hands rested between your bodies, blindly wrapping your hand around his cock.

“Anything,” his voice was hoarse as he returned your affection. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want,” your hand squeezing him lightly in your palm. “To make you feel good – want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

You moved your hips over him in a slick motion. He groaned against your mouth, lips easily parting and unable to focus on kissing you back as the feeling of you touching him the way you were was driving him absolutely crazy.

You lifted on your knees, chest leaving his when you sat up straighter. Bowing your head to watch the way he entered you once again, sinking back down around him. Heavy eyes flicking back to his, seeing him just as enthralled with the way the two of you connected.

His heavy hands were gripping onto your hips, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you bottomed out over him. “Don’t know how much longer I’m going to last…” he whispered, eyes meeting yours as one of your hands moved from his shoulder to brush over his jaw.

“That’s okay,” you breathed, swivelling your hips over his. His palm slid over the curve of your ass, fingertips digging into the skin when you moved again. The feeling caused a rush of heavy desire to course down to your heat. “Me neither.”

He was moaning when you started to move your hips on his, sliding over his length as you searched for a rhythm. He felt just as deep like this, just as snug inside of you and you couldn’t help but call out his name while you pumped your hips with his.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, eyes falling over your frame, from your chest to the space where you connected as he watched you move over him. “You look so fucking good like this I –”

You trailed a hand down his chest, fingertips falling over your own lower tummy before they were sliding down your wet clit. He watched you greedily, unable to tear his eyes away from the way that you started playing with yourself.

Rubbing light circles over your clit, heat in your belly burning once again. The combination of the deep strokes of his cock inside of you that was hitting against spots that made your vision blur, and the added pleasure of your own fingers over your wet clit, you were being sent closer to another orgasm.

Harry’s hand circled around your wrist after a moment, tugging your arm towards him until he was slipping the two fingers that had been wettened by your cunt into his mouth. You fluttered around him at the sight of him sucking on your fingers, your thumb pressing firmly on the underside of his jaw when you pushed your fingers further into his mouth.

Feeling his tongue swirl around the digits, you rocked your hips faster over him and you moaned at the view of the man below you. Your hand fell from his mouth when he let go of your wrist, wet fingers sliding over his neck before you were holding his shoulder tightly once again.

A surprised squeak was sound from your mouth when Harry pressed a hand into the mattress behind him and raised himself to a seated position, causing you to fall back against his thighs. You held onto his shoulders, an incredulous laugh sounding past your mouth at the fast motion that had you briefly fearing that you would topple over backwards.

“Alright?” A small chuckle laced his word, although when you shifted over him so that you were properly seated on his thighs with your knees still planted into the plush mattress, his voice caught in his throat.

“Yeah,” your own voice was feeble, airy.

It was the closest you’d ever felt to another person, his chest grazing yours with every heavy inhale as his head dipped down so that he could kiss over your shoulder. His hips started moving up to meet yours, quick thrusts into you as the both of you neared your climax.

Needy for his mouth, you pushed a hand through his hair as you searched for his lips with half closed eyelids. As you tugged on the curly strands, he quickly accepted your kiss with one hand on the small of your back to keep pushing you down over him in tight motions. Chests now pressed flush together, you were moaning into his mouth while he murmured small praises.

“Please,” he begged, unsure of what he was asking for, just knowing he needed something. “How is it – do you feel good? Please …”

“So fucking good,” you moaned around the words. Eyes opening, pulling at his hair so that you could gaze up at him. Desperate eyes watched him, watched the furrow pull in his brow as his hips pumped with yours with quick snaps, wanting nothing more than to have you come undone around him once more. “I’m so close –”

“Please,” he repeated, one of his hands moving from your backside and snaking around your front, shoved tightly between your bodies as he blindly searched for your clit. Rubbing quick small circles over the sensitive bud. The feeling paired with the pleas of having you cum around him that were kissed over your neck, being just what you needed to push you over the edge.

You pressed your lips to his when you came, lips wrapping around his bottom lip as your teeth pulled on the sensitive skin. Calling out his name into his mouth, fingernails digging deep into his skin. You saw the moon, you saw the stars, and most importantly you saw nothing but Harry.

Your hips lost their rhythm over his when you squeezed him tight, grinding down onto his pelvis as a moan was sound from deep in your chest. You tugged at his hair, begging him to kiss you again while your hands desperately gripped at his skin.

He kissed you fiercely, tongue sliding over your lips as you barely had the ability to kiss him back. His hips were still jerking against yours, motions growing more and more frenzied as he bit onto your lips, low mutterings of praises and whines of wanting to cum.

And he soon did, pushing everything he could of himself as he came into the condom. His hands never stopped tracing over your spine, giving your backside sharp pinches as he moaned deeply. Twitching against you as the two of you came down together, his head resting over the crook of your shoulder while he took deep breaths through his nose.

He kissed along your shoulder, mouth wet over your skin. Your fingers traced over his neck, every nerve in your body feeling sensitive as you started to shift over him. You were both quiet, other than heavy breaths and fast beating hearts.  

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but after a while the throbbing in your legs died down and you were able to swing a leg over and slide off of him. You fell over on the mattress with a breathless laugh, a content feeling seeping through you as you laid back on the bed.

Watching Harry push his hair from his face, biting his swollen lips together as he watched you with hearts in his eyes. “How are you?”

You hummed, dreamy smile on your mouth. “I’m good – best I’ve been in a while I think.”  

He smiled as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss over your temple with a muttered “me too”.

Butterfly kisses over your skin, a soft “give me a sec,” before he lifted himself up and swung his legs over the mattress, sliding off the bed and rounded the corner away from you.

True to his word, he was back seconds later after presumably disposing of the condom and cleaning himself up, and he pulled on a pair of shorts that hung low on his hips. “Did you want shorts, or pants to wear?”

“Maybe some pants?” You hummed from where you sat on the mattress. He nodded, handing you a pair of pastel multicoloured sweatpants.

You lifted  your hips from the mattress, pulling the pants over your bottom half before you settled back down. Harry grabbed the blanket from where it had fallen off the bed, laying it over you before he slipped in as well.

You shifted closer to him, accepting his arm that wrapped around your bare stomach and pulled your chest against his. You settled in deeper into the pillows, smiling contently as you felt yourself starting to grow tired.

He watched the way your eyelids started to flutter close, pulling more of the blanket over your back. He pulled it off of where it fell to the ground, draping it over you and the bed before sliding in next to you. “Get some rest – we have all day, yeah?”

You hummed into the pillow, feeling him tighten around you as your breasts pressed into his skin. His other hand was smoothing over your neck just as it was when you fell asleep together last night, the action slowly and surely lulling you to sleep.

Harry watched you as he felt sleep overtake him as well, he watched the slow and steady rise of your chest. He could feel your heart beating against him, resonating with his own heartbeat as if the two had fallen in synch. 

Hours past before you woke up again. The sky was a bit lighter than previously, hard rain still hitting the window from outside as it never seemed to let up.

Your bare chest was tight against Harry’s, skin sticking together. Soft exhales were coming from his parted lips. He had an arm wrapped around you, the occasional twitch of his finger as he moved in his sleep.

Moving over on the mattress, slowly waking up as you raised yourself on your elbows to gaze down at Harry. Leaning over him to kiss over his closed eyelid, gently removing his arm from your middle before sliding off the bed. You easily found the abandoned sweatshirt from the morning, tugging it over your bare top half.

Remembering where his washroom was, you took a quick glance to see the pouring rain outside before flicking on the light switch to the room. Uncapping the toothpaste that rested over the counter, grabbing the toothbrush that you used the previous night.

Due to the briefly running tap, you hadn’t heard the rustle in sheets and feet on the ground that was coming from the adjacent room. Harry was soon poking his head in from the parted door, tousled hair falling over his forehead as he shot you a lazy smile through the mirror.

He hesitated by the door frame for a second, then taking a few steps towards you so that he could stand behind you. Wrapping both arms around you with his chest pushing into your back, he titled his head to kiss over your jaw.

“Morning again,” he murmured, teeth teasingly pulling at your earlobe.

You couldn’t respond with your mouth full of toothpaste, keeping your eyes on him through the mirror. His grip around you loosened a little when you bent down to spit out the toothpaste and rinse out your mouth.

“Hi,” the word whispered as you turned in his grip, raising a hand to scratch over the thin layer of stubble that lined in jaw.

“Want to make something to eat?”

You nodded, mirroring the smile on his mouth as you traced the dimple over his cheek. “Music to my ears.”

Following Harry to his kitchen. It was small, not much counter space you noticed but he had a little table up against the wall that held bowls of fruit and a cutting board. He opened up the cupboard, tapping his fingertips against the wood while he gazed at the contents. “I do have the fixings for pancakes if you’d like…” he moved to the fridge, opening it up, “or eggs…”

He turned back to you, gaging your reaction. “What sounds good to you?”

“Whatever is easiest,” you smiled, leaning back against the counter across from him.

“Not whatever is easiest – what did you want to eat?” He laughed lightly, facing you.

You paused, biting your smile back as he urged you to make a choice what you liked best. “Pancakes.”

“Perfect,” his smile grew, as he turned back to the cupboard he had just opened. “Some fruits too?”

“Yes please.”

He pulled out the mix he already had to make pancakes, grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon to start getting everything together. You went to see what kind of produce he had, picking out some apples and oranges that sat together in a bowl.

He saw you searching through drawers, clicking his tongue. “Have a seat, I can do it.”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs by the little table. You grabbed your phone from where it had sat all night by the counter, scrolling through recent notifications before opening up your Spotify to play some music while you prepared your meal.

Choosing one of the playlists you usually played at work, a soft hum of Nancy Sinatra coming through the speaker as you placed your phone back down on the table and watched him quickly work around the kitchen.

“Do you have coffee?” You asked, eyeing the French press sitting in the corner.

You saw the bag sitting next to the press before he answered your question, as you rose to your feet again to grab the paper bag and twist it open, smelling the ground beans.

“Yes,” he answered, turning around to see you having already found it. “Is it… good?”

You laughed breezily at his nervousness over the coffee he had bought. “I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”

He had already turned on the kettle, you realized, and you grabbed the French press from where it sat ready to make the two of you a morning cup.

“Hey,” Harry brought your attention to him as you eyeballed the amount of coffee you were putting in. “I can do that – let me make you coffee for once.”

You bit back a smile, filling the press with the amount of coffee you liked before sitting back down. “It’s all yours,” you said, as the kettle clicked.

He turned away from the orange he was peeling, grabbing the kettle from where it sat to pour the hot water into the press.

You held your tongue, for about two seconds before clearing your throat. “A good way to make French press coffee is to pour a little bit in first – just enough to soak all the grounds and then pour the rest.”

He silently nodded, doing as you said and waiting a bit before pouring the rest. “You –”

You cut yourself off, watching as Harry lifted his head up to glance at you when you spoke, tousled hair falling over his forehead. “Hm?”

“It’s good to pour it a little slower…” you started slowly.

He laughed, loud from his chest. “Did you want to do it?”

“No, no! It doesn’t make that much of a difference, just some tips.” You let him finish making the coffee while you searched through some more cupboards for mugs.

Pulling out two ceramic ones, walking over to the fridge as you looked for anything to put into the coffee. Finding a small jug of oat milk, not surprised at the find as you took it out and shook the container a bit out of habit.

“I’m going to assume that you don’t take anything in your coffee…” you peered over at him as you poured some oat milk into what would be your mug.

“I don’t –” he cut himself off, as if about to ask why you would assume that but stopping himself as he remembered that you make him coffee multiple times a week.

He let the coffee in the press sit as he finished preparing the fruit, turning back to where you were leaning against the counter with an orange slice in hand. He wordlessly lifted the slice up towards your mouth, taking several steps forward until he was close in front of you.

“It’s not a tangerine, but…” he mumbled, a little smile playing on his lips as you met his gaze. Opening your mouth to accept the fruits, circling around it along with the tip of his fingers that you easily sucked into your mouth.

For some reason anytime he mentioned a citrus fruit you got butterflies in your stomach. You chewed the fruit as his hand fell from your mouth, thumb swiping under your bottom lip. The sweet flavour filling your mouth as his gaze never left yours. His hands fell to the counter on either side of you, boxing you in closer to him.

You raised a hand, taking hold of his jaw between your index finger and thumb, and pulled his face towards yours. His lips parted as did yours, your tongue licking into his mouth as your hand held him firmly. He tasted the citrus in your mouth, sharing the flavour of the fruit together as you kissed.

A hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you slipped your fingers across his jawline until they were tugging in his hair.

He took another step forward, one foot resting between your two with his hips pushing against yours. He was holding you like he thought that you’d disappear if he let go, as your arms wrapped around him in the same way.

He’d already gotten you worked up, and you would let him take you right there if he wanted.

Fingertips poked under the sweatshirt over your body, nearly feigning innocence as his hands held the skin on your sides, before they were smoothing up until they were holding your breasts. Fingertips massaging into the skin, thumbs rubbing over your nipples in a way that made goosebumps erupt under the sweater.

Edging the article up higher on your body, exposing more of your skin until the underside of your breasts were visible.

“God,” he muttered against your mouth, lips sliding over your jaw as he hung his head lower. “Think I’m obsessed with you.”

Your hand followed the move of his head, as he dipped down lower so that he could press his mouth over your newly exposed chest. Sucking into the skin, hot licks until his teeth grazed over your nipple and you were pulling at his hair a bit tighter. He still cupped his palms around your breasts, enamoured with the way he maneuvered them and the way they felt in his hands.

Mummering his name, you pulled his attention back up to your face and he peered at you with heavy eyes. “Hm?”

“You should push down the press,” you angled your head to where the French press sat still on the counter across from the two of you.

His eyes held a laugh, as his hands fell from your skin and he nodded with a bite of his lip. Turning around from you only for the brief moment needed to slowly push the filter through the coffee before he was facing you from across the kitchen once again.

You followed, bypassing him and grabbing the two mugs that you had prepared for the coffee. Taking hold of the press, you poured two steamy cups of coffee. Silently handing him the one without anything in it, you tried to hide the way that your lips curved upwards by biting your lips together.

Harry grabbed the mug from your hands, bringing it up to his lips and took a small sip after blowing lightly over the surface.

“Careful,” your voice had fallen to a whisper in your proximity.

He only hummed, exaggeratedly smacking his lips together while placing the blue mug down on the counter next to him. “Best cup o’ coffee I’ve ever had.”

You let out what could only be called a giggle, unable to hold back your smile any longer. His hand looped around you once more, fitting into the small of your back to pull you close. Careful not to spill any coffee in the mug that you were holding, doing the same as he had and securing it down on the counter.

“Something tells me that might be a bit of an exaggeration…” you trailed off, free hand now resting over his shoulder.

“Hm,” he shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

His mouth sought out yours once again as you laughed under in his grasp. He pressed a peck over your mouth, staying close as he seemed to hesitate. “Did you want to spend the day?”

“Yeah,” you responded quickly. “If it’s not too much.”

“Can’t be,” he hummed. His head hung low between your neck and shoulder, butterfly kisses over your fabric covered skin. “Can’t ever have too much of you.” 

You locked the doors behind you, shaking the handle slightly to make sure it was truly locked before walking across the floor once more to head back behind the counter. Harry still lingered just at the unmarked line that separated the customer area from the staff area, leaning over the counter.

It had been almost a week since the night at the gallery.

Your days off had been spent with Harry, as he was true to his word and never seemed to be able to get enough of you. And the same sentiment was returned back to him. He had finally put his number in your phone, something the two of you had found funny about the fact that you went this far without even exchanging numbers.

Now, he kept you company as you closed up the café alone.

The fall rain always caused a small dip in customers, the shop never too busy, especially in the later hours of the afternoon.

“Do you have much left to do?”

You neared him by the counter, stepping past him and into the back. “Not too much – all of the main cleaning is done.”

“Can I help?” He had shut his little black sketchbook on the counter, pushing himself up from his elbows to near you.

“If you want…” you hummed happily, seeing him edge closer past the counter and into the staff only area. “Come on,” you giggled, tapping his arm for him to follow.

“Is this allowed?” He hesitated, making you turn back around.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I know my boss trusts me.”

That seemed to be enough for him, as he trailed behind you towards the espresso machine that you hadn’t finished cleaning.

“Tell me what to do, boss.”

Nudging his hip as he hovered near you, you shook your head with a laugh while reaching to grab the basket that had yet to be cleaned.

“You need to unscrew,” you spoke through your actions, grabbing the little flat screwdriver, and leaning down so that you could see under the grouphead on the machine, “the filter. To clean it all out.”

Grabbing the still hot filter with a rag, putting it in hot water. “And then you put this,” you spooned a small pile of cafiza into the flat filter in the basket. “And put it on a cleaning cycle. That’s kind of it…”

“What can I do?”

“If you want you can keep an eye on this,” you pointed to the lit button. “When it flashes you need to put it through the rinse cycle – just press it and it’ll go through.You could also pour hot water through the bottom, just to get everything inside rinsed out.”

Harry was quiet from next to you, nodding his head. You handed him the metal kettle, showing him where to fill it with hot water as you went to clean out the brew coffee pots. You worked through everything on autopilot, having gone through the same routine over and over that it came with no thought to you.

Keeping an eye on Harry with a smile tugging at your lips, watching as his brows pulled together as he tried to not spill any water other than where he needed to. Rinsing out the old coffee from the pots, you took a step away as the sink filled them with hot water.

“I had an idea…” you started, pulling Harry’s attention to you for a second.

Joining his side once more, you put your hand over his forearm. “I think that’s good,” you hummed. “No matter how much you clean there will always be grounds that find their way back – don’t worry.”

He nodded, putting down the little kettle as his back straightened with a twitch of a smile. “Anything you say, boss.”

You smiled through your words, giving his arm a little shove. “You got the paintings back from the gallery, right?”

Nodding, he kept his gaze on yours with curiosity in his eyes. The show (your show, as he called it) was a short-lived one, all the paintings were back in his apartment as he hadn’t put any of them for sale.

“Well I was thinking – and this is completely up to you – but what if you put one of them up in here?”

You saw his eyebrows rise in interest. “This wall here,” you motioned to the one behind him. “Is always empty. And it’s big and pretty uninteresting, so I was thinking if you wanted… you could but one of yours there.”

“For how long?”

“However long you’d like – it’d be like the café has it on loan.”

His smile grew. “And that would be okay?”

“I checked with the owner, she said that I can decorate the place however I’d like so…” you quickly leant over to the sink, shutting off the tap before facing him again. “It’s up to you.”

“You’ve already checked with her,” Harry grinned cheerfully, moving closer to you. “Thought this through, have you?”

You bit back a smile. “Yeah, I have.”

“I’d love to, I think it’s a great idea.”

“Really?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I really do. Did you have one in mind already?”

“Well…” you paused. “I do – the big one of the café. With the yellow and the orange. I think I’d be perfect.”

He turned around, arms crossing over his chest as he faced the off-white empty wall. There were a few coffee stains towards the bottom that no one would notice unless they knew they were there.

“I think so too,” he nodded, glancing at you from over his shoulder.

You smiled widened. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I could go get it now – that we could put it up tonight?”

“That sounds perfect. Would you need help carrying it over?” You asked, as Harry was already walking around the counter to grab his jacket.

“It should be fine, I’ve carried it before.”

You nodded, watching as he grew more excited and ready to bolt out the door. “I can finish up closing here while you go get it.”

“Should I grab screws or tools or anything?”

“I’ve got some here – we have a little tool kit.”

He patted his pocket, grabbing his phone that was on the counter. “Lovely. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Before heading out towards the door, he moved around the corner of the counter so that he could grab a firm grasp of your jaw, tilting your head up to him. Leaning towards you, mouth hovering by yours as lips were barely touching. “Amazing idea, sunshine”

You nudge forward the slightest bit, fully connecting your lips in a lasting kiss before he headed into the cold air outside.

Finishing up your closing duties while he was gone, turning off all appliances that needed and screwing back in the filter once everything had been nice and soaked. You had already started to count the coins before closing, so the final cash out didn’t take too long.

You were doing some extra tasks to help out the opening staff for the following day, when a rattle of a knock was heard on the glass of the front door.

Jumping in your skin at first at the surprising noise, quickly calming down when you saw Harry waving at you through the window. Fast step over to the door, you propped it open for him so that he could slide the bigger than you remembered canvas inside.

He had it wrapped in brown paper to protect the outside, leaning it over the wall by the door as he ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“That was fast,” you said, making sure you re-locked the door after letting him in.

“It’s close by,” he shrugged, grabbing hold of the wrapped canvas once more as you helped him bring it around the counter. “Are you all done with everything?”

“Yes – and I texted my boss and she said it's no problem to stay a bit later to put this up tonight.”

You grabbed the small folding step stool from the back, along with the tool kit that you hoped contained everything that was needed.

“Here we go,” you placed the box over the counter. “What did you need?”

“Screws, if you have them.” He hovered close next to you, watching as you rifled through the various things. “They’re better at holding up canvases – more stable.”

“Aha,” finding a little bag that contained a couple dozen screws, all of various lengths and sizes. Harry fished out a few of them, deciding that three should be enough for the frame to hang off of.

You watched as he vaguely measured out the wall and where to place the screws, promising that he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t end up with unnecessary holes in the wall.

Lifting yourself up to sit over the counter as he got the screws into the wall, occasionally leaning forward to hand him whatever he needed. Once he was done getting the wall ready, you watched as he hoisted the painting up in order to hang it up evenly.

“Does that look good?” He called with a glance over his shoulder, prompting you to step back and see if it sat leveled over the wall.

“Move it over a bit to the left,” you called, seeing as he followed your suggestion. “That’s good.”

He hopped off the short step ladder, joining your side to check how the painting looked on the wall. “It looks really good up there.”

You simply nodded, admiring the way it already made the space warmer. It was large, covering a good chunk of the otherwise bland space.

“What gave you the idea?”

Falling to the side to rest your hip against the counter, Harry followed your motions as if you were tethered together and he couldn’t stand being too far away.

“It’s kind of a full circle – no?” You hummed, resting a hand over the counter that he quickly picked up in his, mindlessly playing with your hand as you spoke. “I mean the first time you came in, you asked me how to get your art up there. And now…”

Trailing off, the thought finishing itself as you had gotten one of his paintings on the walls indefinitely.

He was quiet for a moment, a moment long enough that it had you glancing over at him. He had his eyes trained to the side of your face, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“What?” You mumbled with a little laugh, when he didn’t say anything.

He shook his head, eyes flicking between yours and the newly hung painting. “Nothing, it’s just, I – I adore you, you know that?”

You sighed blissfully, a smile playing on your mouth. “Hm.”

“Hm?” He repeated back to you with a laugh, turning around you so that he could face you. His hips bumping with yours, he made it impossible for you to avoid his stare. “What do you mean by ‘hm’?”

He was invading your every sense, a welcomed invasion to you. Dipping his head down to skim his nose over your jaw, letting your hands fall to their place over his shoulders.

“How do you feel?” He breathed against your skin, lips nudging over you. Your hand pressed over his chest, pushing him back the slightest bit so that you could see him.

You played with the hem around the neckline of his shirt, looking into his heavy gaze. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He blinked slowly, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hummed happily, palms sliding over his shirt covered chest. “I don’t want… any more miscommunication, you know? I wanted to know, just how things are with us…?”

A smile teased his lips. “Are you asking me if we’re together?”

“Well…,” you hesitated, before straightening out your spine. “I am.”

“Do you want to be together?”

“You’re really good at turning questions back on me, you know that?”

He laughed, forehead moving from yours as he brought hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You do it more than I do, know that?”

He followed his words with a nudge of your nose with his mouth, quick lick over the skin.

“Stop that,” you mumbled, turning your head away from him but not having much room to do so as he kept a grasp around your jaw.

“Stop what?” He brushed over your cheek, teasing you with light kisses over your face.

“Just,” you dug your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, nudging him against you as he pulled his face away from yours for a brief moment. “Kiss me.”

His lips curved upwards once more, eyelids fluttering as he leant back in. “Whatever you say.”

Slipping your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your smiling mouths met. He easily held you against him, free hand wrapping around your back. Lips easily parted as soft kisses were shared. Breaking apart for a brief second as he nudged your upper lip with his before firmly capturing your mouth.

Nails tapping along his jawline, pulling him as close as possible as your mouth followed the path of your fingers. Tips of his hair tickling your nose, your teeth grazed his earlobe before whispering. “I’m yours.”

A shaky breath was heard from his still parted mouth, moving his head back so that he could meet your eyes. “Everything –” he said “– the world is yours, know that? Including me.”

He didn’t waste another second, mouth trapping yours once again after your shared confessions. He pushed himself oh so close, drawing out a quiet whine from your throat as his lips grew greedy.

Peppering kisses to the corner of your mouth, teeth grazing over your chin before making a line of wet kisses over your jaw. A Kate Bush song played on the speakers, you didn’t have the capacity to remember it at the moment.

Eyes briefly parting open, remembering where you were. “You know everyone outside can see us, right?”

He paused at your words, glancing up at the slightly fogged windows that covered the front of the café. The sky hard turned a dark shade of blue, bright lights coming from inside of the café meaning anyone walking by outside could see you. “Not too worried about them.”

You shook with a quiet laugh, a brief shove to his chest as he kept you hugged to his body. “Plus the counter hides our bottom half anyway so –”

“Harry,” you laughed louder now, shaking your head. “My boss could check her security cameras at any moment.”

“Fine, fine” he stuck his bottom lip out.

Your fingertips traced mindless trails over his neck, pressing a lasting kiss over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Harry fell from your front, keeping an arm around your back with his side still pressed close to yours. “Looks good up there,” he hummed lightly, nodding his head towards the painting.

“You painted it.” You followed his eyeline, glancing up at the large canvas.

“But you inspired it – really mean it you know.”

“Mean what?”

“The world is yours.”

Your head fell against his shoulder, taking a moment to rest together as both of you faced the painting. Arms crossing as you held each other close, the warm light of the café flowing through the windows and to the street outside.

The two of you nearly mirrored the painting that hung proudly, soft touches of affection that could only be seen from outside if someone was really paying attention. If one were to be walking past on the street, they would see nothing but a warm reflection of growing love. And just as the title of the painting: you could stay there for hours. And you did.

la fin. (for now).

thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed my little story, it really means the world to me💞  come by and chat if you’d like, and until next time !

#here she is 🥺 #i hope everyone enjoys and please come let me know what you think ! ily to everyone #okay im off ! happy reading everyone #cb #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles smut

[shintorikhazumi]

English! AU (1): “My Name is Hannah England.”

A/N: Yeah, it only took me like... 3 years to release this. Wow. Nice. If you’ve seen the OG post for the details for this AU, then you’ve seen it.

Hannah England. I love her.

Enough said.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

"What do you mean I have to come back?!"

An impatient tapping of a foot.

"Well, I can tell you that I bloody won't! Wasn't I removed from the- No! He said it himself. If I were to choose to be a witch, I'd- Mother! NO! Are you listening- Mother I cannot, WILL NOT- We had an agreement!"

She twirled the telephone wire around her finger anxiously until it was so short she had to release it.

No. This could not be happening. No, not now. They had promised! They'd talked about this! This wasn't fair! She had held up her end of the bargain-

"...HAH?! You've sent them to- NO, NO, NO... NO!"

There wasn't even a knock. There was barely even a warning.

It wasn't a cliche breaking down of doors, or smashing of windows, however. It was a swift opening of the door, so fast it barely made a sound.

And there they were.

"N-no..."

"Miss England."

"No... NO! NO, you- YOU CAN'T TAKE ME!"

"These are national orders. I'm afraid there is nothing we can do."

There was nothing she could do.

"W-why..." She choked out, still in a defensive stance, a candleholder held up as a weapon. "We... My grandfather and I agreed on this. I was not to be included in the run-"

"Miss England- no." The bespectacled man caught himself, clearing his throat once before staring at the young girl dead on. "Miss Windsor."

Her eyes widened upon hearing that name, weapon dropping to the floor. She quickly narrowed those same eyes however as she remembered what it meant.

It filled her with rage.

"I- that's no longer-"

"You may only be the fourth in line. However..."

A document was presented to her, with the official signature of... the king... and...

"The prime minister is your primary backer. Do you really think you are in a position to reject?"

"..."

"You have been chosen by most ambassadors."

"Why." It pissed her off. It made her fume. Why. After so long. After all these years. After they'd agreed not to-

"Because according to his majesty... no one is better suited for winning the crown..."

She stepped back as he came forward, grasping her by the arm.

"Than the one who does not want to win the fight for it at all."

//-//-//-//-//

"Hannah? Hannah?" Barbara called out. "We're back?" She went to check Diana's section of the room, the bathroom, and even the closets, hoping to find her best friend in the room. "Hmm... maybe she went for dinner first?"

"Barbara? What's wrong?" Diana walked into the room, brushing some dirt off her coat. This made Barbara automatically check her appearance in the mirror.

"Oh... nothing." Though maybe she should have said that they looked all wrong.

Gosh. They both needed a bath. That five-day mission didn't do their appearances and smells too kindly, it seemed.

She couldn't face Hannah like this. She needed to wash up before meeting the person she'd missed the most these past few days.

Oh, just why did the latest missions have to be pair missions? At least Hannah had gone with Amanda. That put Barbara at ease with regards to her safety. Though, she admitted she was just a little jealous that two of her- ehem- “potential love interests” had been able to go with each other, enjoying themselves without her.

Yes, she’d boldly admit to liking them both.

Sucy’s shaming should never get to her!

Shaking such thoughts and feelings out of her head, she focused on the task at hand. The sooner she got cleaned up, the sooner she could see Hannah! (And Maybe Amanda at dinner, too.)

//-//-//-//-//

A warm shower was only half as good without Hannah.

Ahhhh... just where was she? Barbara could barely wait to sneak into her bed and cuddle 'til daybreak-

"Barbara?" A muffled voice came from the other side of the bathroom door.

Turning the running water off, she replied to the call, "Yes, Diana?"

"Did Hannah mention anything about another mission? I was under the impression she'd just gotten back from the previous one she'd told us about. Or has she not arrived yet?"

Huh? That was strange. Hannah was supposed to have arrived a day or two after she and Diana left.

Wiping herself down and wrapping a towel about her, she exited the steaming room, a frown decorating her features.

"Not that I know of. I didn't notice any notes or letters either..." Now she was beginning to feel strange. "She didn't send any familiar or anything, right?"

Diana mirrored her frown.

"...No. She did not."

A knock came against their door.

"Yes?" Diana answered it as her companion inside quickly got dressed, now in more casual wear.

"Diana! Hannah! Oh, thank goodness you're back!" Akko lunged at her bestfriend, holding tight, that faint blush on the heiress' face going unnoticed. "I was wondering if you knew! I just had to ask! I mean, I'm not that close with her and all yet, but I thought we were friends at least! She didn't say a word! Oh! But I figured you two would know, right? Strange that even Amanda doesn't know... I know they don't always get along, and quarrel and stuff, but Sucy always called them lovers' spats and-"

"Akko." Diana stilled Akko's rambling, grasping her face with both hands, then quickly noticing the intimacy of that gesture and stepping away, releasing the girl. "S-sorry."

"A-ah.. n-no... I-"

"Um... what was... what are you talking about?" Diana tried as she regained her composure. Barbara rolled her eyes fondly at the exchange.

Dorks.

"Oh right!" The girl rushed forward into the room to grab Barbara by the wrist, as well as Diana, dragging them out into the corridors towards the direction of the mess hall.

"Akko?!"

"I wanted to ask you!"

"What?"

They had finally arrived in the dining room, quickly approaching their usual table where the group of friends were gathered about Lotte's magical orb that was now projecting something akin to what one would see on a television screen.

"This!" She pointed.

“What-”

"Why is Hannah on TV?"

"...Huh?!" Barbara suddenly slammed her hands on the table at that sight, surprising everyone including herself because why was Hannah on TV?! And... Why was she next to...

"Also, why did Hannah suddenly have to leave school? It was announced during homeroom for the ones already back from missions."

"What?!" Now Barbara was even more confused. Hannah hadn't mentioned anything about this at all!

"Akko! Shhh!" Lotte scolded, Amanda clamping a hand over their loveable dork's mouth. "We're trying to find out what's going on!"

["The situation in the palace has not been disclosed to the press; however, it seems to be confirmed that dire conditions are currently in place as more and more of the possible successors have returned to the capitol."]

"That reporter is kinda my type- oof!"

"You deserved that." Sucy grinned as Amanda rubbed the sore spot Barbara had inflicted pain on.

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

["None have been willing to give their statements thus far, but... Oh! We have here the fourth in line! Martin, go get her more focused in the shot since she's the closest- no! Miss Windsor!]

"Windsor?" Akko cocked her head to the side, clearly very confused. "But aren't they calling Hannah? They are calling Hannah... right?"

Barbara didn't really know anymore.

She didn’t know anymore.

Suddenly, a scary looking man came into view, the typical visage of a bodyguard. A low voice growled.

["It was announced that the press was not allowed to interview any of the returning heirs and heiresses. Please return back behind the line."]

["But-"]

The camera view had become shaky, as if the person holding it was being pushed away.

["Miss Windsor! Miss Windsor!"]

["Hey! Didn’t I just-"]

["Miss Hannah Windsor!"]

Barbara stared at the moving image in front of her. This was...There was no mistaking it.

["You're wrong."]

Those words may have seemingly contradicted her inner thoughts, but Barbara knew one thing. This person....

"Hannah..." She murmured, hand clenched over her heart. The girl had spoken up, camera focused on her even at its odd angle. Barbara’s heart couldn’t help but flutter at the voice she’d missed for days. But... it also hurt. To only hear it through a medium like this... “Hannah.”

["You're wrong. My name... isn't Hannah Windsor...] The girl on camera stated with shaky breaths. 

She was right. This wasn’t some Hannah Windsor or someone Barbara didn’t know. This was Hannah England. Her Hannah.

So why...?

[It isn’t that... not... any- oi!"]

“Hannah!” Barbara exclaimed, reaching for a Hannah she couldn’t even touch.

["The press shall not receive any statement from any of the arrivals until further notice. Good day."]

A glasses-wearing man had said before speedily ushering Hannah into the gates, figure going further and further away from Barbara's view.

["We have a scoop! Did you hear that?! Did you-"]

[*beep*]

"Heh... think they got shut down?" Amanda commented, everyone still focused on the now-static-filled projection.

"Maybe. But it's too late to hide some weird statement scandal like that. News spreads annoyingly fast." Sucy responded, taking a bite from her mushroom.

"Still... it's weird." Akko chirped. "Why'd they call Hannah, "Windsor"? That was Hannah, right? Or was she a look-alike? Doppleganger?" She proposed excitedly. "But... she's not here either." She deflated.

The fact that her mission partner, Amanda, was here, and Hannah wasn't ruled out a possibility of it just being a mere double existence.

"Windsor...? WIndsor... Hmmm... Windsor? Why do I feel like I've... heard of that.. before..." Barbara watched Akko wrack her brain for an answer, brows scrunched up in intense thought. "Windsor... that's the name of..."

"The royal family." Diana cut in after having watched everything unfold silently.

"Oh! That's right! The Royal family!" Akko exclaimed, happy to finally get that out of mind... before doing a double take, hurting her neck in the process. "THE ROYAL FAMILY?!"

"Akko, shhh!!"

"She can scream it all she wants, Lotte. Not gonna make a difference." Sucy pointed out. "It's already on the news."

Yes. It was indeed.

The fact that...

//-//-//-//-//

"Miss Hannah England is Royalty. Some of you may have caught wind of this kind of rumors or news." Finnelan spoke during the morning assembly. "This statement is something we have no right to confirm or deny. However, Miss Hannah, has been pulled out of school for personal reasons that shall not be disclosed. No questions shall be asked regarding Miss Eng-Windsor... er... ehem... England anymore.”

“So much for confidentiality and defeating rumors.” Sucy rolled her eyes, Jasminka nodding in agreement next to her.

“That is all. Now, with regards to the third years' mission statuses-"

Barbara had tuned out completely at that point.

Windsor.

Windsor this, Windsor that.

She hated it. Barbara hated it.

Hannah Windsor on news and articles.

Hannah Windsor here. Hannah Windsor... Hannah Windsor... HANNAH WINDSOR.

She... Hannah... Hannah wasn't Hannah Windsor... Hannah was...

"Barbara? Are you okay?" Diana whispered, covering Barbara's clenched one in her own. "Do you want to leave the hall? Get some air?"

"No... I'm fine." Barbara looked up, smiling at Diana unconvincingly. "I'm fine."

“Barbara...”

“Really. I am.”

Barbara ignored Diana’s concerned gazes, not wanting to talk about this anymore.

She could handle this.

She said it herself. She was fine. And she was.

But... even though she said she was fine...

Was Hannah fine?

//-//-//-//-//

["Hey. Nice to meet you."

"...hi..."

"You're rather shy." The girl said with a grin. "You're really pretty too."

She felt herself flush red.

"What's your name?"

"B-Barbara... Barbara... Parker."

"That's a really pretty name, Barbara!" The girl held her hand out for a shake. "Let's get along well!"]

Barbara woke up. with a start, eyes immediately scanning the room, going over the spot next to her on the bed.

Cold. Empty.

Barbara held back a sob, hugging her knees tight to her chest.

Her dream... right. That girl. The one who has been by her side for years now, always there. Always so kind... sort of.

That girl... Barbara's best friend, the one who disappeared all of a sudden, the one who showed up on the news yesterday, who had left Luna Nova... She...

She wasn't Hannah Windsor. No.

She was...

["Oh right! I have to introduce myself as well! Silly me.

Hi! I'll be your friend starting today. And My name is...

Hannah England."]

#lwa #lwa au #english! au #Little Witch Academia #hannah england #Barbara Parker #h&b #hannah x barbara #and also amanda lol #but for later #diakko #on the side #diana cavendish #fanfic

[mrs-theirin]

Ashariani Lavellan as a Companion

hello!! a few of my friends have done this so i’m excited to do this and i think i might try my hand at a da2 version...we’ll see!

(sorry i have no in-game screenshots i play on console :///)

Name: Ashariani Lavellan (she/her)

Race, Class, & Specialization: Elf / Mage / Knight-Enchanter

Varric’s nickname for them: Glimmer

Default Tarot Card: The Empress (upright)

How they are recruited: Ashariani can be found talking to the druffalo from Where The Druffalo Roam. When approached, she will:

(if Trevelyan) - Step back cautiously, but look on in amazement, introducing herself.

(if Lavellan) - Introduce herself, asking you if you remember her from the clan. You can either say yes, which will allow her to respond with excitement, or no, which will make her smile fade as she shrugs and mumbles, “Figured.”

(if Cadash or Adaar) - Show visible excitement and claim she’s “never met your people before” before panicking and expressing she hopes that doesn’t offend.

She will explain her clan sent her to look for another member who had not returned and either bring them home or report back what happened to them. She tells you she’ll return the druffalo home if you help her find her clan member. If you agree, the cutscene ends and she and the druffalo disappear, Where The Druffalo Roam being replaced by the quest Lost and Found. Following the quest marker, you find her in the hills. When spoken to, a cutscene begins where she expresses she doesn’t feel safe. A battle with a few Templars takes place. After combat is over, another cutscene starts, and this time Ashariani finds her missing clan member. They are badly injured. She will heal them with her magic, and expresses disappointment as they rush off without a word to her. She’ll turn back to you, explaining that as much as she loves them, she feels out of place with her clan. She offers to join the Inquisition, offering Dalish knowledge (if not Lavellan) and friendliness. If you agree, the cutscene ends and you can add her to your party. If disagree, she will become upset and rush away quickly.

Where they are in Haven: She can be found next to Varric. The two of them seem to be in constant conversation. She is normally sitting on the stone wall behind him, but will occasionally get down and walk around, usually to warm her hands in the fire. The initial conversation with her will have her remark on every companion you have so far, focusing heavily on Varric and/or Iron Bull, if you’ve recruited him by then. She will also express her delight to be accepted in the Inquisition and promises she won’t get into too much trouble, then asks you how you’re doing.

Where they are in Skyhold: She can be found by an empty spot near Cassandra. The initial conversation with her will have Cassandra looking up, yelling at her to come down. You can ask Cassandra who she’s talking to, which will make her scoff and begrudgingly admit it’s Ashariani. You then call up to her and wait a few seconds as she climbs back down. She admits with a smile that she likes to climb and Cassandra walks away, throwing her hands in the air. You can then talk to Ashariani about how she likes Skyhold. She’ll say it’s magnificent and that she’s happy you closed the Breach, but will then sober up and ask you how you are. You can:

tell the truth, admitting Haven shook you up

crack a joke, but eventually admit you’re fine/you’re shaken up

lie, telling her not to worry and that you’ll be just fine

ask her if she’s alright

If asked if she’s alright, she’ll be taken aback and confess Haven scared her a lot, gaining you approval. With medium-high approval, at the end of the conversation, she’ll admit she likes that you’re friends. With high enough approval, you can flirt for the first time, and she’ll become flustered before the conversation ends. Neutral-low approval will gain you a “I’m glad you’re okay” with no follow-up.

APPROVAL

Things They Generally Approve Of:

Greatly Approves - 

Allying with the mages

Disbanding the templars

Helping the Dalish clan

Bringing her to the Temple of Mythal

Completing the Elven rituals

(Lavellan-specific) Drinking from the Well of Sorrows

Approves - 

Bringing her to the Winter Palace

Finishing any of Cole/Varric/Iron Bull’s quests

Returning the histories to the Dalish

Saving the Chargers

Putting Briala in power

Choosing kind/merciful options in judgement

Slightly Approves -

Leaving Loghain in the Fade

Choosing her for your party

Finishing any of Dorian/Solas/Sera’s quests

Returning Lord Woolsley back home

Killing templars

Things They Generally Disapprove Of:

Greatly Disapproves - 

Leaving Hawke in the Fade

Leaving Alistair in the Fade

(Trevelyan-specific) Drinking from the Well of Sorrows

(Lavellan-specific) Letting Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows

Allying with the templars

Sacrificing the Chargers

Disapproves - 

Picking mean dialogue options when speaking to her

(Cadash/Adaar-specific) Drinking from the Well of Sorrows

Letting Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows

Selling the histories to the Chantry

Being mean to Cole

Leaving Celene in power/Reuniting Celene and Briala

Slightly Disapproves - 

Killing dragons (unless Iron Bull is in party)

Picking mean dialogue options when speaking to others

Putting Gaspard alone in power

Creating an alliance between Celene, Briala, and Gaspard

Picking anti-mage/anti-Dalish dialogue options

Flirting with her as a male

Mages, Templars, Other: Supports mages (being one herself) and hates Templars. She’s willing to give them a chance, but only if they truly show any sign of changing. She becomes uncomfortable around nobility and is more comfortable with “the little people.” Will not hesitate to point out injustices, but usually does so calmly.

Friends in the Inquisition: Dorian, Iron Bull, Varric, Cole, Solas, and Sera.

Rivals in the Inquisition: Blackwall (after Revelations).

Neutral towards: Blackwall (before Revelations), Vivienne, and Cassandra.

Romanceable: Yes, only by female Inquisitors. (Note: If not romanced by the Inquisitor, after visiting the Winter Palace, she will begin to speak about a woman named Eloise D’Arlesans, a half elf she spent time with there. A romance between them will begin.)

NAMES

Rivalry: 

(sharply) Inquisitor

Herald

(if Trevelyan) Shem

Neutral:

Inquisitor

Trevelyan/Lavellan/Cadash/Adaar

Friendship:

Friend

Silly

Sunshine

Romance [to/about Inquisitor]: 

Vhenan

Love

Sunlight

[to/about Eloise]:

Vhenan

Love

Honey

QUESTS

War Table: 

A Very Important Request

(after reaching Skyhold)

Inquisitor, 

Scouts desperately need to go to this location I’ve marked on the map. It’s for very important things. Please send them quickly and report back to ONLY ME what they’ve found. Thank you.

--Ashariani

Options:

>Leliana: Maybe it truly is important. I’ll send out a few scouts.

>Josephine: I do not believe Ashariani would waste our time and resources for something frivolous. However, to be on the safe side, I will send ahead to the nobles in the land to send their own scouts, if it pleases you.

>Cullen: What? This sounds like a waste of time, she won’t even specify what she needs them for! Fine. Two guards, but that’s it.

Results: 

>Leliana: My scouts found some rare stones and herbs, but nothing more. I wonder if this is what she wanted?

(Ashariani approves, Prophet’s Laurel x4, Royal Elfroot x2, Everite x2)

>Josephine: Perhaps I was incorrect. Nothing but some rare materials. The scouts were sent home with plenty compensation, so at least we have been put in a better light.

(Ashariani approves, Influence x30, Amrita Vein x3, Felandaris x4, Stormheart x2)

>Cullen: We cannot be wasting our resources like this. We acquired some materials along the way.

(Ashariani slightly approves, Ghoul’s Beard x4, Felandaris x4, Silverite x3)

Another Very Important Request

(after A Very Important Request)

Inquisitor,

Sorry to bother you once more. Please send people to Val Royeaux to obtain these materials. They’re for a very important project, I promise. Mae gen ti fy ngair [you have my word].

--Ashariani

(below is a list of materials: ring velvet, silk brocade, dales loden wool, and imperial vestment cotton)

Options:

>Leliana: Again? What could she possibly be making? I can send one or two scouts out to fetch these items.

>Josephine: She is persistent, is she not? A few favors can be exchanged for these materials at no cost to us. It will be done.

>Cullen: (not participating in this mission)

Results:

>Leliana: The materials were easy enough to obtain. Our scouts being spotted in public created quite a buzz.

(Ashariani approves, Influence x50, Ring Velvet x3, Silk Brocade x3, Dales Loden Wool x3, Imperial Vestment Cotton x 3)

>Josephine: The materials have been collected. We’ve created quite a stir with all this running around.

(Ashariani approves, Influence x50, Ring Velvet x3, Silk Brocade x3, Dales Loden Wool x3, Imperial Vestment Cotton x 3)

Companion Quest:

For What?

(after Another Very Important Request)

When spoken to, Ashariani will request you personally go to the map location previously mentioned in A Very Important Request. If denied, she will disapprove and claim she is going there herself and the cutscene will end. If this happens, she will not be available for your party the first time you leave Skyhold after that conversation (she will return after). If accepted, Ashariani is locked into your party and a temporary location appears on your map.

Upon arriving, you are immediately attacked by bandits who had heard the Inquisition had visited. After the battle, Ashariani apologizes and asks you to collect the metals and herbs. Once you find all of the materials, she will exclaim, “Perfect!” which will gain some confused remarks from your companions, which she will not truthfully respond to. You are then allowed to leave the location and it disappears from your map.

After visiting two more locations after that, upon returning to Skyhold, Ashariani will run up and greet you. She will ask if you’ll take her and Iron Bull to slay a high dragon and collect its bone and webbing. You can:

say yes / say yes and flirt (female only)

say yes, but ask her why

say no

express confusion, as she has protested to killing dragons before

Option 1: Causes her great joy, she jumps in the air before giggling and running off, thanking you in the process. The cutscene ends.

Option 2: She’ll get excited, then give you a cryptic answer before thanking you and running off. The Inquisitor says, “She’s determined to keep it a secret, huh?” and the cutscene ends.

Option 3: She will ask you if you’re serious, to which you can reply yes or no. If yes, she will become very upset and mumble something about you disappointing her, and the cutscene ends, gaining you major disapproval. If no, she’ll breathe out a sigh of relief and smile, punching you in the arm for teasing her. She thanks you and the cutscene ends.

Option 4: She’ll shrug, trying to look nonchalant, and say, “someone has changed my mind.” You can press this further by asking who, but she’ll only press her finger to her lips. Options A, B, and C are offered again and the cutscene follows accordingly.

If accepted, she and Iron Bull are locked into your party. You’ll get a few lines of dialogue between Iron Bull and Ashariani as they approach the high dragon, and some after. After collecting the bone and webbing, she thanks you and you gain major approval. After a visit to Skyhold and back, when arriving at Skyhold again, a cutscene immediately starts.

All of your companions (minus Blackwall and Vivienne) and the advisors are found in the Herald’s Rest. Upon your arrival, the tavern bursts into cheers, and Ashariani reveals that she’s been making gifts for everyone, explaining that Vivienne already has hers and she didn’t want to come to the party and doesn’t even mention Blackwall (but implies he didn’t get a gift). Some are clothes, jewelry, weapons, and armor, and each companion has their moment of showing off their gift. Iron Bull makes note to mention that his is a pink shawl with dragon bone accents, and he loves it. Ashariani then tells the Inquisitor she arranged the party and they had a gift of their own, which is a powerful set of armor. You can:

accept the gift and thank Ashariani / accept the gift and flirt with Ashariani (female only)

accept the gift but shut down the party, telling everyone to get back to work

deny the gift and lash out at Ashariani for wasting so much of your time

Option 1: She will give you a hug and the cutscene will end, fading to black as the crowd sings and dances. (note: flirting with her will gain some positive teasing companion comments).

Option 2: You will gain disapproval from every companion present, mostly Ashariani. Iron Bull will try to convince you to change your mind. You can accept or deny. If denied, you will walk out and the cutscene will end with Iron Bull comforting Ashariani. If accepted, Iron Bull punches you in the arm and the mood shifts back to a good one, the cutscene ending with a fade to black as the crowd dances.

Option 3: You will gain major disapproval from every companion present, mostly Ashariani. Iron Bull and Varric will step up to defend her.

Iron Bull: Come on, Boss. She was trying to do something nice for us. 

(if in a romance with Bull): Kadan. Is that necessary? She was trying to do something nice for you.

Varric: (sarcastically) Calm down, Inquisitor. We’re all just having a bit of fun during the apocalypse.

(if in a romance with Solas) Solas: (sternly) Vhenan. May I speak to you privately?

You can then choose to apologize or leave the party without a word. Leaving the party will gain more disapproval from Ashariani, enough to completely end the friendship. If apologized to, Ashariani will put on a brave face and accept your apology, but leave the party looking dejected, earning you disapproval. Sera will exclaim, “What’s up [their] arse, huh?” and the cutscene will fade to black with companions filing out of the Herald’s Rest, looking angry/upset.

Romance Quest:

A New Beginning

(after For What?)

Upon visiting Ashariani’s normal spot, you find Varric instead. He tells you he hasn’t been able to find Ashariani all day, and he’s getting worried. Not knowing where to find her, you go to Solas, who tells you she’s swimming in a lake not that far from Skyhold. You can ask him if anything’s wrong, to which he will simply purse his lips and say, “It is not my place to say.”

The scene shifts to approaching the lake, where you find Ashariani sitting outside of the water, talking to a halla. When approached, she will become startled, then bashful, hiding her face. Tears are noticeably glistening on her cheeks. She then draws attention to the halla, petting them again. She explains that the halla’s name is Annwyl, and she was her friend back in the clan. Clan Lavellan had sent Annwyl to Ashariani for her efforts in the Inquisition, as well as some gifts for the Inquisitor, which she gives to you. You can ask her why she’s crying, to which she will respond with, “I don’t know.” You can press further or leave it be, which will end the cutscene.

When pressed further, she will get emotional, exclaiming that she’s found out her brother has died. She explains the incident and sits back down, crying into her hands. You can:

sit down next to her and talk to her (flirt)

ask her if she wants to go back to Skyhold (flirt)

leave her alone without a word (no chance for romance after this)

Whether you sit down with her or ask her to go to Skyhold, the conversation is the same: after telling you a bit about him, she asks you if she can attend her brother’s funeral. A yes answer is locked in, however she will ask you to go with her, and this is what you can say yes or no to. You can:

say yes (flirt)

say no (no chance for romance after this)

ask why she wants you to go with her

If no, she’ll nod her head and say she understands and that she appreciates the time you’ve given her to talk about him. The scene will end there. If yes, she’ll smile, and it will cut to his funeral. If asked why, she’ll tell you she holds you close to her heart and it would mean a lot to her if you were there with her. After the funeral, when you return to Skyhold, Ashariani will express her gratefulness for your support. You can then kiss her (starting the official romance) or accept her thank you and move on, ending the scene and any chance of romance.

If kissed, she will hold her hand over her mouth in shock, her face becoming red. She’ll then surge forward and kiss you again, throwing herself into your arms. You both kiss for a moment before Ashariani whispers, “Thank you,” while looking at the ground. Here you can make a sweet, snarky, or silly comment, to any of which she will smile and kiss you again. With that, she’ll grab your hand and say goodnight, holding onto your hand for as long as she can before your fingers slip out of hers. The cutscene fades to black.

Side Quest(s):

For Him

(after Demands of the Qun - only if Chargers were saved)

Acquire a powerful axe for Iron Bull hidden somewhere in the Hissing Wastes. You will gain approval from both Ashariani and Iron Bull, and later, when talking to Iron Bull, will experience a cutscene where Iron Bull is thanking her for the gift.

//

Bianca 

(after Here Lies The Abyss - only if Hawke was sacrificed)

Acquire enough materials to craft a powerful addition for Bianca for Varric. Once crafted, equip Bianca with it. Once equipped, a cutscene will play where Varric is shooting with Bianca, showing off to Ashariani. As you walk away, Varric has a soft quiet moment where he thanks Ashariani and promises her he’ll be okay.

//

It’s A Date Then?

(after A New Beginning)

Acquire a gift for Ashariani and she’ll say she loves you. The gift (a pressed leather journal) can be obtained from the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains. This will trigger a small cutscene where she expresses excitement over it and confesses that she loves you. You can say you love her too or that you’re not quite there yet, and either way she will be happy.

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts:

“So engulfed and yet, so alone. She fights and fights to stay something they could be proud of.”

“Bubbles, popping to the surface of a still lake. Change, but not too much. Warm, fuzzy feelings in her chest. Happiness is in reach, she hopes.”

“Friend. She helps, not harms. She sings, not screams. She is nice to me. I am nice to her.”

“Lost, fighting, breaking through the surface. He’s gone. But they’re here. They can make it go away. They can make her whole again.”

“She climbs and climbs, knowing there is a possibility of a fall. But she’s fallen before. No fear, she bounds from building to building, tree to tree. Where she’s free. Where there is no green, no screams, no evil. Just free.”

“Warmth. Warmth when they approach, their smile shining in the sunlight. Sunlight, beaming into her heart and warming her insides. Safe.” [about the Inquisitor]

“Warmth. Warmth when she’s nearby, honey sweet on her tongue. She is safe. She is warm. She is home.” [about Eloise]

DIALOGUE

Comment(s) on Mages: “Poor souls...if only we could help them.” / “They don’t deserve this.” / “I get that some are dangerous, but this?”

Comment(s) on Templars: “I hope one day they can admit their wrongdoings.” / “Never go near them!” / “This is wrong. What they’re doing is wrong.”

When looking for something: “I think something’s nearby...should we look?” / “I think we should take a look around.”

When finding a campsite: “Can we rest here? I’m hungry.” / “This is a nice spot to camp!” / “Inquisitor, I think we should stop here.”

When the Inquisitor falls: (low approval) “Inquisitor!” / (neutral approval) “No! Get up!” / (high approval) “Wait! Inquisitor! We need you!” / (romance) “Vhenan, no!” / “Sunlight, get up! Don’t leave me now!”

Upon killing an enemy: “I’d prefer it didn’t have to happen that way.” / “I guess you didn’t have anything better to do.” / “Such a waste…”

When they are low on health: “Oh no…” / “Inquisitor, help!” / “I need some help!” / “I don’t feel very good.”

When a companion is low on health: (Iron Bull) “You are strong, Bull! Fight on!” / (Varric) “Watch your step, Varric!” / (Dorian) “Dorian, stay strong! I’ll be right there!” / (Sera) “Be careful, Sera!” / (Cassandra) “Cassandra, you are hurt!” / (Solas) “Letha’lin, please be careful!” / (Cole) “Cole, watch out!” / (Vivienne) “Madame, your health is low!” / (Blackwall) “Fight stronger, Blackwall.”

When a companion falls: (Iron Bull) “Bull, no!” / “Creators, please don’t let him die!” / (Varric) “Varric!” / “Somebody help Varric!” / (Dorian) (affectionately) “Come on, you slacker!” / “Dorian, get up! Not now!” / (Sera) “Sera, I told you that was dangerous!” / “Oh, Creators, not Sera!” / (Cassandra) “Seeker!” / “No, not Cassandra! We need her!” / (Solas) “Solas! Please!” / “Letha’lin! You cannot fall!” / (Cole) “Cole, no!” / “Cole, please get up, please be okay!” / (Vivienne) “Madame!” / “Oh no, they got Vivienne.” / (Blackwall) “Get up!” / “Watch yourself.”

When revived: “Well...that was embarrassing.” / “Thank you for your help.” / “I’m back! What did I miss?” / “Ugh...my head hurts.”

When they see a dragon: “Wow...so beautiful.” / “So fascinating to see one up close!” / (If Iron Bull is not in the party) “We’re not hunting her...are we?” / (If Iron Bull is in the party) “Bull, look! So beautiful, isn’t she? Excited?”

When doing their small side quest: For Him: “I appreciate this.” / “It’s quite relaxing out here, isn’t it?” / Bianca: “I hope this will help.” / “Thank you for doing this.” / It’s A Date Then?: “It’s so wonderful to see more of my/our people.” / “Is that...is that a gift? For me?”

Default saying: (when you talk to them in Skyhold, how do they respond?) (low approval) “Yes?” / “What do you need?” / (neutral approval) “Inquisitor!” / “Hello!” / (high approval) “Friend! Good to see you again.” / “Where are we going, Sunshine?” / (romance) “Wonderful to see you, Vhenan.” / “Hello, Sunlight.”

TRAVEL BANTER WITH COMPANIONS

Cassandra: What is that touching fists thing you two do all the time? It is ridiculous.

Dorian: Never heard of a fist bump, Seeker? What’s wrong with having a bit of fun?

Cassandra: It’s distracting.

Ashariani: Aw, come on Cassandra. You should try it sometime! Really forms the bonds of friendship.

Dorian: (laughs) You are simply adorable.

Varric (if in party): Oh, don’t worry, Glimmer. Cassandra just doesn’t know the definition of fun.

Sera (if in party): That’s nothing compared to our secret handshake, yeah? You should see it, Seeker. It involves our butts!

Cassandra: (Disgusted noise).

//

Iron Bull: You know, you’re surprisingly light.

Ashariani: Really? I didn’t hurt your shoulders?

Iron Bull: (laughs) Kid, you’d have to weigh about 60 pounds more to even make a dent on me.

Inquisitor: You really have to stop letting her ride on your shoulders during battle.

Ashariani: But it’s fun!

Sera (if in party): Can I have a go? No reason why she should have all the fun, yeah?

Vivienne (if in party): Fun does not always mean safe, my dear. I would proceed with caution when tempting fate as such.

Ashariani (to Sera): Of course! (to Vivienne): Yes, ma’am.

//

Solas: Do you miss home, Ashariani?

Ashariani: Sometimes. Do you?

Solas: No. Though the thought of a home to return to is a pleasant one.

Ashariani: You have no home?

Solas: (chuckles) The Inquisition is my home now. Isn’t that more than one could hope for?

Ashariani: Yeah...I guess so. I’m glad you feel at home here.

Solas: I wish the same of you, Letha’lin.

Varric (if in party): Are you guys done with the sappy, cryptic talk yet? This isn’t good material for my stories.

Ashariani: (giggles).

Leaving the Inquisition: It takes a lot to get Ashariani to leave, but if you gain enough approval, she will come to you in tears, and tell you she doesn’t think the Inquisition is the right place for her anymore. She will wish you well and ask you to tell the others she says she’ll keep in touch. You can choose to beg her to stay, in which she will, but only if you don’t net any more disapproval before new approval, or tell her she can leave. She will then say goodbye, muttering bad things, and walk off, the cutscene ending and her leaving the Inquisition forever.

#holy hell #i am not proofreading this just have at it folks #ashariani lavellan #lavellan #female lavellan #companion meme #oc meme #iron bull #varric tethras #cassandra pentaghast #solas #sera #blackwall #vivienne de fer #cole #dorian pavus #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #long post #thanks for reading it all if you did

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #17: (NSFW)

———————————

A/N: taglist, I did not post one with the last marathon so check if you missed collections 13-15 |

I had a lot of difficulty posting this so if it seems unfinished and you don’t see the taglist please let me know!

Also, MATURE CONTENT BELOW! NSFW!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Poor Aone………………………………………’s sexual composure. 🥵🤯🤸‍♂️

That following Friday, In the calm Date Tech Hallway….

Like a hurricane, Kenji and a kanji ran over to Aone-san out of breath. 

“Aone!!!”

Used to his best friends being storms at home and at school, he turned to them at his locker. “Yes? Are you two okay?” 

Kenji made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “—Just dandy. We’re fine. But you’re not. Or, you won’t be. You’re supposed to help Y/N with her tryout video today right??!!!” 

Aone’s heart picked up speed, thinking about being alone with you again. He nodded. “Yes. Why? Is she alright?” 

“Cancel it.”

Beside Kenji, Kanji bounced on his own two feet, repeating the brunette with wide eyes. “Cancel it, cancel it, cancel it!” 

Aone looked confused. His best friends knew how much this plan meant to him, which included getting closer to you as a step, so he didn’t understand. Besides, they’d just spoken about it this morning and everything was fine. 

“I don’t understand…” Takanobu tilted his head to the side curiously. 

Kenji huffed. “Just trust us!!”

“Give me your phone Aone-senpai, I’ll call Y/N and cancel for you!!!” Kogane shouted, bustling in between the two of them to search Aone’s open locker…… for his phone, no doubt. 

Aone stepped to the side so that the setter could search his locker, knowing his phone was in his pocket. “Kogane-san, please calm down. Is anyone hurt or injured?” 

His friends looked frazzled as hell.

“No one is fucking hurt, you big giant. Just trust us when we say you need to cancel helping her film her stupid thing. Tell her to get a camera stand or pay one of the film geeks or something—“ 

“No.” Aone growled unintentionally. He didn’t mean to, he just really disliked the idea of another guy spending hours with the love of his life. Hewanted to help her. Aone removed the venom from his next words. “I want to see her, Futakuchi-san. You know that. What has gotten into you two—“ 

Kenji pinched the bridge of his nose, interrupting. “—Kusa said..... that apparently, Y/N’s cheer uniform had an issue with the order. The University—our University— sent her a uniform that’s a size or two too small. But she still has to submit her freaking audition in it and then they’ll apparently send her a new one, so—“

“I’ve seen Y/N in a cheerleading uniform before.” Aone stated calmly, feeling better now that he knows you weren’t involved in some incident or something. “You both really expect me to cancel on Y/N because of that?” Ridiculous, Aone wanted to add, but he didn’t. He tried his best to ignore, however, the way he felt a small stir in his lower belly because he recalled seeing you in the normal Date Teko cheer uniform. Not only is that cheer uniform what you were wearing the first time he ever laid eyes on you, but every male in this school—including the Mountain Man—thought you looked unbelievably hot in it. 

Before you noticed him, Aone almost ran into a pole once because he specifically saw you stretching in uniform outdoors with your team. Kenji pulled him from the pole’s path in the knick of time. 

Another time, When you were dating, Aone had gotten a huge boner after school just because he had received a text from him asking if your bra was showing through your white cheer top, with an attached photo of your chest. It was, in fact, transparent and Aone couldn’t think straight for the rest of his own practice. Coach was really mad at him that day….

Anyway, the point is that Aone has seen you in your attractive cheer uniform plenty of times. Perhaps his friends forgot?

“Aone-san, we can tell her that you’re sick, or that there is a family emergency or something, come—“ Kenji grabbed his best friend’s arm, steering him toward the exit. Aone let his friend turn him so that he does’t over exert himself like he usually did when he tried to move the all-muscle man, but he stopped just before they blocked the exit. 

‘Aone! TRUST ME. You cannot handle—“

“—I can and I will. Kenji. Please let me g—“ 

Just then, you entered through the exit doors a few feet away that Kenji was about to lead you out of, cutting Takanobu off and immediately heading his way. 

“Oh, hey, Aone! There you are!”

Aone:

Aone Takanobu can truly say—if he could speak—that he will never even question Futakuchi again. 

Kenji whistled under his breath when he saw you too. “Too late.” he muttered, folding his arms and a blush setting in. “See you at home.!” The brunette yelled as he grabbed Kanji, who was still searching the white haired’s locker—with one hand, using his other to plug his nose because was trickling a bit of blood. 

Upon seeing you, Aone felt as if all of the air in his lungs had been shaken out of his body like a damn salt shaker. He had to physically rub his eyes to make sure they were functioning correctly, and after he did that and you were still walking towards him, Aone pinched his own forearm, hard. 

Still, you were walking toward him. 

Fuck. This is real then.

Holy mother of God, Aone thought in a panic. This isn’t a wet dream?! It can’t be. He’s never seen that uniform on you before.

You stopped in front of Aone, ignoring the handful of boys that were drooling over you in your potential new post secondary school uniform. 

“Ugh. I said medium, not extra small. If I didn’t need a scholarship to make up for my grades, I wouldn’t go to this damn school. Just for this.” You grumbled, walking right past Aone to his locker that was left wide open. Without thinking, you reached inside and collected his huge Date Tech Volleyball jacket, swinging it over your shoulder and zipping it up. Aone had so many of these, and you loved them. You could practically hear the collective disappointed-male groan when you covered yourself completely. It reached the bottom of your kneecaps. 

When your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure because you were wrapped up in the most incredible warmth and scent in the world—Aone’s—you realized you had basically just performed theft, you looked down at your white cheer shoes sheepishly. “Oh my gosh. Sorry, Aone. Habit, I guess.” You apologized, too nervous to look up at him. Horny Mountain Man was in no position to respond coherently anyway, even if he didn’t want you wearing his stuff. 

Which, for the record, always makes me happy as fuck. 

Water. He thought. Water is what always helps in times like this. 

“Please, second.” Aone blurted, turning quickly to speed walk down the hallway to the nearest water fountain. It was tucked away in a corner to where he was hidden, so Aone alternated between taking big, big, very big gulps and splashing water on his face. Repeat.

You were wearing a form-fitting yellow cheer uniform. It said Pirates across the chest that it squeezed, exposed your entire stomach, and then yellow met your waist again in a really short pleated skirt (skort) that was barely covering your ass. Just seeing you in it for two seconds before you put on his jacket alone made Aone store that visual in his spank bank for tonight. Uh, for tonight x3.......or tonight x4........and then tomorrow morning, ……because the way that uniform fit you made him fantasize about doing every position in it….... ugh, Aone splashed more water on his face again. 

Back at Aone’s locker alone, You were so embarrassed in this uniform. You look like an absolute fool in a uniform so tiny, what the fuck?

Hearing a group of hurried footsteps coming from your left, from your two places you both turned to see a group of the biggest fuckboys in the school turning down this hall, searching for what Aone just knew was you with expectant expressions, positively gutted when they saw a giant jacket on you. 

You narrowed your eyes at the group in a glare, giving them a sickeningly sweet smile. “Hi, Fuck off 😊🖕.”

“Heya to you too, Y/N.” Said the guy you briefly gave a chance to before you met a real man like Aone. The baseball player. He had such a disgusting grin on his face, as if he was looking to bring you home or something. As if. 

Seemingly correct in deciphering what his look means, You had to hold down your lunch when he said, “Good luck with your online tryouts today. Care to show us that new uniform of yours?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

“Nope, thanks. I just want to send my audition tape and solidify my future never seeing your ass again.” You snapped back. 

“Ouch, Y/N. We just heard it’s tryouts for the cheer squad today, and wanted to give all you ladies our sincerest thanks for being what awoke our hormones in first year. Is that so bad?” 

“Gross. You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re newly single, right? C’mon, I’m leaving the country after graduation for baseball. Consider it a parting gift,” The baseball player licked his lips and took one tiny step toward you. “I can stretch it out for you,” 

Takanobu—who was frozen in horny-for-Y/N-mode by the water fountain—was snapped out of it as soon as a threatening movement was made toward you. 

Aone understands very well that this was not a good position for any female to be in, but especially not the most important female in his life.  

Immediately, he was in front of you, completely shielding you from the other boys behind his broad, muscular body. 

Not knowing how the fuck this giant man can move that fast again, you couldnt help the breath of relief that left you, knowing you didn’t have to fight this battle anymore. Your knight has arrived. Your ex-knight. ☹️

“I’m sure you all have something else to do this afternoon.” Aone stated, trying to be as civil as possible. 

The baseball player threw his head back and laughed. “I definitely do…..but she’s just a regular student, not a cheerleader…… so it can wait. Oh, and—totally forgot to welcome you to the dumped-by-a-hot-cheerleader club—we’re all in it.” The baseball player gestured toward the group of boys he was in and they all laughed. 

Aone felt his heart break a bit, but his anger didn’t allow him to falter. Girlfriend or not, these boys didn’t respect the love of his life or any female in this school, and it was obvious. Nothing made him more upset.

“Come on bro, tell her to take off the jacket, we all wanna see her new uniform—“ the creep tried taking a step around Aone to get to you, so Aone stepped forward blocking that path, pulling you behind him again. 

“Take one more step toward her.” Aone growled in the smoothest voice. You couldn’t see it, but from experience with creeps trying to hit on you when you were together, you could tell Aone had his absolutely terrifying expression on and fit didn’t even mean to. The biggest teddy bear... that turned into your tough grizzly without the tiniest bit of hesitation if it meant protecting you.

 “I dare you.” Aone added, for good measure.

Needless to say, like always, the group of creepos saw how serious this giant could be, and then scurried away faster than they came. 

It turns out they’re not a fan of Aone’s dares.

You resisted every nerve in your body from acting on your instincts and grabbing Takanobu and kissing him as thanks for protecting you. Fuck, you just fell deeper in love with the man and if we are being g honest, hearing him become so respectfully protective like that, not only made your heart clench but your pussy clench as well. 

Aone turned to you and bowed in apology for speaking for you. 

You waved him off and thanked him wising words as you physically pressed your thighs together to keep yourself from throwing yourself on your ex and begging him to fuck your brains out like you wanted him to. Like he always did. Truth be told, you are so turned on. 

Needing fresh air, right the fuck now—you grabbed Aone’s arm and he allowed you to pull him outside to the empty football field since school was over. 

You found a small corner where you’d be hidden from prying eyes and it was a flat enough green surface for jumps and tumbling passes, so you liked it. you asked your beautiful Ex if it was fine to set up here for the audition. Daylight hit the area perfectly. 

Takanobu nodded, but then a slight blush fell over his face and you didn’t follow exactly why that was. “What is it?” You ask, using your hand as a visor. 

“Ummm,… this spot is fine Y/N. But I just realized that I forgot my flash in the photography studio.” 

You shrugged. “Oh! That’s it? Okay, that’s fine. I can just wait here and start stretching.” 

Aone’s pale cheeks darkened even more. You tried not to swoon. Oh my gosh he looked cute! But you still didn’t get why forgetting his flash made him so shy. 

“Aone, what is it? Is there something wrong?”

Takanobu looked away, willing himself to speak with conviction. “No, I apologize again. It’s just….” He willed himself to meet your eyes, because that’s what his plan told him to do. “Do you mind accompanying me? Uh, to retrieve the flash? I can carry everything, that’s not a problem, but— I just don’t feel comfortable leaving you out here alone just in case that group comes back and I’m not around.”

You inside: 

You sucked in a breath, trying so so sooo fucking hard not to shout how much you loved this man! If you were still dating, you would tackle him and showering his face with kisses right now, then probably tug him somewhere so you could drop to your knees and suck the soul out of his dick—that’s how much you loved him. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” You nodded, pressing your thighs together as you walked his side, in his jacket.

***

2 hours later, Aone is almost done filming your tryout tape. 

In the beginning, He managed to distract himself on his phone while you stretched, only stealing glances at you when you were in your splits (at which time Aone accidentally bit his tongue). 

Then the middle section of filming wasn’t sooo bad, you had to tell the camera about yourself—in which Aone thought you looked so pretty and thought you didn’t list enough of your good qualities, but he wouldn’t interject to tell you that— he filmed you doing a few technical jumps, some sideline hand-only cheers that you yelled out, and a few tumbling passes, which Aone was able to handle if he was thinking about dead squirrels like Futakuchi taught him. But that was as far as the dead squirrel strategy went for him. It had served its purpose and now Aone was running out of steam, because you had just completed the flyer positions section: where you had to contort your amazing body in flexible positions that literally made his urges to fuck you hard come back, God damnit…

Even though that was tough, Takanobu had a plan to follow and it included being able to spend time with you like this, so he had to put on a brave face and endure it. He was so proud of himself so far—even if he had to overheat in the volleyball sweater he had to put on to hide his protruding cock. It was sunny, not hot, which is good. And it did a great job hiding his crotch, so he wouldn’t dare take it off.

But truth be told, a part of Aone Takanobu felt absolutely foolish for not taking his friend’s offer earlier and cancelling on you. If seeing a cheerleading uniform on you in the past almost made him walk into a pole, I don’t think anyone could imagine how seeing you in a much sexier, college cheerleader uniform that is 2 sizes too small makes him feel now. Fuck. 

During the final portion of your tryout video, you had to showcase the choreography they taught you, and well, Aone was…………. He was……………

He was……………………

A/N: Imma try to just come out and say it.

During your dance segment…………………

You are of course, wearing that tiny new uniform, and Mountain Man is so fucking in love and horny for you, and you were also horny so you were unintentionally giving him bedroom eyes, and your dance for the tryout was semi provocative, and you are so flexible and bendy, slightly sweaty from over exertion, and did Aone mention that you are wearing that tiny uniform????

Yeah, this white haired beauty was going to cum untouched. 

Why? How? Well:

“So, Aone, for this part, I need you to tell me how I’m doing, Okay? I know you don’t know cheer very well but just in this dance section if I look sloppy or Im going too fast, I’d appreciate the feedback since my future relies on this. Is that Okay?”

The white haired beauty grunted in agreement, the sound actually hurting his throat because it was so dry. 

You smiled at him sweetly.

You looked so fucking cute, LostyAone.exe stopped working. 

“I need you to make sure the camera is getting my entire body, Okay? So that the judges can judge my footwork too. Can you pan down to make sure you’re comfortable with the movement?

Using the camera, Aone panned down liked you asked and nearly died. He was glad his eyes were hidden behind the camera because they just about fell the fuck out when he caught a really good glimpse of your delectable ass under your cheer skirt. Inside his brain,  dozens of little control-panel Aone’s erupted in chaos, running around his brain with towels trying to blow out the raging inferno in there.

SHE IS SO FUCKING SEXY, His mind yelled at him, as if he needed any more of a reminder. TOO SEXY, it repeated, and Aone’s dick twitched angrily in his pants. 

DEAD SQUIRRELS. DEAD SQUIRRELS. DEAD—OH, SHE’S SMILING AT US.

Takanobu briefly thought about the fact that this footage was only going to be seen by your prospective cheer captains, coaches, and himself— but he couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to edit all of this together in the time frame he promised he would with only one hand. The incessant desire he had to pump his cock to the look of you in that tiny uniform was practically all-consuming. So when he has to stare at constant footage of you alone in his room this weekend, well............. he’d probably need to take more breaks than he’s willing to admit. He needed this to end, and quick.

“So there is one move, Aone, that I need you to make sure that part gets a tiny close-up of. It’s this part where I flip why hair like this, then I have to run my hands from my neck dowwwwwwwn my body slowly and back up to do a mini chest pump… but that move I am switching it to a mini chest squeeze…, because the coach said she wants her team this year to have a lot of sex appeal and the ability to make the dances their own, so I thought I’d add that to show her I have what she’s looking for. What do you think?”

Wait, Sex appeal? Chest squeeze? As in, squeeze your breasts?! Like how? And Did Y/N just insinuate that she needs more sex appeal ? More than she already…….………..huh🥵? Aone gulped in disbelief. If you had any more sex appeal, Y/N……….. he wanted to tell you. I’d be an absolute dead man. He already was. 

You took Mountain Man’s silence as confusion. “Do you not get what I’m saying? Here, I’m thinking something like this.”

And then, if things weren’t bad enough, you showed this poor poor hanging-on-by-a-single-thread-of-composure Aone—the move that you’re referring to in slow motion so that he could recognize it in the dance: 

Takanobu was going to lose his mind. Inside, he was all:

And he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has what you just did on film.

 Aone’s dick throbbed relentlessly in his uniform pants, practically having a pounding heart attack of its own. Luckily, it was hidden under his jacket, telling him loud and clear that this was all he could handle from under there. 

“Umm,” Aone started shakily, turning his back to you and scanning the field. He thanked the heavens because he saw the girls entire soccer team starting practice really close to where they were filming, so if anything were to happen and those boys came back to bother you, you could just walk right over to the big group and the coaches. He wouldn’t be gone long anyway.

Not with how worked up he was. 

Not even remembering what excuse he made because all of his brain blood resided in his cock right now, whether he said he needed to go to the bathroom or fucking Pluto he doesn’t know—but he finds comfort in the fact that whatever he said, you responded unsuspectingly, saying, 

“Oh Okay, sure! I needed a break anyway!” you plopped down on the grass in fatigue. 

Good.

Everything in Aone’s mind was a blur until he was inside one of the stalls in the empty boys volleyball locker room, his right hand down his pants before he could even think to unbutton or pull down a zipper, stroking his needy length. 

“Ohhhh my God,” Aone sighed, using the immense amount of pre cum on his dick as lubrication. His dick was twitching in his palm as he stroked. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,”  chanted the middle blocker who does NOT use profanity regularly, shutting his eyes as tight as they could go. Immediately, images of you met the inside of his dark lids, especially this image: over and over and over.

So horny he wasnt even thinking clearly, Mountain Man immediately reached for his camera hanging on a necklace around his neck with one large hand. He immediately scrolled to the dance footage and moaned when your beautiful face and figure met the screen. He stroked himself through the dance you just did that wasn’t even the official dance yet, lidded eyes staring at your pretty face and amazing body in that fucking uniform. A hand job has never felt so knee-buckling.

He replayed the footage.

She’s so hot. Stroke harder. Rewind. Replay. She’s so fucking hot. Stroke faster. Rewind. Replay. She’s so UNBELIEVABLY fucking hottttttttttt. Fuck my hand. Replay, replay, replay. 

Within 50 seconds of starting, Aone was releasing so hard into his hand that he was grateful the camera was around his neck because the force of his orgasm made it slip out of this hand.

Breathing heavily as if he had just run a fucking marathon, it was only one more minute later that Aone felt himself hardening again, thinking of you and needing another release. Home. His dick chanted. He needed to go home. Takanobu was so horny for you that he guiltily fantasized about taking the bra you left at his house all that time ago out so that he could paint it white and possibly fuck it, but he somehow thought that was disrespectful and felt a little ashamed for thinking of you so inappropriately while looking at your footage, so he decided not to do that again. Mountain Man cleaned up with a napkin, but didn’t move to leave just yet. He knew himself better than that, so he wrapped his hand around his pre cum lubed cock again, just waiting.

He loved you for so much more than just your physical appearance—Aone knew that—but sometimes how hot you were put him through a loop. Clearly, considering he’d just jerked himself off in his locker room in 55 seconds and was ready to do it again. Unbelievable. You are breathtakingly beautiful.

I can’t believe Y/N….. gave me a chance— What could the most beautiful woman in the world have seen in me? What am I doing trying to get her back, have I SEEN HER? As Aone was greeted with his self-deprecating thoughts again, he thought about your gorgeous face. This made Takanobu began thrusting up into his wet hand impatiently. 

She’s so caring. And so loving. And such a force to be reckoned with, God I want to put a ring on her finger and cherish her forever.

Even his self deprecating thoughts couldn’t take him out of how far gone he already was, he almost forgot that he actually had to take off his pants unless he wanted to ruin them completely and chance you seeing him walk back out with a giant cum stain. 

With an upsetting growl because his pleasure had to wait a millisecond, Aone roughly unbuttoned, unzipped, and shoved down his pants and boxers, moving so that when he came it would aim where he wanted it to down the toilet. His hand found his aching cock again and he resumed pumping, Aone squeezing at the base and tip and fucking his own fist. He felt just as worked up as the time you relentlessly teased him while studying, but this time you hadn’t even touched him once. He couldn’t believe it. 

But then, well, he remembered it was you, so he could. 

He loved you for years without you even knowing his name, so logically he knows that seeing you bend and bounce and do the splits in a small cheerleading uniform can easily make him cum in his pants unprovoked.

I want to make love to her soooo badly, Aone thought, feeling a little guilty for thinking of his ex so lewdly. I’d stick my cock so deep inside her unmatched pussy and hear her moan my name so loud until she was having one of her hard shuddering orgasms around me that Aone always managed to give that made his thrusts stutter, fuck fuck fuck. Aone thought about moving those tiny shorts that are connected to your skirt aside and pounding into your tight hole, pinching your nipples and sucking a hickey on your sweet skin. Ugh, he was practically pounding into his first now. It almost hurt, but hurt in a good way. He needed this. There is absolutely no better feeling in the world than being inside you, so he tried to remember it and pretend that’s what he was doing to the best of his ability to throw himself over the edge faster. It worked. His entire body trembled.

Aone bit his juicy bottom lip, actively keeping growls in his chest because he felt so carnal. He wanted you soooooooooo bad, and if you two were still together right now and you verbally agreed, thrice—you’d be in this stall with him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he,— oh god, just the mere flash-thought of you in here with him made Aone thrust into his hand even harder, thinking about your perfect ass under that small yellow skirt, how perfect your tits would look when you freed them out from under that constricting small cheer top (but kept the skirt on), and he thought about how wrecked you’d look because you both knew such a big guy like Aone would need at least three or four rounds until he was sated and you were always so fucking willing for him—

Aone let out a growl he’d been holding in as he immersed himself in the dreams, thinking about how fuck-hot you are when you dance, how amazing your breath sounds when its short and calling his name, the look of that chest squeeze and peek-a-boo’s you practically killed him with out there—and not before long Mountain Man was subject to an array of pleasure zaps shooting from his groin up his spine, making Aone close his mouth and let out a pretty loud “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM..” As he shot cum after cum, spritz after spritz, into the toilet. His second orgasm was so intense that he needed to grab the top of the stall wall next to him with his clean hand to keep himself upright, because his knees were shaking.

Trying to catch his breath and calm down, Aone stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes until his heart beat regulated somewhat. Even though it felt like forever, it had only been maybe 5 minutes since he’d left you on the field chilling. Not enough time for you to even believe that he was pleasuring himself. It couldn’t have been enough time. 

Takanobu cleaned up in a hurry—washing his hands four times before returning to you, feeling a little bit lighter—but not enough to say he is satisfied. Considering the fact that he didn’t have sex, Mountain Man would need a few more rounds with his hand to be satisfied. Mountain Man is a big guy and even though he is the kindest person on earth and thinks about buying you flowers and holding your hand, when he’s horny he needs a lot to satiate that hunger. 

***

Aone returned to you only 6 minutes after he left, and right away you made his dick semi-hard again, looking so beautiful when you accepted his apology.

“Don’t worry about it, Aone. If I haven’t said it enough.... I really appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Takanobu bit back a groan because yes, there was a lot you could do to repay him. Starting with giving him one more chance..... but he couldn’t ask that of you. In any case, he knew what the answer would be right now. 

“No, I’d like nothing in return. I am glad I could help a friend, Y/N.” he offered you a slight smile that made you feel all fuzzy inside. 

You wanted to melt, he is so sweet, even after you shattered his heart. Your heart was swelling and you couldn’t wait to leave him, just so that you could go home to cry your eyes out for the man you let go of. 

“We should finish. It’s getting late.” You collected your emotions and shook out your limbs to prepare yourself for the last section of your tryout video. 

***

You performed the dance section even sexier than Aone could’ve imagined, and it made Mountain Man absolute putty. Due to the events that took place in the locker room not too long ago, Aone was able to get past his horny mind numb to recognize that his heart was exploding for you—for other reasons. His heart was bursting due to pride.

He was so proud of you. 

You weren’t his girlfriend anymore, but you were still an absolute inspiration to him in that you always chased your dreams. Here he was, giving up volleyball, and here you are—killing your own audition in an uncomfortable costume. Wow. Aone would be sure to edit the most amazing tryout video for you to the best of his ability so that the team would be absolute fools not to give you a scholarship. If you didn’t get it, he’d find some weird way of secretly paying for your schooling anyway, if it came down to it. He loved you that much. But he just knew you’d make it. 

When the last take was filmed and all was said and done, Aone was both positively enamoured and positively hard, of course. You looked beyond sexy and flushed, and when he gave you his water and you drank it, some droplet missed your mouth, skidding down your cheek and disappearing into your cleavage. Mountain Man just about needed to run back to the bathroom at that point, but it was time to go home anyway.  

You changed and Kusa picked you up, waving to Aone and thanking him with a hug before leaving. 

Aone sat in his car for 5 minutes once you left, his eyes closed and his head resting on the headrest, just trying to figure out how he would live with these feelings. He didn’t know if he could. A million questions jumped to the forefront of his mind: 

How could someone be so beautiful, so perfect in every way to him? 

What did you even see in him the first time? 

Is it even worth it to try again? 

What happens if his plan fails? 

What would he do?

And, because his dick wanted to throw in a question as well: How fucking amazing did you look today? 

Is it even possible to be this attracted to someone? Fuck. 

Aone’s dick twitched in his pants as thoughts of your pretty smile while you cheered tonight filled his mind, alerting him once more that he has suffered through enough for a lifetime and he needs release again. 

Aone raced home after that, unable to get your brilliant laugh and your perfect ass in that skirt out of his mind the entire time. 

He’s a mess. 

An aroused, lovesick, unmistakably heartbroken mess.

———————���———

Taglist: @galagcica @chaichai-the-weeb @nairobiisqueen @bisasterrr @juminly @simply-not-the-same @marvelousbakugou @qyuanon

Outtake #18: CLICK HERE!

#aone takanobu x you #aone takanobu stories #aone takanobu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu boys #haikyuu!! #hq headcanon #aone x reader #aone x y/n #haikyuu headcanons #hq headcannons #haikyuu headcannons #koganegawa kanji #kenji futakuchi #haikyuuwritersnet

[juststrugglingwithstress]

How to Write Believable ADHD

INTRO

so obvi rick riordan is the master, he did ADHD correctly, but i see a lot of people writing ADHD in the way that portreys it as “SQUIRREL SQUIRREL WAS THAT A SQUIRREL???? MUST MOVE MUST MOVE MUST MOVE FHDAFHEIAIEA”

this is both HORRIBLY wrong and offensive.

ADHD is not what you think it is. ADD is not the same as ADHD. there’s a lot of parts of ADHD/ADD that nobody ever talks about. in this post i’m going to talk about ADHD using:

things i know about ADHD/ADD

my experience as an adolescent with ADD

my experience as the sister of an adolescent with strong ADHD

my experience as the daughter of an adult with ADHD

i hope this will be helpful with writing believable, non-offensive ADHD and ADD characters. 

WHAT IS ADHD?

ADHD is an executive dysfunction. ADHD is divided into four different types: 

Inattentive

Hyperactive

Impulsive

Combination (two or all of the above)

ADHD VS. ADD

ADHD: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder

ADD: Attention Deficit Disorder

ADD is a type of ADHD. As you may have guessed, is a term used when a person diagnosed with ADHD doesn’t show signs of hyperactivity.

Remember: ADD can be called ADHD, but ADHD cannot be called ADD.

They are different things, but since ADHD is more well-known, people with ADD might say they are ADHD instead to avoid having to give an explanation as to what ADD is. Unless you want to continuously have your ADD character explain what it means (or have every other character automatically know what it means, which is unrealistic) you will probably have them say they’re ADHD.

ADHD SYMPTOMS

Inattentive: getting distracted easily, having poor concentration and organization skills

Impulsive: interrupting, taking risks, poor impulse control

Hyperactive: difficulties staying on task, talking and fidgeting, never seeming to slow down

People experience these symptoms in different ways. People who were born with male chromosomes will often exhibit the more hyperactive side, while people born with female chromosomes will be more quietly inattentive.

Symptoms must effect your day-to-day life in order to actually mean ADHD! Getting distracted unusually easily once in a while doesn’t mean ADHD.

ADHD THINGS THAT AREN’T MEDICALLY SPOKEN OF

These are really just more specific things that usually come along with ADHD or ADD. (Not everybody has all--or even any--of these!)

Forgetting words 

“what’s the word??? you know, like,,,, medium but sad. if something medium-sized was depressed. its,,,,, SMALL, THE WORD IS SMALL”

“i hate,,,, i HATE,,,,, what is it, it’s like racism but genders,,,,,, you know, pink & blue toys???? its--it’s---- PATRIARCHY, I HATE THE PATRIARCHY”

“what is it wHAT IS IT IT’S,,, AH FUCK,,,,, LIKE THE WORD IS ALSO BUT I---OH THE WORD IS BUT”

“i   f o r g o t   w h a t   t o   c a l l   j o a n n e” “isn’t joanne,,, your mother?” “oh my god yes thats the word mother”

Procrastination

ugh, procrastination SUCKS. the kind of procrastination that comes with ADHD/ADD is like: 

“i have to do this ihavetodothisihavetodothisihavetodothis” running through your head while you continue to NOT do the thing. You want to, absolutely you do, but for some reason you just can’t make yourself do it.

Night Owl, But Not Really

A lot of people with ADHD experience a kind of thing where during the day, they’re slowly waking up and “loading” their brain. Then, at night, they are FULLY READY FOR THE DAY and now cannot go to sleep, resulting in a continuation of the cycle.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Literally. If you cannot see it, it is not there. This results in:

Losing things. CONSTANTLY.

If it ends up in the back of the fridge, it’s going to rot (unless somebody cleans out the fridge before that).

Clothes at the bottom of the drawer/back of the closet will never be worn.

If there is a pile of papers, any paper that is not (and is not directly-four papers below) the top one is gone forever.

Closed box? Say goodbye to whatever was in it.

Homework in a folder? Oof, hope that wasn’t too much of your grade.

REJECTION SYNDROME

Rejection syndrome is most prominent in women with ADHD/ADD. I’m not sure how to accurately explain rejection syndrome without showing examples, so:

Somebody glances at you (however briefly), and you immediately think they’re judging you/being mean to you.

Two people are whispering, and you immediately assume they are saying mean things about you.

basically, rejection syndrome is a forever-heightened feeling that the people around you hate or dislike you.

that’s all for now! i hope this was helpful. if you have any questions about this or would like me to write a meta about something else, my asks are always open. i also recommend the blog @adhdbri if you’d like to see more of a “day-to-day life” example of ADHD. thanks for reading! bye!

#writing #writing tips #how to write #how to write a character with ADHD #how to write a character with ADD #how to #write #meta #metas #my meta #my metas #adhd #add #adhd is not what you think it is #adhdbri #about adhd #about add #what is adhd #what is add

[banditthewriter]

Eye of the Hurricane - Charles Vane - 4

Here we have part 4. Reminder that the next one, which is shorter than these have been, is the last one.

Warning: Little awkwardness at the end.

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

------

There was no way to track the passage of time except to watch the candles burn down. You drifted in and out of sleep. Every time you woke, the candles had burned down further and further.

Finally at one point you woke and most of the candles were out. The torch had burned out as well. You rolled over until you were sitting up on the bed.

The fortress was eerily silent. Even the silence on a ship was loud, the ocean and wood creaking gently. It was completely different here. Besides the sound of your breathing, you couldn’t hear a thing. 

A clicking noise made you raise your eyes to the doorway. It was followed by the door opening, light from a torch making you squint.

Charles stood in the doorway, his free hand tucked into the high waist of his belt. 

“Follow me,” he said in a gruff tone, his head tilting towards the hallway.

You wanted to deny him. You had said you would try your best not to get into trouble, but would ignoring a demand fall into that category? How could you know what rules you were breaking if you didn’t know the rules to begin with?

“Where?”

He hesitated as if he hadn’t expected you to do anything other than comply.

“I’ve had some water heated for you to take a proper bath. Unless you’ve enjoyed just washing like a whore,” he added with a shrug of his shoulder before he turned to walk out of sight.

After a brief struggle to get your shoes back on, you followed him out into the hallway. He hadn’t gone far, evident by the shadows on the wall, but you still didn’t want to take too long. He might change his mind. Instead once you were beside him, he started down the hall.

You almost commented on the fact that he looked freshly bathed as well. His hair looked clean and soft to the touch. There were small metal beads added to the braids in a few places. His facial hair was trimmed as well. 

You had gotten so used to his scruffiness on the ship that you almost didn’t recognize this bathed and put together version of him. 

Not that you preferred him one way or another. It was just an observation. That harmless attraction you found yourself in the middle of on the ship was a footnote compared to the reality that Charles Vane was a pirate captain, nothing more.

The room he brought you to was empty save for a medium sized wooden tub with steam rising from the water. There was a small chair next to it with a towel draped over the back. On the seat was…

“Is that one of my dresses?”

Charles had just placed the torch in a holder, providing a little more light than the small window that stood well above your reach. At your question, he raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“I’ll have the chest brought to the room you’re staying in.” He walked to the door but hesitated before he left the room. “I’ll knock on the door to see if you’re done. You’ll want to answer or I’ll just have to come in anyways.”

With that he left, shutting the door behind him. You didn’t think he’d go far.

The knowledge that he was just on the other side of the door made your skin tingle as you undid the buttons and laces on your dress. He could come in if he wanted, see every part of you.

It was more than fear and adrenaline that shot through you at that, but you pushed down your reaction. It would do you no good to be lusting after the captain. He had already made it perfectly obvious that he didn’t care about you in any way. You were just a meal ticket.

That in mind you quickly climbed into the tub and dropped down so that the water covered your naked body. It wasn’t a comfortable fit, your knees up instead of stretched out, but the water felt good against the aches in your body from your poor rest lately.

Next to the tub there was a bar of soap and a small jar. You sniffed the jar, pleasantly surprised at that smell of jasmine. You weren’t sure why Charles had felt the need to supply you with a fragrance for the bath, but you weren’t going to complain. Instead you poured a little into the water and swished your hand around to spread it.

You might be a prisoner for the time being, but you were going to smell like royalty.

At the end of the bath you dried hurriedly and dressed even quicker. Clean and dressed, your hair fixed as best you could without a mirror, you went to the door. It was unlocked. Carefully you pulled the door open and stepped into the hall.

Charles was there, a ways away from the door. He raised an eyebrow as he looked you over. The dress wasn’t much different than the one you had worn for the last few weeks, but it was clean. Still, with his focus on you the way it was, you tugged at the fabric of the dress as if it would somehow grow and cover you more.

“This way,” he said with a jerk of his head before he turned away from you.

With no other choice, you followed him. It was a different direction than you’d come, so you figured you weren’t being brought back to your room just yet. Instead you went along a winding staircase a few steps behind him. When he came to a door, he held it open for you to walk out of first.

It was some sort of platform outside. You stepped out into the sunlight and closed your eyes as you enjoyed the gentle breeze on your skin. The sound of gulls above you made you open your eyes. The view from the top of the fortress was of the entire bay. You couldn’t make out which one was The Ranger because you hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but you were sure it was out there with the other ships. 

Almost a dozen ships sat out there. You could see a portion of the beach and, further back and up a bit of a hill, what looked like a thriving town. Whatever you’d been led to believe about Nassau, you hadn’t expected this. 

You turned away from the view to look at Charles. He met your gaze evenly.

“What happens now?”

He turned away from you to look out over the bay. 

“You give me a little information about your father, I’ll send my ship and a few men to deliver a ransom letter. We’ll have you back to your family in one piece as long as they pay.”

Your hand reached out to grasp the stone wall nearest you. You knew that you needed to tell him now, before things got out of hand. He needed to know.

“I need to be honest about my family,” you said quietly. 

Part of you prayed he hadn’t heard, but he turned back to look at you. He didn’t say anything but you knew that you had his full attention.

“There’s… a possibility that they might not pay the ransom.”

He took a few steps towards you, his stride crossing the small distance between the two of you easily. He stopped a mere arm’s length away from you.

“Explain,” he demanded.

“My older brother, he’s the favorite. By the time I came along, my parents had no more love to give. It’s why they were sending me to my aunt and uncle in England, to be married off to some man I’ve never met and be done with it.” You took a step back under the force of his stare, your back meeting the stone wall. “I wasn’t truthful before because I didn’t want to be killed. You cannot blame me for doing whatever I must to survive.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before he took a step back. There was an obvious conflict on his face for a long moment before he turned away from you.

“What will happen to me if they don’t pay?”

It was as if the entire world had gone silent as you waited for his response.

“We will have to find another way to get use out of you, won’t we?”

Even though he said it without infliction, there was a threat in those words. You could imagine the ways they would get use out of you and each idea made you feel weak and powerless.

All you could was pray your parents would pay. It was your only hope.

------

Over the course of the next few days, you didn’t see Charles much. You saw Jack a few times, but mostly it was Anne. She would come into the room with food and drink, mostly quiet as she left it for you. You noticed that she would hover in the doorway when you didn’t greet her or move to accept the food as you had on the ship. 

Instead you stayed on the bed, your eyes on the candles. 

“You haven’t eaten,” she said one evening as she brought you another tray. Your morning meal sat untouched where she had placed it.

“Wasn’t hungry,” you replied as you looked away from the candles to where she stood in the doorway.

“You sick?”

You smiled softly before you turned back to look at the candles. As best as you could tell, Anne was not often the caring sort. Perhaps she had needed to become colder in order to survive surrounded by pirates. But there was some part of her that cared, just like now. 

In her own way at least.

“I’m not sick,” you promised quietly as you bent your knees so that you could rest your chin on them. “Your captain had me write a letter to my parents last night. The ransom he asked for is… not beyond the realm of possibility, but it is not likely they will want to pay so much for me.”

After the conversation on the outlook of the fortress, you had nothing but fear for what might come next. His men would be setting sail for Norfolk and once there, they would hand over the letter. Perhaps they would know right away that the ransom would not be paid. That gave you maybe two weeks before the worst would happen.

Once it was apparent that the ransom wouldn’t be paid, Charles would find another way for you to be of use. You highly doubted he was looking for a feminine touch for the fortress.

You would be forced to pay your own ransom on your back.

“It won’t come to that,” Anne said fiercely as she came further into the room.

You hadn’t realized you’d spoken out loud. A glance at the fury on Anne’s face told you that you had.

“I would rather have perished on the ship, lost to the sea than to be… put through that,” you said quietly before you tucked your face into the fabric of your dress to muffle the sound of your sobs.

A hesitant hand was placed on your shoulder. The touch made you flinch, but you didn’t pull away. Carefully she soothed her hand over your back.

“It won’t come to that. If your family won’t pay, I’ll find a way to get you out of here. Somewhere safe.”

You looked up, Anne’s face blurry due to your tears.

“You’d go against your captain? For me?”

The harsh planes of her face were softened through the watery view of your tears.

“Just in this,” she admitted as she pulled her hand away from your shoulder. “Eat. No matter what happens, you’ll need your strength.”

You accepted the food from her. With Anne’s promise that you wouldn’t be forced to pay with your body, you felt a little more at ease with your situation. 

Either way, she was right. You would need your strength.

------

The room that you were led to this time was larger than the ones you’d seen so far. There was a pallet topped with blankets and furs, pillows lined along the top. There were chests sprinkled around the room, clothes and weapons splayed out without care. There also seemed to be a never ending number of bottles and mugs.

Charles had led you there without a word. You couldn’t even read what mood he was in as you followed him down a few hallways and up a winding staircase. 

Once there you realized what this place was. A sudden jolt of apprehension went through under the realization that this was his room. 

Why had he brought you here? It was too early for his man to get back from delivering the ransom request. Perhaps he had decided not to wait.

Had you foolishly thought that he wasn’t that kind of man? Had you been so wrong?

“The trunk there,” he said as he gestured to a trunk on the wall by itself.

You carefully made your way over to it. With another look at him over your shoulder, you bent down to the trunk. There was a latch that wasn’t closed so you simply lifted the lid.

Books. There were dozens of books in the trunk. Confused, you looked up from the trunk and over to Charles who was leaning in the window that looked out over the bay.

“You enjoyed reading my books on the ship. Thought you might need some entertainment here in the fort.”

That was an understatement. You’d long since emptied out your own trunk to try to find something to help you pass the time, but it seemed that it had been emptied of everything save your clothes. Charles had taken the jewelry and money that you’d had in there, but that didn’t bother you.

You did wish he hadn’t taken the jeweled comb. It had been your grandmother’s and probably the only thing you owned that you loved.

Carefully you bent down again and grabbed one of the books on the top. It wasn’t familiar to you. You straightened up and tucked the book under your arm. 

“I will return it to you,” you said as you hovered hesitantly. Would he allow you to walk back to your room by yourself?

“You should read it here,” he said as he gestured to the padded chair near the window he was in. “There’s better light in this room.”

With that he stalked out of the window and across the room towards the door. He stopped just before he stepped out.

“You can move around the fort freely; the men have been told you are not to be bothered.” He tapped his hand against the door before he said quietly, “You’ll be safe here.”

Then he was gone.

Alone in his room, you made your way to the chair he had gestured to. It was fairly comfortable. You settled in and lifted the book. Slowly you traced your finger over the letters of the title.

How many times had he read this book? Had he sat here in this chair and read it? No, he would probably lounge on his bed and read it.

You looked over at the bed and then back to the book in your hand. You wouldn’t be that bold. Instead you flipped open the book to the first page and tried desperately not to think of how soft his voice had been as he told you that you’d be safe there.

------

There was something soft under your cheek. You rubbed against whatever it was and snuggled down further. It had been a long while since you’d been this comfortable. Before the ship, before The Ranger, before—

The moment you remembered the kidnapping, you sat up in a flash. Had it all been some sort of fever dream? Were you safe in your bedroom, the bustling Norfolk surrounding you?

You were on a pallet on the floor. The softness under your cheek was a pillow that was covered with some sort of fur. 

In your sleep addled mind, it took a moment to realize where you were.

Charles’s room. Charles’s bed. You looked down at yourself and saw a blanket draped over your waist, your shoes side by side on the floor next to the bed.

“You fell asleep.”

The voice made you jump, your hand coming to rest on your chest. Charles sat in the chair near the window, the book you had been reading open on his lap as he watched you. 

It’d been about three days of you coming up to his room to read. He was never there when you got there, never there when you left. You didn’t even remember falling asleep while you read, but you must have.

There’s no way that you fell asleep on his bed though. You were purposeful in the fact that you never strayed from the trunk with the books and the chair where you read. You never even went to the window to look out. 

“How did I come to be in your bed?”

He looked away from you and down at the book on his lap. You watched as he lazily turned the page.

“I carried you. Thought you’d be more comfortable there then in this chair.”

You felt as if you were frozen. The duality of the man before you was a confusion. He could kill without blinking, threaten to let his crew make use of you, and he could save you from a storm, allow you some comforts, carry you to his bed when you fall asleep in his room.

It would be easier to hate him if he was simply cruel.

“Thank you,” you offered softly without looking at him. 

Then you threw the blanket off of your legs. With unsteady hands you slid your shoes back on before you rose. Still without looking at him, you turned and left his room.

Your mind was too chaotic to deal with his close proximity.

------

In the days that followed, you saw Charles a lot more often. Sometimes it was just in passing, but other times he would be in his room when you were in there reading. 

It felt like the days on The Ranger. As your confidence increased, you would draw him into conversation with you. Most of your conversation starters were innocent questions about life in Nassau since you hadn’t seen much before you were secreted away in the fortress.

You were pleasantly surprised that he not only answered your questions but volunteered information freely on his own.

He told you about the first ship he served on, about how he met Jack and Anne, how long he’d been captain of The Ranger. You had more questions, many more, but you never pressed him for personal information.

One thing you still wondered about was the brand on his chest. You’d catch a glimpse of it now and then when he wore an open neck shirt. Plus you’d seen the same brand on the men around the fortress. It hadn’t been present on the crew on the ship, not that you’d noticed at least.

You started to get that feeling again; the feeling that you had while you were on the ship with him. That attraction was still there and as he began to show you the more human side of him, you began to think that maybe there was more to Charles Vane than you had assumed.

Time and time again he had proven himself to just be a pirate. You tried to remind yourself of this so that you wouldn’t make a mistake of falling for him.

All of this was temporary. Either your parents would agree to the ransom and you’d soon be back in Norfolk or they wouldn’t and you would be…

You weren’t really sure what you’d be at that point. Anne had promised you wouldn’t be misused by the crew, but what did that leave you with? Stuck in Nassau? 

It was early in the evening when Charles came back from wherever he went when he left the fortress. You were curled up comfortably in the chair, your shoes on the floor in front of you. He acknowledged your presence with a nod before he moved to his bedding. 

There you watched him shed his weapons onto the floor beside the bedding. Then came his boots before he sprawled out on top of the blankets. It was the first time he had done that since you had been coming here to read. 

You eased the book closed around your finger.

“Would you like to be alone?”

He had an arm thrown over his eyes and at your question, he lowered it so that he could look at you.

“I’d like your company,” he admitted before he laid his head back down to stare up at the ceiling. “Read to me.”

You froze at that, unsure if you’d heard him right. After a long moment of silence, he turned his head so that he could look at you, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk as he did.

“You want me to read to you?”

His smirk grew a little bit at the confusion in your voice.

“You have a soothing voice. Could soothe the headache I’ve had since I ran into Jack this morning.” 

You let yourself smile a bit at that. It wasn’t the first dig he’d made at his quartermaster, just like Jack—and Anne—were both quick to insult their own captain. You honestly weren’t sure what the dynamic was at first, but you were pretty sure you understood it now. They could insult each other but hell would come to anyone else who did it.

With a bit of a shift in how you were seated, you opened the book back up to the page you had stopped on. You almost flipped to the front of the book but you weren’t about to reread a book just because the captain had asked you to read to him. He would have to be happy with you starting from the beginning of your current chapter.

But you only got so far as the first few words before he spoke again.

“Come, sit here,” he said as he gestured to the other half of the bed. “You won’t have to raise your voice so much from here.”

Of course you wouldn’t have to raise your voice too much from there. You’d basically be sitting in his lap.

That wasn’t completely true. The bed, while not as lavish or obscenely large as your parents’, was a comfortable size. It was possible that two people could lie side by side and not touch each other.

Although you doubted if anyone in bed with Charles Vane would not be touching him.

Where had that thought come from? You felt heat fill your cheeks at the mere thought, much less the image that came to mind. Instead you met his challenge head on, walking over to the bed with purpose.

He wasn’t right in the middle of the bed, but he was closer to the middle than he was to the right side. You could see the smirk on his lips even as you settled yourself down beside him, your legs crossed over each other under your skirt.

The way you sat meant your knee brushed his hip. You wanted to move, but once the contact had been made, you knew that he’d consider you fidgeting as a win for him. You weren’t sure what game Charles was playing, but you weren’t about to say uncle. 

He raised one hand to rest under his head while the other rested on his stomach. The rings on his fingers glinted in the candlelight, catching your eyes. Once you realized you had been staring since you sat down, you quickly cleared your throat and opened the book up once more.

The act of reading pulled you out of the present, submersed you in the plot of the book you were reading. Thankfully the part of the book you were reading didn’t have any sort of romance; that would’ve been almost impossible to get through with him close enough for you to feel the heat of his body.

Instead you described a sword fight in the middle of a great adventure. Every now and then Charles would make a noise as if he was laughing, but you didn’t think he was laughing at you. In fact you were pretty sure he was just laughing at the words that were written.

Charles Vane: pirate captain and novel critic. 

Even as you focused on the words that you read, you couldn’t completely ignore the man beside you. Besides the gentle motion of his breathing and the coin that he danced over his knuckles, he didn’t move. A quick peek between paragraphs told you that his eyes were closed. 

It probably wasn’t proper, especially with him being the man who had kidnapped you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what life with him would be like. 

So immersed in the book and the presence of the man beside you, you were caught off guard when the door flew open. You gasped at that. It wasn’t just the sudden entry that caused you to gasp though, not at all.

The moment it happened, Charles had sprung into action. He used his left hand to grab and raise his pistol at the intruder at the same time that his right hand shot out to shove you behind him on the bed, his body blocking anything that might come this way.

It was one of his men from here inside the fort. His eyes were wide at the scene before him, but he didn’t let that deter him. 

“Captain, Guthrie is in the courtyard demanding to see you. Not sure how long we can hold ‘er at bay.”

Charles swore as he lowered the pistol. He looked over his shoulder at you and then back to the man in the doorway.

“Take her back to her room and make sure she stays there. I’ll handle Eleanor.”

You were confused but he didn’t seem inclined to share his thoughts with you. In fact you watched as he pulled on his boots and completely ignored you at his side. 

The man was at your side before you could even stand up. He grabbed your arm and gave a tug. You thought you heard Charles make a noise behind you, but all you could focus on was not tripping over your feet as you let the man lead you out of the room and back to yours.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you that you realized you still held the book you’d been reading from. You also realized that you had left without your shoes.

In the silence of your room, you thought about what had just happened. Not reading to Charles, although you knew you’d need to think about that more later. Why had the mention of this Guthrie person make him go back to treating you like a prisoner?

Eleanor. He’d said he’d handle Eleanor, hadn’t he? 

Part of you wondered if she was his woman. It would look odd, you on his bed reading to him. She might not be inclined to believe that you were a prisoner if that’s the case. 

The name was almost familiar to you. Maybe she was a female pirate? No, you were sure you would’ve remembered that. So you’d heard the name somewhere else before. Eleanor Guthrie. Or Guthrie at least.

Half of a candle had burned in the time since you’d been forcibly returned to your room when you heard voices in the hallway. It was a woman and Charles, both of their voices raised. Neither sounded happy. 

You carefully cracked your door to look out. There was the man who had brought you back to your room, his back in your direction. And down the hall, barely visible, was Charles. A second later a woman came into view.

She was pretty. Her blonde hair was pulled back, a little messy but it fit her face nicely. You were trying so hard to make out their words that you almost missed the fact that she was doing the buttons up on her vest.

As if it had been taken off of her recently.

You shut the door as quietly as you could. After a moment as you listened to their voices grow faint, you moved back to your bed. The book you had taken from his room sat there on your pillow, innocent and yet mocking you.

You shoved the book under your pillow and then curled up on the bed. 

You had no right to be jealous. You knew that you shouldn’t get attached to Charles, that falling for a pirate was a terrible idea. And it wasn’t like you were in love with him or anything. 

With the way you had been raised, you weren’t often around men that weren’t your father’s age. This was just a silly crush of a naive girl who had been sheltered. It wasn’t real, nothing substantial. 

You’d get over it with a little time.

X

Thanks for reading!

#charles vane #charles vane imagine #charles vane x reader #charles vane fanfic #black sails imagine #my writing #eye of the hurricane

[filmhistorymptv1145]

Examine the ways in which films deal with social, political, cultural, and economic issues, both in direct and indirect ways. What is the political impact of cinema on audiences around the world and how do we see it? Should filmmakers directly engage with these kinds of issues or do so subtly? Discuss any of the films we have watched so far from this perspective, and draw upon other examples if necessary.

Social commentary exists in many forms. We read it in books and hear it in music of every genre. It does not discriminate, covering every issue from politics to economics. As film grew into its own medium, it became a new platform for artists to utilize in portraying their visions of the world. Whether they be whimsical and over the top, or down to earth and stunningly realistic, movies grew to become one of the largest entertainment industries. Directors and screenwriters, whether inspired by or displeased with their surroundings, came to use film as a method of sharing their thoughts and emotions. Be it through direct or indirect means, they would criticize politicians and governments to historic and current world events. Certain countries were more limited than others in controlling the content of films, pushing creators to become even more crafty and thoughtful when conveying their opinions on screen.

With the Motion Picture Production Code in full effect in the US, film makers who wanted to touch upon political issues in American society had to do so in a very subtle way. Take Force of Evil, for instance. On the outside, it reads like a classic gangster movie that was commonly seen in the 1940’s. However, it is deeply critical of the money and power-hungry American underbelly of society, digging into the Capitalism that has overtaken the country even in these earlier years. Irony is found in the two main characters, a pair of brothers. Joe is a lawyer who runs dirty deals with gang members, using his education and career to further their unsavory deeds. His brother Leo believes that his own line of work is earnest and respectable, when in reality it is not. Leo runs a ‘bank’ for the small number rackets that exist in New York City, mainly centered around bets that are placed on horse races. Leo strongly feels that he is not as morally corrupted as his brother, despite being in charge of an illegal business.

The mise-an-scene of the film is what really drives home the underlying critique of money and its corrupting force. Joe takes Leo’s former secretary Doris for a walk on Wall Street, taking her through a church cemetery. The church building is completely dwarfed by the towering buildings of Wall Street’s capitalist businesses. The implied message here is that money is the new God, that the hold it has over people is nearly as strong as religion.

For Polonsky, who was put on the blacklist by HUACC for his leftist ideals, this message is as true to him as it gets. In Polonsky’s eyes, people no longer feared God as much as they did losing money in capitalist America. Considering what the entire world had just lost three years prior in World War Two, it is almost insulting to showcase people like Joe and his associates on screen. Money grubbing is not what America wanted its people to think they had fought and died for, just the opposite. Justice and morality is what America wants people to think it stands for, not capitalism and the desire to supersede the people in their lives. Force of Evil is astoundingly subtle and simultaneously gritty, holding true to the film noir standard of the times.

At the end of the film, when Leo is killed by Joe’s nefarious associates, Joe goes to retrieve his brother’s body. Stairwells are used as a metaphor for an internal moral struggle. In a voiceover, Joe laments ‘I just kept going down and down. It felt like I was going to the bottom of the world.’ The decrepit area beneath the bridge is the exact opposite of the organized, shining city above. Finding his brother’s body is Joe’s moral rock bottom, both literally and metaphorically. It is a slap in the face for Joe, stripping away all of the justifications he has held for his less than moral behavior and actions.

Polonsky cuts to Doris as Joe says, ‘He is dead,’ juxtaposing the image of a living woman with the realization that his brother Leo is gone. It is jarring, but it also suggests a dual motivation rising within Joe. Inspired by Doris’ love and Leo’s death, Joe turns to make his way back up the enormous staircase. This finale leaves the viewers with some hope that Joe can possibly redeem himself after his selfish actions, but will it be as quickly as he ran down the stairs towards his brother’s corpse?

One wouldn’t think that in 1950’s America, a bold film would tackle such a hot social issue: equal rights for African Americans. Especially with the Motion Picture Production Code still in full effect. Typically, when reflecting on movies from that decade, our minds are filled with images of romantic melodramas, as well as musicals and other bright, cheery content. The Defiant Ones not only tackled the issue of racism in America, but it also set the standard for the ‘buddy’ films that are commonplace today. Two escaped convicts are chained together at the wrist, one white and one African American. The film goes back and forth between Johnny and Cullen’s escapades whilst on the run, and the officers who have been assigned to track them down and take them back to prison. The tone of the film is established in the first few minutes, when one of the officers refers to Cullen as the n-word. Later on in the movie, when Johnny and Cullen are apprehended by a group of townspeople after attempting to rob their general store, they start stringing up two nooses. Johnny is mortified, looking around at the townsfolk with terror in his eyes. ‘You can’t lynch me, I’m a white man!’ he pleads. The message is clear: lynching is something white people do to black people.

Not only does the movie look at the harsh reality of life for African Americans at the time, but the relationship that develops between Johnny and Cullen is in itself socially and politically charged. Over the course of the movie, the two convicts go from being at odds with one another to developing a close friendship. Not even Johnny’s mistake to trust the woman they holed up with can break their bond. Johnny leaves the woman behind to rescue Cullen from the dangerous swamps. At the film’s end, Cullen is cradling Johnny, who is wounded from a gunshot to the chest. They are collapsed on the grass together, sharing a cigarette while Cullen sings and the police detective approaches to apprehend them.

Not only has Johnny moved past his racist ideals, but one could also say that their positioning at the end of the film is borderline sexual. The way Cullen holds Johnny is almost as if it is in a lover’s embrace. Cullen’s portrayal in the film is especially bold, since he was portrayed to be well-spoken, intelligent and overall good. A far cry from films like Birth of a Nation where African Americans are put in the most negative light possible, portrayed as thieves and rapists while the Ku Klux Klan members are seen as heroic and noble. The Defiant Ones, supported by Sidney Poitier’s phenomenal acting, gave rise to a much more positive role for African American actors to portray on screen. Though the ‘righteous Black man’ did end up becoming a trope in Hollywood for many years, it was still a positive step in the right direction for civil rights.

Outside of the US, films were not constricted by strict standards of morality and content. They were much freer to openly criticize the societal norms and political atmospheres that were in place at the time of their creation. Hiroshima Mon Amour is a French made film that touches on the devastation of the nuclear bomb drops in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. While the movie itself seems to be mainly centered around a couple who cannot be together due to extenuating circumstances and their own inner demons, it is also direct commentary on how Japan remembered the bombings, and how different it is from the perspective of the rest of the world.

The first ten minutes of the film are composed of an almost poetry-like sequence of shots of Hiroshima before and after the bombs paired together with the two main character’s voice overs. The characters, a French woman, and a Japanese man, are in bed together in a loving embrace. The opening shot features ash falling onto their naked bodies, which we can infer mimics the death ash that fell onto Hiroshima after the atomic bomb’s detonation. This frame cross fades into nearly the same image of the naked couple, but the ash is gone from their bedroom.

The woman is stating that she knows all about what happened in Hiroshima, from having seen the newsreels that aired after the bombs had been dropped. The man argues that she has no idea what really happened. She states that in the newsreels she viewed, bugs were already crawling up through the debris and dirt on the second day and that flowers were growing all over Hiroshima just a few days after the bomb had been dropped. This voiceover is paired with the footage of a young boy being treated for burns and lesions on his skin, the exact opposite of new life springing forth from the ashes. The obvious pain that the boy is enduring is starkly contrasted to how the French woman describes all the different kinds of flowers that began blooming after the bombs had been dropped.

The Hiroshima that exists in the French woman’s mind is completely different from the Japanese man’s. This speaks to the overall theme of the movie, that collective and individual memories, as well as one’s identity can be corrupted. That the human brain is not a perfect organ and at times, it can even be our worst enemy. The French woman protests that she has seen Hiroshima. She had been to its museums, she knew how it had been over ten-thousand degrees in Peace Square at the time of detonation, and she had seen the films that had been made about the devastation. Her partner states over and over during this intro sequence that, ‘You saw nothing in Hiroshima. Nothing.’ Her experience of the disaster when compared to his is hollow, a clever way of illustrating how two people can think of the same event so differently.

Even if the trend of filmmaking has changed, shifting from film noir and melodrama to the blockbuster and action movies, social commentary still persists throughout the media. As the world around us changes and moves forward (be it for better or worse), so does the real-life content that directors and screenwriters are inspired by. Seeing politically and socially charged movies, whether they are extremely subtle or right up in your face, helps us both cope with world events and immortalize what occurred. As if to say, ‘We were here. We saw what took place. This is how we remember it.’

#abraham polonsky #force of evil #the defiant ones #hiroshima mon amour

[beloved-judged]

The inexpressible

This is going to be a bit... fragmented.

I should say, up front, that one of my degrees is an MFA--poetry and creative non-fiction. I have a license to poet, to be abstract and playful with language, and training in recognizing the internal structure of meaning as it is presented in language use.

I also took an absolute ass load of rhetoric courses, eventually taking Greek coursework (in addition to the mandatory Latin) in order to read the texts left us by various rhetors and their historians side-by-side with their translations.

I do language. It’s a different brain than I use on the daily in programming (and in fact, they’re oppositional for some subsets of use), but I’ve proved to the satisfaction of an academic committee that I can language just fine, even convincingly.

A confluence of events today: my papa releasing a blizzard of podcasts in the last two days, re-reading Snow Crash, and a bunch of random events have lead me to spend the last few days contemplating language.

It’s going to be here because it applies to the things my papa has been talking about.

When you choose to speak, take for granted you have already lost a lot of meaning--to render a situation into language is to make decisions about what it is, how it is, and how others may understand it, all of which are bound to your individual understanding (as well as whatever social rules, ideas, etc you have absorbed, because we’re not islands.) To make those decisions is to decide what is important and relevant, what others may understand, and what you want others to understand.

And to make those decisions is to decide not just what’s included, but what is omitted. This starts the second words come into play and before it, in the language we are inculcated with.

The latest podcast my papa released is a parable about one of the founding fathers of Sufism, which I will spoil and say the moral of the story is that the presence of someone who has achieved enlightenment is just as important as any attention they might give you (and in some cases, to not give attention at all, so as not to feed the ego.)

The presence, without language--to exist within eyesight and hearing, without direct interaction.

In Snow Crash, the author plays with an old, old dichotomy: religions of the book (that is, legalistic religions which base their principles on a written text which is required to take a form which does not permit as much individual interpretation) versus cultic religions, in which enlightenment is achieved through individual experience and is not subject to being ruled or shaped by the contents of a text.

Christianity is, at best, a mixed bag by that criteria, but tends toward a religion of the book rather than a cultic religion--as it is practiced in many places, it has elements of personal enlightenment, but is checked (at least in theory) against the text of the Bible, which is considered the authority on what it is and means to be a Christian. Again, in theory. This may not be true of individual Christian groups, churches, or Christians and it does not matter if it is true. Christianity bases itself on the Bible as a general rule.

A religion of a central text, against which all things are (supposed to be) checked.

One of the most haunting reads in my rhetorical studies was The Phadreus--a dialog on the nature of rhetoric (the art of persuasion). In the book, which is arranged as a long dialog, Socrates is talking to Phadreus about the nature of language, persuasion, and what makes a good versus a bad rhetor. There is a whole section where he talks about the relationship between writing and speech in rhetoric, remarking that he does not trust writing to do what it is supposed to do (to serve as an aid to memory, to make the idea immortal). He remarks that to read and write a thing is inadequate to produce experts, and that expertise requires something more in terms of experience and inspiration.

Or to put it a slightly different way: you might be able to write down instructions on how to do a complex thing, but the instructions by themselves are not going to make someone capable of performing the task well.

And, as he remarked, all too often when we commit something to writing, we promptly cease to make the effort to remember it--remembering becomes a problem of the medium we write in.

We wrote it down, now it’s the paper’s job to remember it.

This can, as he points out in The Phadreus and elsewhere in the texts produced by Plato during that period, lead to the state where people can take their speech--that is, the things produced from their mouth--and treat it as if it does not belong to them, as if, because they are quoting, they no longer ‘own’ the words they speak, and thus are not bound to the consequence of them.

You can see an awful lot of this in white, academic, and main cultures: if I’m quoting someone else, it’s not my fault. If I am sufficiently careful to quote, I can get away with saying all kinds of things and have a reasonable expectation that I won’t be held accountable for it.

In primarily oral cultures, as a quick side note and by contrast, what you say (the promises you make) is a profound reflection of you as a person, and you will be held accountable for it. Everything that comes out of your mouth, you own, and there is no shield of ‘just quoting’ or ‘just saying’ to save you from suffering the consequences of your speech.

Magic, where it concerns speech, often appears to me to inherit from that understanding of the word. That which issues out of your mouth is a spike, affixing you to consequence, that you cannot wriggle out of.

Trusting in the written word also, as Socrates points out, tends to lead to the state where the writer thinks they have been clear, and the reader thinks they have understood, but neither are right: the written word does not lend itself to clarity, but to deceptive equivocation. The appearance of clarity, but only if both parties do not think deeply or ask much of the interaction, and part of the inability of the book to produce experts has to do with the absence of expertise and inspiration to enforce clarity.

I find that is much on my mind--where we find clarity. I have about twenty years of training in academia, in finding clarity in books. I would be hard-pressed to count how many books I’ve read, even by genre. It is where my mind is ... comfortable. A confluence of training and natural inclinations.

The experts with whom I might study to understand rhetoric, say, are dead and dust in the ground, in some cases for thousands of years. They cannot be present with me, and while there are plenty of modern scholars with whom I might study, I am unlikely to ever have the chance to do so.

There is something tied to presence, something which governs learning. In Snow Crash, which is very much propaganda for literate societies, the idea that there is a pre-verbal experience of understanding or something that defies the ability to be verbalized within literature structures, is a virus analogous to herpes: something that represents an invader of the ordered, literate body, which subverts it and irreparably harms the health of the body and the mind.

Without the book to govern thought, all is madness, and those who are trained in specific kinds of literacy (in the case of Snow Crash, technical literacy) are susceptible to a madness which burns out their ability to think and their identity, their ability to appear rational to the literate society around them. They become as individualized as an insect, which is to say that they have no individual identity.

That is where I am going--to that non-verbal place. It’s a thought that fills me with anxiety, but also with relief. I cannot touch rationality but to notice irrationality in it, the vital absences which compose the underpinning of rationality, both in language and in concept.

Language is a slippery bastard.

Vodou is a cult, by the definition of the majority religion (Christianity), and by definition in general, in that it has no centralized authority (no pope), no central dogma (a Bible, say), and relies on individual experience with the divine (in possession, inspiration, or through witnessing a possession.) It is also a community-driven religion: mutual support, mutual aid, mutual living. It has authority figures (the priests), but the authority structure is very localized. A priest is the priest for his or her temple, not for every vodouizant everywhere. Authority is recognized, but not universal.

Atop that, it is also very much an oral culture: you are absolutely responsible for your words.

In my experiences with possession so far, both partial (someone else was using my body and I could witness but not interfere) and complete (black out), it has been a place where all my literacy, all my rationality (and I used to teach logic), all the things I would call my identity, were pointless. Either gently but firmly pushed aside, or gone altogether with the rest of me. And I have never, in my experience of being partially possessed, spoken.

Moved? Sure. Expressed something? Yes. Performed feats? Yep.

Fully possessed, however, I’m told my body has done a lot of speaking.

But the literate qualities of myself, the parts writing this entry, were either absent or entirely beside the point. It is not an easy thing to flirt with the destruction of these parts of myself. It’s deeply, deeply discomforting to recognize that where I am going, I am not. Where I am going, all that I am now will be beside the point.

Existential panic, I think, is about right.

What am I, without language? What remains in those spaces?

I cannot enjoy the wine of oblivion without reaping it--I cannot enter the waters of the void in meditation and not expect to have to perform the work necessary to come back and swim it.

What words, what shapes, what law is written on me in such places?

I hope the lwa will forgive me for being afraid.

The more I see of what I will be losing, the more... frightening the cost becomes. The fear of becoming a babbling adept, the fear of losing my ability to appear rational in rational society, the loss of those years building expertise.

The loss of myself, those endlessly reflecting mirrors of structure so painstakingly cultivated, and I know my papa would say “no, not yourself. What you think you are” but it is not entirely comforting.

And if I lose this, this speaking self writing these words...

And if I lose...

I struggle at this price. Does it seem dramatic? Only because this is the bastion I have spent my life defending against the attacks of family, colleagues, and a world determined to tell me that women cannot be rational.

I have been beaten for knowledge. Repeatedly. For daring to ask questions. I have been forcibly excised from academia, because I could not find enough support to defend myself against harassment. I have given up relationships and exposed myself to constant, crippling criticism and the many cruelties of people who found my presence intolerable. I have given up meals, a bed under my head, clothes, love, children, and the acquisition of wealth to know. There has been no easy path to knowledge for me, no family poised to encourage and protect, no social matrix to provide support.

This is the next price I will have to pay. Just a pound of flesh from nearest my heart.

What will be left of me, this babbling self ironic in the drive to cage in language what ultimately dissolves it?

I do not know if I can pay it. I can only... make myself try because I will keep my word.

And because anything else will never be enough.

My love, my love, the crown of my soul, papa, patron, master--you scare me.

#vodou #language

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Castle on the Hill Chapter 1: Hyde

Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff, Thriller, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Superstition is as powerful as religion, especially to those living in the countryside. Nevertheless, the sole outsider in town fully joins in the belief of the Last Warden of the North and is insistent on protecting the only girl who accepts him yet refutes the local lore.

However, there is something in the castle on the hill.

And it hungers for something in the village below.

Someone.

You.

Author’s Note: Hello,

Indeed, I am still very much alive but have been extremely busy with university and my job. However, now that the holidays are coming up and I am on my Christmas break, I have a wee bit o’ time to write leisurely again.

I came up with this tale when I was in Cardiff in November, strolling around Bute Park and thinking of ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. And, let us be honest, I was thinking of Chan as well (though that should not come as a surprise at this point).

Regardless, hopefully you will enjoy this wee trilogy.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

Hyde / The Marriage of Man and Beast / Jekyll

Masterlist

Religion is a form of superstition, but just as powerful as the latter for it has ruled mankind in equal amounts, co-existing yet often the cause for war as well. In contemporary times, however, the belief in all folkloric creatures seems to have faded into a case for a good laugh rather than truly believing death will come at hearing the wail of a banshee or swearing the ghost of the black nun continues to haunt the ruins of the friary at which entrance she is buried. Withal, the faith in a particular mythological being has been altered time and again thanks to pop culture but, perhaps fortunately so, the origins of the legend remain remembered vividly by the people who inhabit the area the tale stems from.

The golden sunlight outlines the ruins of the majestic castle that once graced the hill outside the park, mustard and amber leaves littering the pathways frequented by strollers while the weather still permits it. Soon, winter shall conquer autumn and the rains increase in frequency. Henceforth, the days running a small café in the middle of the park is enjoyed the most when all is grand, the world frozen in a perfect seasonal frame.

‘You’re either immensely stupid or incredibly brave to run this establishment, lass.’ A cup of steaming black coffee is served to the wise old man living around the corner of the recreational ground, the white brick worker’s house providing a view on the scenery that everyone seems to fear even in the twenty-first century. Always up for conversation, Paidraigh has helped a novice independent entrepreneur almost flawlessly continue the business formerly run by one of the local women who had to stop due to health issues. He might look like a grumpy soul despising the world, but the stout figure with wise wrinkles and bushy pale beard is actually one of the kindest people residing in the wee village. 

‘How do you mean that, sir?’

‘Have ye nay heard o’ the wolf inhabiting the castle?’

‘I have heard the whispers of strange sounds coming from the ruins at night, aye, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘The word’s it’s a wolf, the spirit of the fierce Last Warden of the North to whom the castle once belonged. It’s said that once he entered the battlefield, all that would be left o’ the enemies were bloody carcasses. As if eaten by, ye guessed it, a wolf.’ Kind stone irises gain a wary glint once they wander to the edge of the sandstone terrace, noticing the heavy boot fall of the town’s most recent inhabitant. ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.’

‘Paddy, don’t be mean. Drink your coffee and leave the lad be, alright?’ A palm amiably pats a broad shoulder before tucking the serving plate under the armpit and heading back to the counter to take a new order.

And likely do more than that, knowing the newcomer.

‘Alright, fine. Just watch yersel’ around him. One wolf is more than enough for this village.’

‘Hiya, how are you?’ Before the habitual order can be placed with as few words as possible, attention is called to the deep scarlet scar running over the bridge of a big nose. ‘What did you do to get that?’

‘Bar fight.’ A soft smile is laboriously carved onto roseate lips, likely albeit clearly suppressing the memory of the scene causing the physical damage. Nevertheless, once gazes lock, the hatred is actively tried to be kept to a bare minimum and show a friendly side the reclusive does not always reveal to anyone. ‘An americano, please.’

Without speaking further, the beverage is prepared. However, as the coffee machine is buzzing while freshly grinding beans to create a perfectly brewed medium roast, the first-aid supplies stored in a cupboard beneath the counter are sought out and taken alongside the drink to the outside of the little booth. Of course, it could have been slid to the customer immediately through the window but it simply happened to unnecessarily be carried as well.

‘Here’s your americano.’ Sitting down on the empty stool across from the silent force looking on in surprise while maintaining a friendly though slightly tired tone, fingers search among the medical care items for the disinfectant and a cotton pad. The frustration wants to be kept to a minimum but it is hard to do so when this very same scene keeps repeating itself and fuels the bad image the villagers have of, in their eyes, a stranger.

Bruises and open wounds thanks to fights that were either started by one’s own volition or after provocation.

Cuts thanks to carving the wooden pillars dotting the grand park, curiously staying close to the little café and helping out at times by remaining on the grand lawn regardless of how many meters need to be bridged to get the new piece of art where it belongs.

‘I’m fine.’ The remark is clearly meant to dismiss the caregiving yet results in all but that since physical damage, no matter of what nature and source, do ignite a genuine worry for the local woodcarver.

Although the habitual resorting to sarcasm protects sincere emotions from showing. Nonetheless, it is helpful in chastising, never failing to eventually get Christopher to look like a guilty puppy while patching him up. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You strained yer knuckles too much and now they’re bleeding again.’

‘It’s but a scratch.’

‘Is what the Black Knight said before he got annihilated by King Arthur. Give me your hand, you eejit.’

‘Y/N, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s fecking not.’ A deep sigh lowers tense shoulders admitting that stubbornness will lead nowhere and thus take a soft-spoken yet still genuine approach. ‘I just want to help. Please, give me your hand.’

Howbeit reluctant, the damaged calloused palm nevertheless reaches out and comes to rest in a concerned lap as small digits wrap lightly around the wrist to keep it in place. ‘Thank you.’

The bystanders are ignored as the fresh ugly patches of broken skin are taken care of, taking great care to clean the wounds properly before bandaging them up. Withal, what cannot be ignored is the low threatening growl rolling from plush lips with every touch of disinfecting cotton. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that, grm, it really fucking hurts.’ Teeth grit, snarls and hisses alternating with the light dabs as irises shoot invisible daggers. The free hand which has yet to be treated moulds into a trembling fist trying to remain static despite the agony.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in the first place. What even was it about?’ The damage has been cleaned enough to apply an ointment and bandage the harmed knuckles, gaining the same feral reaction as before.

Notwithstanding, the silence is filled by wordlessness and primal noises, igniting an irritation at the deduction the chastisement is ignored in stubbornness. However, the assumption is counteracted when a whisper provides a muttered surprising answer that fuels a novel sort of annoyance in the mocha locks sitting on the stool. ‘Someone insulted you.’

No, it is not irritation.

Rage.

Pure fury, barely contained.

‘Me? Why?’ Puzzled by the confusing display of hatred against an absent party, locks tilt in patient curiosity waiting for the story.

‘It wasn’t really an insult. Just men drunkenly talking about how they’d show up here to surprise you and you’d be the girlfriend of one of theirs and how lucky you’d be with one of them.’ The split bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, nibbling while trying to regain a calmer composure even though it is hard when the second set of broken skin is about to be treated. ‘I couldn’t- couldn’t, fuck, that stings! I couldn’t stand the arrogant, hrm, tone and nonsense so I... I just lost it. Snapped.’

‘Christopher-’ The imminent correcting in spite of secretly being flattered by the reason that likely holds no meaning whatsoever since there is more of a patient-nurse relationship is cut short by a low snigger. ‘Hey, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I just like the way you say my name.’ Bright earthly irises set above a big nose marred by a scar likely inflicted by a knife blade are humoured, the sentiment filtering through in the gentle curve of plush lips. The playful aura makes the woodcarver appear quite boyish, a stark contrast with the pub brawler the village has cast out from the beginning.

‘Well, it’s yours, aye?’ Heated cheeks faking casualness return to the task of taking care of the other damaged hand, trying badly to ignore the sweet smile now vividly engraved into memory.

Keep it together. It means nothing. You’re more his nurse than anything else. You’re just friends, if there is any friendship at all. He simply trusts you.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘And I’m sure I don’t say it any differently than any other person.’

‘Still, I like- fuck!’ A giggle flows over into a curse when the bandage is tugged perhaps a bit too tightly to nevertheless teach the lesson of not getting into fights as often as one does. A pleased little grin cannot be suppressed, hiding the delight at the hopefully effective teaching method that will lessen the scene which is exhaustingly re-enacted over and over.

‘If you didn’t get into fights, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.’ A new cotton pad is soaked in disinfectant while throwing a cautious glance in Paddy’s direction, the old man’s lips tightly sealed as grey whiskers move ever so slightly in discomfort.

‘He doesn’t like me.’ A sombre self-aware tone sneaks into lowered defeated shoulders turned towards the old cod, gaze softening in powerlessness.

‘That’s not true.’ The seemingly misplaced remark pulls the young man’s attention, head slightly tilting to the side while irises remain strangely heart-wrenchingly grave.

If only they could know you the way I do.

‘Y/N,’ the powerful mere word is spoken as if surrender is not an option, that the truth of being disliked has to be admitted even though it does not want to be, ‘It’s obvious. Everyone’s afraid of me.’

‘The only thing they’re really scared of is the wolf up in the castle.’ Mocking local superstition, a sigh rolls from the lips setting to work on the carmine single cut running over the nose. There is no resistance this time, Christopher moving, in fact, to the edge of the stool for better access and to make cleaning the scar easier. ‘Guess I’ll hear the same uselessly worried whispers again from the customers tomorrow.’

A hand rests leisurely on the thigh for support, but is taken to come to rest on the brawler’s cheek and kept there, a content hum filling the air scented by coffee and cologne. Lashes flutter shut as mocha locks lean into the touch, almost as if falling asleep right here and now. It would be a lie to say the display does not spread an odd fuzzy warmth throughout, especially when memories of healing up close, observing wood being carved from a distance or problems with difficult people were solved in the same proximity as now resurface. 

Unfortunately, the delightful image is disrupted a second later for the jaw clenches as a low beastly rumble rises from a broad chest trying hard to remain casual as the disinfectant once again stings in the stupidly acquired cut. Irises light up in an amber flash, bearing a terrifying violent hatred that calms down immediately upon establishing a bit of distance that nullifies the intimacy. A confused heart does not know what to make of it, only that the rage that surfaced as rapidly as it disappeared never wants to be directed towards oneself. 

Still, a normal question is raised in an odd undefinable manner that rises from the fearsome wolfish attitude, voice sounding apologetical and clearly wanting to move past something as digits vaguely reach out but drop restlessly in ignorance of what to do. ‘Are you staying open much longer?’

The throat is cleared to regain composure, hardy succeeding yet enough to answer as if nothing happened. ‘Till six, as usual.’ The resumed dabbing briefly stops at the notice of an uneasy shift in weight, a panic without direct cause causing the action. ‘Why do you ask?’

Bandaged hands awkwardly occupy one another in futile twirling of cared-for fingers as the tongue staring at the sandstone is hesitant to voice what suddenly has become urgent. ‘Can you close earlier?’

‘I could but why would I?’ Feigning not having taken notice in the change of demeanour, the last straws are laid in nursing the bloody scar. The palm leaning on the knee of mocha locks, put there in an unconscious move after pulling up the unresisting chin for better access, does seem to calm the nerves somewhat as the regulation of breathing suggests.

When applying the ointment, it is entirely regular and a sigh is relieved with the company.

Only to speed up again when worriedly mentioning the legend that has the entire village spooked even in the twenty-first century. ‘The wolf.’

‘Christopher, don’t you get started as well. There’s no wolf in the castle, no spirit of the Last Warden of the North.’ Shuffling to the edge of the stool, something is attempted to be done about the split lip which has started bleeding again. ‘Your lip is bleeding. Sit still for a wee bit, will ye?’

Calloused fingers wrap firmly around the wrist reaching out after soaking a new dot of cotton in disinfectant, earthly irises ablaze with superstitious concern flowing over in pleading speech. ‘Please close the café before it gets dark.’

‘Look, it’s my business so I decide the opening hours.’ Budging results in nothing but a firmer, even painful grip. Withal, knowing the novel local woodcarver, panic does not set in as it would have had it been anyone else. Still, a meaningless glance sideways is picked up by Paddy as something which does hold significance, the stout old man already rising from his seat when a quick denying nod assures all is well. The command is tranquil yet effectively fierce. ‘Chris, let me go. You’re hurting me.’

As swift as lightning, digits unravel upon hearing the response and move away to create a distance filled by curious emotions that would hint at an intimacy going beyond what is truly present. ‘I’m sorry, he- we didn’t mean to... I- I mean, I didn’t mean to… to...’ A shivering sigh precedes a steadier repeated request, trying to move past the incident while remaining clearly doubtfully calculating of words and actions. ‘Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.’

We? He? Why are you talking like this?

‘I’ll be regardless because there’s no ghost or monster that will slink down the hill to devour me.’ The remark tries to be amusingly sarcastic but it has no effect on the outcast whose grave expression does not change, continuing to stare remorsefully at the red band around the wrists.

The shaking fingers holding soft cotton meant for healing.

Yet ends up hurting.

‘Even if you don’t believe my reason nor the villagers’, close early.’ Lashes are brave enough to look up, keep up the pleading despite being refused over and over.

Maybe I should... no, what am I getting at. It’s just a story, a myth.

‘Can we stop talking about this?’ A palm finds the courage to rise and endeavour to nurse the split lip anew. ‘Sit still and let me help you.’

But soon retracts in heart-pounding concern when unspoken consent flinches as bodies come a wee bit closer to make it easier. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Ehm,’ mocha locks confusedly and haphazardly glance around the terrace, questioning eyes flitting over the customers as a quite adorable big nose sniffs the air before leaning in to take a whiff, ‘Are you wearing perfume?’

‘No, why?’ The head buzzes with what to think of the weird gesture and unanswered inquiries about how the sudden change of topic has come about alongside the earlier talk in the third person. Brows furrow in wonder of the easiest topic for contemplation since perfume is fairly ineffective if unnecessary for the scent of coffee replaces the function on a daily basis.

‘Oh. Well- You- Never mind.’ A shadow movement forward remains just that, a hallucination without certainty. What is real, however, is the rapidity to get up and turn halfway away yet having the politeness to end the conversation by an unsettling awkward look over the shoulder. ‘I should go finish that pillar.’

‘But... your coffee?’ Christoper is already gone before the sentence can be finished, a gobsmacked offended finger pointing to the cooled cup on the counter containing liquid cold. In an instant, likely due to the great offence taken at letting such a precious gift to mankind waste away, the confusion of the chaotic farewell turns into a barista’s rage directed towards the woodcarver who has fled the scene. ‘The bastard just left the coffee to cool? That barbarian!’

The key turns in the lock, definitely closing business for the day. The moonlight falls in through the autumn leaves, casting moving shadows enhancing the dark of the dusk which has overtaken the quiet town. In the slightly clouded sky, the moon shines bright and illuminates the ruined haunted castle on the hill.

Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.

‘I am completely fine. There’s nothing out here to get me. Also, who is ‘’we’’?’ Jeering strands shake in partial self-mockery at the brief spark of fear quickly running through veins at the recollection of the wish spoken in an oddly worried tone, foolishly spooked by mere folklore. ‘And here I thought you and I were the only sane people around, Chris. Guess it’s just me.’

After a final tug on the doorknob to ensure the place is neatly closed off until the dawn, sneakers start their wading path among the fallen mustard and ruby leaves that have been shaded a hue of onyx, tiger’s eye or plum in the twilight. The wind has calmed from its fierce mannerisms, now only softly blowing among the trees densely planted in the great park.

Carrying the sound of a low rumble as it smoothes over branches.

A snarl.

In the twilight silence another disconcerting noise resonates between carved pillars and trunks.

Padding.

A faint tinkling.

Of iron.

Shackles.

No, I must be hearing things. His and Paddy’s words are just getting to my head. There’s nothing. Nothing.

Withal, the bright amber lights are no will-o’-the-wisps and the appearing fur does not appear in the adorable shape of a squirrel. There is not the faintest trace of innocence to be found in the extraordinary meeting between a gigantic wolf cuffed by a firm iron collar around its neck, the broken chain clinking loudly as it drags over the ground and creates a hideous symphony in combination with the violent low growls of the beast.

‘That’s not possible. There’s no Warden, no wolf. This isn’t real.’ Even as the words are spoken in the futile hope of regaining a sense of logic, the conviction is hardly there. In fact, it is entirely absent. ‘This isn’t happening.’

Nevertheless, the snarled warning tone is too near, the impact too tangible in nerves standing on edge in alarm to dismiss the current situation as mental trickery. Especially because the silver light reflecting off of dagger-sharp canines comes too close for comfort, sending raggedly breathing feet fleeing to the wee café a few meters away while silently praying to reach it alive.

However, every rush forwards paradoxically yields nothing to a panicked mind who can feel warm predatory breath heat the back of the brown leather jacket and slowly rise to the back of the neck. Mortified tears start to brim in the corners of the eyes, damnably obscuring vision at a time when errors cannot be made for one, be it stumbling over a fallen branch or temporarily slowing down, will mean the end.

Christopher, Paddy, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Youse were right and I’m a feckin eejit. I’m sorry. Chris, I’m sorry.

Growling grows ever closer, whispering of there being no escape because paws shall at one point do more than brush against ankles.

Rampant fingers search the pockets of jeans, cursing while feeling around the fabric for the damned key to open the lock to the safe haven.

Sneakers halt in front of the inaccessible door, still searching.

The wolf has slowed down, no longer running yet not giving up the chase now that the helpless prey has been forced into a corner. Big paws as black as a starless sky in winter pad languidly, bright eyes the colour of the pumpkin spice latte that forms the seasonal special obviously finding joy in the hunting game.

In toying with a hopeless target.

One step forwards.

One step back.

To and fro.

I can’t turn my back on it. Still, I have to if I want to get into the damned café. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

The shivering spine is frozen in place thanks to paralysis due to pure horror, though digits carefully and hopefully unnoticeable continue rummaging through pockets as they keep a close watch on the impending beastly enemy.

Where the fu- By Jaysus, there it is!

Tense shoulders lower slightly in relief when the key is found on the bottom of the right pocket, the brief second of peace of mind carrying over in an unconscious sweetly delighted sigh.

Which evidently triggers the haste to attack because the sadistic game of threats is cut short as the wolf lunges forwards at the speed of lightning.

Fortunately, sharp-fanged jaws are evaded just in time when the key is rammed into the lock, opening the blasted barrier before slamming the door shut and sealing it off once again. All the while cursing Heaven and Hell together.

Hastily, steps lead around the tiny kitchen in search of anything to barricade the door with. An effort which proves fairly futile as basically all equipment is installed in such a manner it cannot be moved and all tables and chairs are kept outside since thieves do not tend to take furniture when on a heist around here.

Or such is the sentiment with which they are stored outside.

Why, of all the times, did I store them outside? Why couldn’t I at least put one table and chair inside? There has to be something around here, there’s got to be.

The fierce longing finds a wonderful answer in the old yet glistening iron chain lock that the former owner of the establishment used before getting proper locks installed and which has been stored away in the back of one of the counters. Sneaking glances to the amber-eyed predatory shadow roaming the terrace through the window of the main counter, horrified palms reach for the sole barrier between life and death.

Flinching back while hardly suppressing mortified screaming, allowing a meek gasp to escape, when the door leading to the hunting dark rattles as if a great weight has been thrown against it in an attempt to force it open. Blood rushing in the ears of accelerated breathing on the edge of breaking down backs away from the tightly sealed entrance, putting the key that was kept inside the lock into the pocket, shivering thanks to the ice veins have turned into.

Finding safety in the corner of the kitchen, wrapping arms around the knees that have fallen to the ground without muscles and pressing tears knowing this is the end of the line into stony grey denim.

Paddy... Christopher... Chris, I’m so sorry. I wish you were here. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ye instead of being such a gobshite.

The memorized phantom of lush lips take a shivering figure soon to meet death into sturdy woodcarving arms dusted over with soft thin black hair, head resting against the secure chest that has been healed from sickly bruises, bleeding bullet wounds, fresh deep dagger scars or a combination of all. Because, despite the chastisements each time the curious artists shows up at the café in a worsened condition, there remains the recalled moments of mocha locks helping in dealing with difficult customers and men trying their futile luck by going too far. Christopher had been there at an oddly fascinated barista’s side, leaving as little distance between bodies as possible while snarling in warning of touching the boundaries of patience so desperate men would see their chances ruined and people complaining about the pettiest things would know the customer is not always king.

Day in, day out. From the moment the café opens until it closes, staying close by while creating the gorgeously engraved pillars dotting the landscape.

Sometimes even walking homewards together, wordlessly refusing to part ways before having made sure the sole girl in town not distrustful towards an “outsider” has arrived safely and only then cracking on to the personal roof. When not doing so, it is towards working places set in nature, enjoying the hush of the morning as the sun rises in the golden sky.

Hands used to meaninglessly brush against each other.

At some point, it has become a habit to hold his pinky from the moment of being picked up without an explicit arrangement until the destination is reached.

In blissful small talk or a comfortable silence.

I wish you were here. See you one last time.

But death is lonesome in the growling silence of the lush park.

#ksmutclub #Werewolf AU #Bangchan smut #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Chris Bang #Stray Kids #SKZ

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Visual Novel Review – The Expression Amrilato

I adore any work that tries to do something different with yuri, and visual novels are perhaps the medium pushing boundaries most when it comes to traditional yuri storytelling. I recently played such a visual novel, Mangagamer’s English adaptation of SukeraSparo’s The Expression Amrilato. The Expression Amrilato is an educational yuri game, focusing on teaching the player the international language of Esperanto, or Juliamo as it is known in the game’s world. The game was developed in collaboration with The Japanese Esperanto Institute and I was thoroughly excited to not only experience a cute yuri adventure but to learn something new!

The story begins when the protagonist, Rin, is transported to a mysterious parallel world. It is almost identical to her own with the only obvious differences being the language spoken and the eternally pink sky. Lost and scared, Rin frantically tries to figure out what is going on to no avail. Fortunately, she is saved by a younger girl, Ruka, who speaks a smattering of the Japanese familiar to Rin.

Soon Rin is registered as a vizitanto (the Esperanto term for visitor), a person who traveled to the world from another. Ruka, who again, is three years her junior, is established as her guardian, a dynamic Rin is somewhat embarrassed by. The two girls begin living together in Ruka’s apartment as Rin learns the basics of Juliamo. She is assisted in this endeavor by Ruka and the helpful, if somewhat mischievous, librarian, Rei.

These three women, Rin, Ruka, and Rei, are the main cast of the visual novel. By focusing on such a small cast SukeraSparo was able to give each of them a distinct personality, complexity, and intricate relationships with each other. As previously mentioned, Rei is mischievous and often pokes fun at Rin and Ruka. However, she is incredibly protective of both of them, giving advice and acting as a sort of parent to the two younger girls. This dichotomy of character works surprisingly well, especially later in the game as she reveals more about the world and her past.

Rei is excellent but the highlight of the game is Ruka and Rin. Rin is a superb protagonist. She often thinks and narrates inwardly, giving us insight into her feelings. She describes herself as pretty unremarkable but is determined to be good at one thing, learning Juliamo. She also constantly ponders and overthinks her relationship with Ruka, an incredibly complicated topic. Ruka, however, is much more quietly confident and reserve (as well as adorable). Although the younger girl is prone to pouting and frustration at Rin’s occasional stupidity. But, their relationship is the real highlight of the game. 

Rin is “freeloading” off Ruka, and as Ruka is her guardian and teacher she is subservient. However, these tables are turned at times as Rin helps to teach Ruka more Japanese. Rin is also attracted to Ruka but she often blunders attempts to navigate or explain her feelings. The main boundary here is their language difference, which compels both Rin and the player to do their best learning Juliamo.

Rei acts as Rin’s primary resource for learning about the world she has wandered into. There is a surprising amount and world-building in The Expression Amrilato, particularly around the mechanics of how vizitanto come to the world and how governments support them. The established systems for how these vizitanto exist and assimilate, or not, into the world are fascinating and incredibly well thought out. This detailed setting creates an excellent framework for both the game’s education aspects and the core romance.

Overall, the romantic plot between Rin and Ruka is nothing new, it is the same “girl meets girl, girls likes girl, they get together” plot that has been told and retold countless times in the genre. This is not to say the romance is not enjoyable. Rin’s embarrassment and fumbling attempts to control her feelings for Ruka are simultaneously adorable and hilarious. The game has some fun with cliche moments like Rin falling into Ruka and them ending in a compromised position but also has some excellent human moments between the two, such as Ruka sleeping next to Rin to comfort her. The visual novel is decently tame with a little bit of suggestive description and one non-nude bathing scene early on. The lack of service feels appropriate and the characters are still able to hold their own romantic and sexual identities, a welcome accomplishment in the yuri genre which often spends too much time focusing on girls freaking out that they like other girls.

Choices exist in the game, primarily around using the Juliamo language. However, the romance and Rin’s fate ends in one of three ways, good, neutral, or bad, according to late game choices. I strongly disliked the choices as, for the most part, they have no clear indicator of where they are going, turning the story into guesswork, which was indeed my process to find all three endings, replaying the last section over and over again. Furthermore, on some routes, the choices that most players will want to make can lock them out of the best ending. I also was baffled by the choice to not have the player’s aptitude with Juliamo factor into the ending, as you can fail every quiz and get every dialogue option wrong and this will not affect the endings at all. Fortunately, the choices that do affect the ending are late in the game, so backtracking to find your desired outcome is possible. 

The character designs and artwork are by Naruse Chisato, and she does a fantastic job. Each of the major characters looks are distinctive, with differing heights, body types, fashion sense, and proportions. I particularly enjoyed the varying outfits on Ruka and her facial expressions (especially when pouting). However, the characters often have a stiff cardboard feel to them, as they have very few poses and clash somewhat against the depth of the backgrounds. Additionally, some of the expressions, particularly on Rei, appear warped and unnatural.

The backgrounds and CG artwork, the latter of which are plentiful, are wonderful. They have a soft pastel look without ever being washed out, and the characters here appear much more at home in their environments and more animated, with cutouts frequently appearing in CGs to show action. Different art assets used in the educational scenes such as flashcards or writing on a chalkboard are excellent editions. Unfortunately, as the story takes place primarily in Ruka’s apartment and the library, the player will quickly become bored by these backgrounds and long for a change of scenery.

The voice talent matches the artwork in its high quality. This is particularly important in this game, as listening to language pronunciation is vital. The actresses easily switch between Esperanto and Japanese in a natural-sounding way. Great praise must be given to voice actresses for Rin and Ruka, Nagatsuma Juri and Uchida Shuu respectively, who convincingly stuttering and struggling over the languages their characters are learning while still being comprehensible.

Sadly, I found the soundtrack to be severely lacking. The game opens with an intro song, accompanied by animation, which was nice for a listen or two but I quickly grew tired of it. This is the most praise I have to offer the music. Most of the tracks are boring at best and at worst grate on the ears with discordant and irritating sounds. If I had not been playing the game to review it I would have disabled music after the first hour.

Finally, I cannot conclude my review of The Expression Amrilato without talking about the educational aspects and value of the game. For those of you who may not have known or have forgotten, when I am not writting about gay anime I am a teacher and spend a great deal of time studying pedagogy. Educational software can be an amazing tool for teaching, as it offers three key benefits, feedback, increased engagement, and interactivity. Using these criteria and just some of the knowledge I have gained from spending my entire life in school, although not always as a student, I examined how The Expression Amrilato teaches Esperanto.

The language is primarily taught through quiz-based learning. There are seven lessons which build on each other and the player then answers questions on. I was surprised by the variety in these quizzes, as they are not always just spouting the vocabulary word to name an object but can involve sentence and grammatical construction as well. Some of them are quite creative, such as when learning the parts of the body the player clicks on Ruka to identify the word she gives. These quizzes can be accessed independently after playing through them via the main menu and there is a Juliamo dictionary, although this is unlocked much later in the game than I would have liked.

Outside of the quizzes, new vocabulary and grammatical rules are often given and old ones reviewed, which appear as little pop-in at the side of the screen that gives pronunciation and spelling. Some gameplay sections of the visual novel have Rin complete actions that review previous lessons, such as going out shopping and needing to name the foods she buys. I enjoyed these sections in particular, as they felt more compelling to me than the quizzes ever did.

Given the criteria for education software, The Expression Amrilato does an okay but not amazing job. It does offer instant feedback, telling the player if they got a question wrong and giving them the correct answer, and has limited interactivity. However, on this front, I cannot help but wonder if the medium is holding the game back. The player never has many complicated choices or questions, and cannot write in answers or construct sentences. Instead, the quizzes and story sections are limited almost exclusively to multiple-choice selection. Engagement is probably where the game shines most, as it has a deep story and amazing art to compliment the learning.

The Expression Amrilato is a unique and enjoyable experience. The story has surprising depth, although it did little to break out of genre tropes. The game’s artwork is stupendous, giving both quality designs and backgrounds and a plethora of great CGs. The yuri romance is reliably cute and serves as a fun framework for learning Esperanto. While not pedagogically perfect, you will get out of the game what you put into it and, with a bit of work, you should walk away with some basics of the language and a big smile from those animated lesbians. 

Ratings: Story – 7 Characters – 8 Art – 9 Voice – 7 Music – 2 Education – 5 LGBTQ – 5 Lewdness – 2 Final – 7

Review copy provided by MangaGamer

You can purchase The Expression Amrilato from Steam, Mangagamer’s website, and other digital storefronts.

Mangagamer is offering free review copies to any and all educational institutes that endorse Esperanto learning.

#reviews #yuri #the expression amrilato #visual novel #mangagamer #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+ #queer #gay #anime #manga #game #video games #lesbians #girls love #gl

[hamliet]

Who Holds Destiny’s Pen?

Or, choices and destiny: the main theme of The Witcher books. 

What is destiny? Is it the Ouroborus? Are you just a tool in it? Do your choices matter?

Existentialism vs. determinism, that age-old debate. The Witcher doesn’t give a clear “yes everything is determined” or “no, nothing is” but does explore the question with nuance and ultimately, for me at least, a fulfilling answer to that question.

Destiny is hope.

It’s amusing that The Witcher is in many ways seen as playing tropes straight (as opposed to, say, Martin, whose ASOIAF deconstructs elements of the fantasy genre). But I actually didn’t think this was true; or, rather, it’s a stark oversimplification. Ciri (one of the best female main characters I’ve ever read about) is very much a deconstruction of the Virgin Mary archetype within a misogynistic world. The Witcher never revels in its misogyny, using them to titillate while also critiquing them: it straight up critiques them with nuance and empathy. 

The Virgin Mary, of course, is the woman who gave birth to Jesus in the Christian faith, who saved the world. (She too was probably only 14 or 15 when her story began, much like Ciri.) Ciri’s whole deal, in addition to being a powerful medium in her own right, is that she’s prophesized to give birth to the “Avenger” who will save their world from total calamity. Thus a five-book saga of everyone trying to control Ciri’s womb is spawned. It could be creepy if it wasn’t handled so well (it is framed really well as just as creepy and dehumanizing as it sounds, yet not in a titillating way). 

One of the main motifs, if not the main motif, of The Witcher’s choice vs. destiny question is what say women have over their bodies. It could be read politically; this isn’t exactly a political reading thereof but an examination of The Witcher’s exploration of to what extent a person can control their destiny.

Renfri is not allowed to have any say in what happens to her from birth, because Stregobor believes she is a monster and wants to find her to dissect or vivisect her. Even when Geralt is forced to kill her, he refuses to allow Stregobor to touch Renfri’s body, because her body is hers. The books bang this drum even louder than the show does, because within the books, Renfri’s history of sexual abuse is strongly highlighted. 

Renfri’s story asks the initial question: what is the lesser evil? And it’s a question The Witcher keeps asking us. If Ciri being used to have a child who will save the world from a calamity that will definitely come can definitely save this world, then why not sacrifice one girl’s wellbeing for the good of the world? 

Geralt argues that evil is evil, large or small in scale. He uses this argument against the emperor determined to marry and impregnate Ciri:

“The ends justify the means,” the Emperor said flatly. “I do it for the future of the world. For its salvation.”

“If you have to save the world like this,” the witcher lifted his head, “this world would be better off disappearing. Believe me... it would be better to perish.” 

The story then focuses specifically on childbearing and pregnancy for its three most important female characters: Yennefer, Milva, and Ciri. 

The show doubles down on this, as it depicts Yennefer telling Geralt that the root of her desire to overcome her infertility is because the choice was taken from her, and she wants her choices back. It’s a powerful statement that has its spirit carried over into the books; however, Yennefer’s infertility in the books is definitely not her choice whereas in the show it does show her making a choice; it’s essentially a side effect of her magic. Yennefer can control how she appears, can control chaos, but she cannot control her own womb, and Sapkowski writes Yennefer’s anguish over this as raw and real.

However, Yennefer does later receive a choice: to train and thereby end up adopting Ciri, or not. And she chooses to, and it’s a lifegiving decision for all. She is able to write her destiny in Ciri. 

Women’s rights to control their own bodies is most blatantly brought up with Milva. She finds herself pregnant on the road and has to decide whether to keep it or have an abortion, and the emphasis is clearly on the fact that it is her choice regardless of what she decides.

‘In Nilfgaard,’ Cahir said, blushing and lowering his head, ‘such matters are determined solely by the woman. Nobody has the right to influence her decision. Regis said that Milva is determined to take the… medicine. Therefore I think of this fact as accomplished. And the consequences of this fact. But I am a foreigner and not familiar with… I should not have spoken at all. Forgive me.’

‘For what?’ the troubadour said with surprise. ‘Do you think of us as savages, Nilfgaardian? As primitive tribes, adhering to shamanic taboo? It is obvious that only a woman could make such a decision, it is their inherent right!…’

Geralt then faces a choice to help Milva make her own decision for herself, not for what she thinks she should do or because everyone else wants one thing or the other. And he steps up as a dad figure to her, becoming vulnerable with her when he discusses things he has lost in life. It’s through his empathy that Milva feels free to come to her decision: she decides to keep the baby after all..

...only to lose the baby in a later battle. So, did her choice matter or did destiny rip her choice away? Is destiny itself the monster?

It matter because it was the fact that Milva made that decision. She mourns for the loss of her baby (which gets to The Witcher’s themes about how, if you love someone, you will inevitably end up hurt, but if you don’t, you will be less and less human). This is further compounded by how Milva’s decision mirrors Geralt’s and Yennefer’s, because after the loss of her child she acts as a mother-like figure for several in the company (for example, when she forces Geralt and Cahir to stop fighting). She is able to save and protect them, to die defending life as opposed to the life she’d lived taking it.

As for Ciri, she deconstructs the Virgin Mary archetype and the lamp character trope (a trope in which you could replace the character--usually female--by a lamp and nothing would change). Everyone’s trying to find her. Everyone wants to use her. But she’s not a lamp. Emhyr, elves, mages, Vilgefortz--they all want to arrange for Ciri’s son to be someone who will represent their interests.

Even when characters aren’t trying to get Ciri pregnant, you have Bonhart (a villain who’s basically what would happen if you combined Delores Umbridge and Ramsay Bolton in a Petri dish) who treats her like an animal and forces her to be a gladiator. Not to mention Mistle straight-up assaults Ciri (I know the author didn’t intend for it to read that way, but honestly, I’m confused as to where the ambiguity even would come from; it seemed very blatant to me). Everyone’s trying to use her, refusing to give her her own choices, and refusing to care about how she feels, which brings us back to what Geralt says to Emhyr which I cited earlier: 

If this is what it takes to save the world, if the world is required to be evil and torment a girl and subject her to all kinds of abuses, is the world itself--evil in what it will do to spare itself--worth saving? 

Hence, is the concept of destiny a curse? How can it be, when destiny says Ciri is bound to Geralt and this turns out to be positive? Yet also says Ciri will have a child who will avenge the world against some calamity, but the ramifications of this almost destroy Ciri’s life. 

Destiny seems, therefore, to be what people make of it. It can turn you into a monster or a legend or perhaps both, but your choices are what make destiny, destiny. You hold your own pen. 

Which isn’t to say that the story relies on “good victim, bad victim” in how people who make bad choices suffer, because it does not. The point is that we understand what makes someone make the choices they make, regardless of if they’re feared emperors like Emhyr or murderers like Renfri or lost children like Mistle. Empathy, really. It’s hard to outright condemn any character (less so their actions) for making the choices they make. Empathy is what enables our characters to transcend their broken world, to hope and choose better. Except Bonhart. We can all hate him.

You hold destiny’s pen, but empathy and compassion give you the ink, and when you don’t get it, the pen is good for nothing but use as a weapon. 

Destiny is hope, as Philippa concludes in the end, and empathy is what brings legends about--relating to the struggles of those who came before (yes, The Witcher gets very meta in Lady of the Lake). And hence, while the ending leaves a lot of questions out in the open, I think the open-endedness really affirms the story’s core themes. The point is that Ciri has choices about whether or not she wants to conceive a son and whom with, if anyone. She’s free in a new world, able to return to her old one if she wishes, or not to. She gets to decide what’s on her next page.

To an extent, the reason I felt the more tragic endings kind of worked in The Witcher is because even when the characters’ arcs end in tragedy, they tend to get what they want. Ciri got her parents in each other’s arms, Cahir got to see Ciri again as the adult he dreamed (literally) of, Angoulême got to matter, Regis’s legacy is one of salvation rather than death, Milva found belonging, Yennefer got to become a mother, and Geralt found out how very, very human he was. Hell, Emhyr even made a choice to honor his word. The story doesn’t glorify tragedy or death (the opposite: this attitude is directly called out multiple times in Cahir and Geralt’s arcs), but neither does it imply that death is the loss of hope.

In the end, regardless of how their arcs ended, each of our beloved characters’ hopes were fulfilled.

I have several more metas I want to write, most notably on Ciri and Cahir’s foiling, as well as Ciri’s and Renfri’s, and the Rats vs. Geralt’s company.

#the witcher #the witcher meta #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #renfri #milva #maria barring

[pathos-logical]

One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56​ with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium. 

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

 Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

… 

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once. 

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know 

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

 Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-” 

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my writing #a whole dictionary of love letters

[cosmicallynightmarish]

Important Notes on the Speaking of Nightmarish Visions:

I will publish this on my own blog, now; it developed into something quite long yet again, and so I will save our eyes the pain of reading ramblings italicised.

Adding on to my last post, though not in a way that requires that be read to understand this post, I have a few things to say on the speaking part of Nightmarish delving. Advice on a word to begin, more generally, then, on the importance and practice of always speaking. As I said, this is quite long, so I shall put it neatly under here.

There is a checklist of sorts at the bottom regarding things to look for in visions, one that may be of use to anyone seeking visions. In fact, if you can distill the essence of universal eyes from the blood of the Nightmare, this may all be of some use.. But I am here to talk of my experience with Them. After all, what are Nightmarish visions, but potent mixtures of information to be dissected and rearranged into useful knowledge? Apart from pure fun, of course.

Advice, yes.

First, to get it out of the way, the thought that sparked this post: Do not label things “incomprehensible”, simply speak on as much as you can, chase the ropes as far as you can possibly go, until you hit a wall of absolutely no information. It more than likely will not lock the gate in front of you if you do label things as such, at least not permanently, but it may very well prevent you from progressing. All that there is can eventually be comprehended by the mind since we all exist beyond this human brain. If another human can sustain consciousness and project themselves into the Astral, then you are able to wrap your mind around the deeper Nightmarish concepts. It will take time, but to label things as off-limits is to deepen the divide between you and the truth. It is better to stop talking, or make note that what you wrote may be off, than to say “No, I cannot do this, the information is impossible to ever understand.”

Second, to get back to the more general advice: When it comes to speaking, every detail is important, every detail speaks of something. Like reading tarot cards, if you find that you cannot decide or distinguish two details from one another, there is a large chance that there is a reason behind it that is not related to your skill. Tarot cards may be not obviously or definitively picked from the bunch, may be hard to distinguish between which card you should and you should not pull out, and that may mean that they are similar cards, give similar emotional responses, etc., or it could mean that the deck is reflecting your own or your client’s inability to express yourself, and so on. Simply put, tarot cards refusing to come out easily may mean that the information they represent is refusing to come out easily, not that you are not skilled enough to pull them. In the way of visions, take as an example seeing a figure whose hair is hard to distinguish from the rest of the house they are in, which would be seen in the background. Is their hair really the colour of rich wood, or are you simply not seeing correctly? Is your vision filling in a blank where the hair should be with the background's colour? Write it down regardless: “I cannot distinguish their hair from the background, because they seem to both be the same colour, and there is no line between them.” Note that that line is three pieces of information, not one. It gives you the indistinct/ill-defined/not entirely present nature of the person, it gives you the hair colour, and it gives you the fact that there is a specific connection between their hair and where they are. There is a high chance that it is shown to you like this on purpose in the vision to say, for instance, that this person is in a state of Communion with the world, that they are not fully attached to lucidity, that they have a deep connection to this house, that they passed before what you are seeing took place - and as such are supposed to be dissolving into the background - and so on. Just like tarot cards will give you the wrong card if you understand it in a way that gets the information across, such as giving the Death card to mean literal death to someone who believes it means such and will not look it up, the Nightmares do not only give you clear, explicit information. It is more important that you get the complete message, even if the means through which you get it is seemingly incomplete. The gaps in the Nightmare of Mensis speak in absence, your visions will too.

You do not need to dissect and label all the information now, you do not need to understand why the hair blends with the background, you do not need to "get it", you need to be the medium through which your future self may see what you have seen. A vision with a lacking detail has diminished worth, and, if it is lacking a key detail, it can be literally worthless. There is no worth to a vision of “a man within a house, wearing white robes”, when you come back to it and that is all you have to go off, but there is worth to a vision of “a man in a house, wearing white robes, whose head is blank of any details (or perhaps I cannot see them) and whose hair is as rich as the wood around him, specifically the wood beams, not the house itself, almost as if his hair were the wood itself. He is not fully defined beyond his white robes, as his hair, the other vibrant detail of this vision, is blurred into the background; only his robes seem to actually be in the picture.” The first example is a man in robes a house, something utterly mundane and quite common for Yharnam, nearly worthless information by itself. The second example is someone who is connected to wood, possibly trees, who is likely not present in the scene literally, and whose white robes seem to have more of an impact on the world around him than he himself does - likely, that means whoever he was personally is gone now or simply less important, and whatever group those robes were from and whatever outward acts he performed in those robes (or for the cause they represent) has lingered strongly in the world. It also tells me that if I see another image of someone whose hair is blending into the background, that they are somehow related and a key may lie in their intersection, and that if I see another person in white robes with that colour hair, they may be the same person.

Third, carrying on from that: Visions will not last forever. There is a sizeable chance that you will retain images you receive from the Nightmares, to a certain extent, after they are witnessed. However, like all memories, they are destined to fade. Even if they weren’t going to fade, once you begin to have similar visions or visions of the same place and people, they will begin to get muddled within your mind’s space; and if you begin to explore what you have seen in your mind - by walking through it or dissecting it - or in art through putting it to paper, those explorations can, and likely will, overwrite the original visions. That is not even mentioning the fact that some visions are on loan to you, and will be taken back once you have received the message or moved away from that connection, something that has happened to me numerous times, making it so you can no longer see any of what you were shown. Oh, and things that aren't meant to be spoken can be wiped from your mind if you attempt to speak them publicly whilst receiving them. Again, something I have experienced. Incidentally: You need not take this as a terrible thing, a failure, sometimes this is but the only way They can ask you to keep it quiet. Continuing on, your records of visions are your library of Nightmarish information, are your personal reference book for Nightmarish symbolism surrounding every entity and every place and every concept, and there is no use to incomplete records in the Nightmare. The knowledge that you saw a pentagram vividly is nearly useless compared to the knowledge that you saw a pentagram vividly when you looked at a picture of the Moon. The Nightmare is symbolic and richly layered, and as such, one missing detail can render something absolutely worthless. Do not panic, now, because even I get perhaps half the details - and I am the one writing this post, as if I were some authority - but the best thing you can do is write down everything. Take this post not as a warning, not as something negative, but a long, long reminder that “I will remember this, I do not need to write it down” is said by all, and works for none. I am of the Shards, we do like to extend talk.

So, all that is well and good, but what do you write down? An example checklist of sorts follows, not everything here needs to be checked off, and your own intuition will tell you what you do not need to write down, but if you struggle with identifying information to be written, this may help:

Context:

What were you looking at when you saw this, or before you saw it?

Was it brought about by listening to a certain song, or watching a video, or hearing a bell, or something similar? Check the name of the song (if it was a song), on the off chance it is related.

If it is caused by staring at something too long, leaving lights that morphed into something different, what was it that was originally burned into your retinas? I have seen text form into lines on water, an image that was very significant in a channelled vision of the Moonside Lake, for example. This is not always relevant, but may be, either now or in the future.

If you see something significant upon returning to reality, such as a related post here on Tumblr as soon as you are done, note that down.

Your Feelings:

Is there unease in the scene? Does it feel celebratory, awkward, uncomfortable, happy, peaceful, etc.? “I feel like I’ve walked into a room where everyone was awkwardly silent”, “the house itself feels like it is looking at me, and I shouldn’t be here”, “the river feels like it is mourning”

Speaking of - should you be looking? Is anyone looking back at you? Someone looking at you is vital information, indicative, possibly, of their Communion. “I feel as if I shouldn’t be in this place”, “I feel someone looking to me in the crowd, and if I turn around, there is someone who stopped walking to look right at me”

Do you know this person/place/thing personally? Are they familiar? - “I feel like I know them from somewhere”, “they remind me of my father”, “I feel like I would’ve gotten along with them as a child”

Are you present in the scene, either in an external body you can see in the scene or looking through your own eyes in your body? “I see myself/myself in a past life on the floor over there”, “I feel like I am a small spider on the wall looking down”

On feeling as if you shouldn’t be there: Do not continue looking if it is a serious enough feeling. Genuine apologies, if someone has spotted you, spoken through the vision to them before you leave will likely go a long way. People in crowds, anyone looking towards you with wonder, etc., likely should not be spoken to, but you may nod or otherwise present a calm and loving energy, it is up to you. They are quite possibly waking up and beginning to see presences in the world, and as such will likely be seeing just a glimpse of you or your energy or such, it is fine. When you approach certain people to gain information on them, however, and they stop you or you feel you have stepped into a room with them, that is the time to back out and apologise. I have made a post on this here, but to give a quick example: I would avoid looking at the Queens, Great Ones, and the Nightmares' consciousnesses directly, as these are near-guaranteed to see you looking at them. People in Communion, and the Nightmares Themselves, as well as things that live or otherwise dwell in the Subcutaneous/sub-Lucid Layers.

People:

Can you tell how old they are? “I think this is Master Willem, but he is unrecognisable in how young he is”, “this is something that took place in Bloodborne, but this person is much older/younger in this vision than they were in canonical content”

How are they feeling? Right now, but also in general? “They feel like they have been on a downward spiral”. “they feel like they are close to giving up”, “there is a sense that they are close to snapping violently in this scene” “it feels as if their fist is clenched tight, though I am not sure with what emotion”

Are they real, a lucid person, or are they an illusion? “They feel like background figures in a dream”, “two people stand out in the crowd as real, while the rest look more blurry”

Do you know who this is? Are they a person you are familiar with, a character, a deity, for example? “This person looks nothing like them/a bit different to them, but I am quite sure they are _____”, “this human figure feels like (inhuman character)”, “this is ________ as a child”

Are they human? Are they changing form? 

Are they presenting in this vision in one way so that you recognise them or learn something about them, when in reality they are not this form?

Is someone motioning to something, or outright trying to show you something?

Lacks of Detail:

Is someone having thoughts or emotions regarding something or someone else in or outside of the scene?

What is their expression like? Oftentimes I will be given a separate vision that is just their face to see the expression, not necessarily congruent with the original vision, perhaps a different expression entirely, but it speaks to their mental state or hidden feelings.

Speaking of, if you see a separate vision of their face, are they haloed by anything such as robes, hoods, and so on? This is also a good opportunity to look at their hair, for anything like freckles or unnatural skin, scars, etc.

Is anyone half present, blurred into things?

Is anyone lacking a face? A body part?

Is there a solid floor, are there solid walls - including behind you? “This place appears to be real, but it feels like behind me is just a long tunnel into the Nightmarish depths”

Is something supposed to be there, but it is absent? “There should be a key here, I feel, but there’s nothing there”, “this is the Grand Cathedral’s altar, but there is no skull upon it”

Uncertain Detail:

Is a detail, such as stars, difficult to pinpoint, as if it may be on two different things at once? “I can’t tell if there are stars reflected in the lake or if they’re just waves”, “the fire seems like it may be surrounding the person, or it may be inside their silhouette symbolically instead”

Is it hard to tell which of two (or more) things is in front of the other? 

Does someone feel as if they’re walking out, or otherwise wanting not to be seen? “There’s a silhouette here with less detail than everyone else, and it keeps fading away”

Environmental:

Is there a part of someone or something that could be two different things at once? “I can’t tell if their hair is sticking up or they have horns”, “I’m not sure if they’re holding a staff or a snake”, “the chalice could be either on a table or a decoration on the wall”

Is something changing when you look at it, or when you try to see or judge it? When you address it perhaps? When you say that it is one thing, and therefore it changes into something else?

What time is it? Does time even exist here? “This place feels detached from linear reality”, “the sky seems to say this is sunset, but it is descending into an unnatural time/something unnatural”

If you are listening to music now, in reality, do any of the voices or sounds feel as if they are a part of the scene?

On that, is there any music or sound coming from the scene itself? Laughter, external carriages driven past, music (happy? Sad?), babies or children making noise, crying?

If there are sounds, can you pinpoint the source? Does it feel like it is coming from someone lucid, or from the Nightmares Themselves? “I hear crying, as if the Nightmares were weeping for them”, “there is laughter coming from someone walking in the walls”

Basically, it boils down to this: If you feel it, write it down. If you feel you’re intruding, write it down. If you feel like the wall behind you doesn’t actually exist, or that there are horses outside, or that every star in the sky is staring at something despite not having eyes, or the air feels heavy, or that you are a family member of someone you’re seeing despite not knowing them in reality, that the Red Moon is present despite not being there in Bloodborne, that you are with someone you have never had a connection with looking at something utterly absurd.. Write it, it is all useful. Just do not write that you cannot understand something definitively or that it is incomprehensible. “Incomprehensible” is a great big brush for a piece of art that is to be made of intricately small words: It is to be used only when you are absolutely certain it is needed, and, even then, it likely is not, not unless you are painting the background upon which you wish to transcribe the tiny details.

These questions - this checklist, the ever-looming need for More - can become overbearing, heavy, too pressing. I'll put my answer to that fact like this: There is a reason I do this. When you begin addressing, you begin seeing. When you realise that person in the house in those white robes may be blurring into the house itself, suddenly, you realise it isn't simply you, he has no face. You realise he has no face, and suddenly, you feel something odd, he feels as if he has no face because he is slightly.. Disillusioned. With what? What is he doing in this house like that? Well, he seems like he has to be here. You realise he feels disillusioned, and suddenly you are aware that that is why his robes stick out so much, he is presenting them to cover something - oh, no, that is wrong, it is not pretention and pretend, he is trying to cover something up not to trick, but like bandages cover a wound, cover shifting skin. What is he hiding? Well, that will be yours to uncover. I have rather invented my own vision here, but I have woven it with what I know of this figure, and who that figure is will be your information to discover. When you shed light upon a scene you shall see more, luckily for us, Light and Consciousness are the same, at least in terms of what the game suggests.. It is all a great game of pulling at strings. Be as a cat, revel at the way the yarn unwinds and extends then splits into more strings then more strings again, then be as your owner and roll it up neatly and away for your records. Endless fun. All for free.

#.black ink scrawls #Bloodborne: Writings #Bloodborne: PCP Writings