#--in some kind of Distorted form ...

[throughpatchesofviolet]

One thing that I never mention is just how much influence Moriarty has over Sherry--I have imagined her encountering him throughout Limbus Company's story many times, and it's really hard to describe the way he makes her feel ...

She's of course angry at him and wants to take revenge for what he did to Watson, but she does also have this nagging fear of him, too. Yes, there's the fear of him hurting the Sinners, since they're her friends, but there's also this lingering fear of knowing she could be just like Moriarty--it's the classic ''you and I, we're the same'' trope for the hero and villain. The key difference between these two is that Sherry, despite her claims, does care about others, and has developed meaningful relationships built on trust, while Moriarty views his subordinates as pawns that he can command as he sees fit.

But, since I imagine Sherry heads out alone to face Moriarty in her Canto (at first, that is--I have plans /lh), it's very easy for him to get into her head by pouncing on her decision to come along and drilling in his belief that she doesn't trust the Sinners and Dante enough to help her defeat them. That Sherry can only truly depend on herself, and no one else. And, though this is untrue, his words would be enough to make her falter, because ... well, he's right, in a way. Sherry has a very hard time trusting people after the one person she loved most was killed because she trusted him.

So, sure, she can say she went off alone because she wanted to keep the Sinners safe from Moriarty, but is that really the truth? It may appear she's thinking of them, and putting their well-being first, but isn't she truly doing this so she doesn't get hurt again? Or is it because she wants the satisfaction of bringing Moriarty down herself, without the others trying to intervene and stop her? Does her vengeance--the justice she feels she deserves--matter more to her than her friends?

That, I feel, would be her lowest point. The moment that her deepest fear has been realized--that she and Moriarty are the same.

[grumpyoldsnake]

One of these days. One of these days, I will figure out what the hell makes the tipping point beyond which either a) there’s socialization that I feel insulated from and kind of numb about and too tired to pursue, or b) socialization where the very notion of so much as expressing one (1) internal thought or emotion suffuses my whole body with adrenaline and blaring Nope instincts.

[antlerpunk]

thoughts on sound design and Divinity in ultrakill

[nomaishuttle]

comparison (new on left old on right)

[29121996]

.

[eggueggueo]

Shadowvanilla in Dungeons & Dragons...

Que me yapping under the notes

I would like to say, uve created a special kind of brainrot in my mind with this ask

Ive wanted to write a whole fic off this now with how much it inspired me gjcjch

For now though, have this! Im still drawing the outfit designs for them (smilks is done but pv is taking foreeeever) but i really wanted to do something silly in the meantime hehe

I thought for days how to approach this idea since the ask was pretty vauge and open to a lot of interpretation (/not complaining!!) And pulled inspiration from bg3 since thats one form of dnd im familiar with. Then i thought about the owlbears in the game and that itd be silly to draw something related to it (even though idk how to draw animals at all ☠️)

Now onto info for this au!!

For the setting, initially it takes place in ep7/8 ish (since atp 8 hasnt come out but its gonna be hella canon divergent anyways so shrugs) where pv and smilks have their final confrontation. Pv wins, but takes pity on smilks and spares him. Smilks in a fit of desperation and delirium, tries one more trick to beat pv, but it backfires terribly and both their magic (since they pull from the same soulgem) does some weird wombo combo effect reaction which alters time and space and! Poof they both get pulled into the rift/distortion

When they wake, all that they experienced (in their canon world) is like a strange dream. I wont say more since id like to elaborate and explore the idea more

And erm,,,it might change a bit since the ideas are still being worked on

But!!

Pure vanillas class is a cleric (shocker) and shadow milks class is a sorcerer

Its a running gag in my head that everytime shadow milk tells someone hes a sorcerer, they look him up and down and say, "your....a sorcerer?? You dont dress the part"

To which he will roll his eyes in annoyance and tell them, "their clothing is too boring to wear!"

[99thpercentile]

places where the audio distorts

image ids under the cut

tmagp 4:

tmagp 5:

tmagp 7:

tmagp 8:

the audio distorts when people lie.

I imagine this knowledge will come in handy later.

[id: ALICE: This is not something you go poking around in. Not if you want to keep your job… or your neck. SAM: (a little amused) Okay, okay! I get it. Consider me scared straight. "Consider me scared straight" is highlighted. end id]

[id: LENA: Now, while I understand your concerns, you need to understand that Colin has held the IT Manager position for some time without incident, and although he is somewhat… frustrated with his current assignment, he can request help from the central IT team at any time. I am certain that should he find his responsibilities unmanageable, he will request assistance. Or resign, of course. Either way, the problem will resolve itself. "Or resign, of course" is highlighted. end id]

[id: CELIA: Is there any way to look up specific files? ALICE: Like what? CELIA: Oh, I don’t know. Every case about… being buried alive, or meat, or… whatever. ALICE: Well, there’s a search bar, but it doesn’t actually do anything. You’d have to dig through them all manually. (suspicious) – Why do you ask? CELIA: Just figuring it all out. Ah well, I guess I’ll need to find Bigfoot on my own time. "Just figuring it all out" is highlighted. end id]

[id: GERTRUDE: I see. Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think Gerry can help you – GERRY: (casually) Yeah, I barely remember any of it. "I don’t think Gerry can help you" is highlighted. end id]

[id: GERRY: Oh yeah, but I was pretty young. I remember filling in a bunch of forms and questionnaires, then some old men asking me questions about what books I liked to read, who did I look up to, that kind of thing. And then I left. SAM: (disappointed) That’s all? GERRY: Yeah, afraid so. Other than just sitting around with a bunch of other kids in a room that smelled like old books. "Yeah, afraid so" is highlighted. end id]

[id: CELIA: I’m trying to look into… Weird physics stuff: time travel, other dimensions, teleportation, all that good stuff. Freddy doesn’t really do searches, so you could keep an eye out and let me know if any come up in your cases? SAM: Uh, sounds a bit sci-fi compared to our usuals. What’s this for? (amused breath) You’re not doing research for that podcast you were on, are you? CELIA: (surprised) You know about that? SAM: I might have given you a quick Google. CELIA: Then… yeah. I’m doing a favor for Georgie. "yeah. I’m doing a favor for Georgie" is highlighted. end id]

[brujaluas]

How you imagine your relationship? How it will actually be?

Pile 1

how do you imagine the relationship

you imagine your next relationship being something very traditional, calm and serene, the kind you see in romance stories, getting to know each other in a traditional and old-fashioned way, without social media, as if you were walking down the street or at a public event and your eyes met with your loved one and you would never be apart again, a poetic relationship (cute, I'm not kidding you okay)…

how it will really be

(even I'm curious now)

intriguing, I see it being a 360 degree turn, like, you're going to meet someone or to meet someone, you need to abandon this idea of ​​how you imagine your next relationship. I see a cycle ending, maybe it's like "before I liked bad boys and now I want someone with a nerdy style" (just an example), the person you're going to be in a relationship with will change your perception of what you want in a relationship a lot, it's a very different person from what you imagined, as I said, it will change your perception about relationships and your ideal type a lot.

Pile 2

how do you imagine the relationship

do you imagine your relationship with someone older, a mature person who has lived a good life, hm, worrying, some here, in fact the vast majority, think that a relationship is a type of sacrifice, where you have to give a lot of yourself, and that it is normal for some things in a relationship to hurt, really, I also think that loving is painful, it doesn't matter if it is a healthy or reciprocal relationship, loving someone is being vulnerable and being vulnerable in the world we live in is something really insane, but I don't think it is a sacrifice, sometimes it is, but I feel that many of these people ended up growing up living alongside toxic couples and this ended up causing you a distorted view of a relationship, marriage (we are talking about marriage here), like, loving is painful (at least for me), but it is not normal to give up everything you wanted in life for the sake of a relationship or going to bed crying every day, you don't need to marry an older person, or live a relationship like that, you don't need to be like your parents, or couples.

how it will really be

hm, system failure someone messed up here, haha ​​just joking and trying to relax you!

But look, I don't see a relationship with another person in a future for you, I see you very lost in your own mind, in your own illusions, in your own imaginations, and you will have a relationship, but it will be with yourself, you will work a lot with your feminine energy, you will take care of it, and be lucky in that, there is a song that I really like that goes like this "neither for you, nor for anyone, I will NOT give up my plans, I want to know much more than my 20 years", this song resonates so much with you! There is no problem at all in being a single person, don't outsource yourself! (some of you here came from restrictive families)

Pile 3

How do you imagine your relationship

Similar to pile 2, if you want to read it, well, imagine your relationship as a form of duty, it is a duty to be in a relationship or marriage, I did this reading without thinking much about marriage, but this energy came through a lot, you imagine your own relationship and relationships themselves as something difficult, laborious, and with difficult conversation, it is as if to have a relationship for you in your perception you need to isolate yourself from everything and everyone and live only for the sake of this relationship, wake up my dear, it is 2025!!!

How will it really be?

Hehehehehehehehehehehehe

That is interesting!

You will meet a person with a very strong masculine energy and will be a very lucky person in life, smart, in fact, they have learned how to be lucky, how to make life give them luck, they will be faithful and companionable people, and your guardians, like bodyguards, you will realize that your vision of relationships could be a little debugged, like, in this relationship that you will have, this person will be an excellent friend and companion, I see a lot of a vibe of best friends more than lovers, but I will not lie, it is as if it were a platonic relationship not platonic, anyway, whatever the dynamics or nature, this person will show you that having a relationship is not the same as you imagine, will show you that it can be very positive to cultivate this…

[genderkoolaid]

The report titled Unseen Battle claimed that “within the worldwide rights movement of the transgender community, it is seen that the visibility and the representation of transgender male community is comparatively lower to the transgender female community. Sri Lanka is not immune to this phenomenon. It is seen that the transgender male community shows reluctance in identifying themselves as ‘transgender male’. This also reflects on their participation in the common platforms created for the LGBTIQ+ community in Sri Lanka. This has immensely contributed in creating a void of the transgender male community within the LGBTIQ+ movement in Sri Lanka.” Instead of taking this claim for granted, it is worth critically looking at it to demystify several widely held beliefs concerning transgender men and their involvement with the transgender movement. When this assertion is being considered at face value, it seems accurate to conclude that transgender men experience a lack of visibility and their representation may be less common in comparison to that of transgender women. But the report overlooks the fact that meaningful involvement is not synonymous with omnipresent visibility or representation. Taking into account the Sri Lankan context, transgender males have contributed significantly to the LGBTIQ+ rights movement and that contribution is something that should not be trivialised. Transgender men have given their blood, sweat and tears to build the transgender rights movement in this country. This can be substantiated by both forgotten and unforgotten individuals who were involved in initiating the transgender movement. For example, the organising of transgender individuals goes back to 2002/3 and it was transgender men who first formed an informal group in Kandy, which eventually evolved into some of the current transgender rights organisations that we find today. This group of transgender men took the first step to negotiate with the country’s state medical establishment to set up transgender clinics at a time when the mere term transgender was simply alien and unheard of. One of this network’s most prominent founding members was Thenu Ranketh; along with S. Silva and a few others, they went on to establish the first ever transgender rights organisation in the country, Venasa Transgender Network. These transgender male activists also played an instrumental role in bringing the Gender Recognition Certificate into effect in 2016. It is a pity that many research reports written on the transgender community that claim to be giving a voice to an underrepresented community deliberately turn a blind eye to the history that is worth bringing to the fore.

It is evident in this kind of report that the history of the transgender rights movement and the contribution of transgender men to it has not been sufficiently documented but rather has been erased. Unfortunately, it shows that the narratives of the transgender rights movement and the contribution of transgender males to it have largely been erased and distorted at the hands of those at Colombo-based NGOs that work for LGBTIQ+ rights. They continue to hold the power to control the narratives of the transgender community. The Unseen Battle report forgets to explain why, despite the transgender male community forming autonomous groups as early as 2002/3 – long before some other groups started organising – its visibility and representation remain relatively low unlike some other groups within the LGBTIQ+ community. Therefore how fair is it to say that the transgender male community shows reluctance to identify themselves as transgender male without referring to circumstances that make their visibility and representation marginalised in the context of LGBTIQ+ rights activism? The situation analysis did not probe into what might have been the causes of marginalisation faced by transgender men or circumstances that keep them on the periphery. In talking about the low representation and marginalisation faced by transgender men, one cannot and should not ignore the factors that caused that marginalisation in the first place.

[teine-mallaichte]

Let's talk hallucinations in whump/general fiction.

So first off full disclosure, I have schizoaffective disorder - think some bits of bipolar and some bits of schizophrenia kind of squished together, and as such hallucinations are a BIG part of my general existence.

Definition: A hallucination is a perception of a sensory experience—such as sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch—that appears real but is created by the mind and lacks an external stimulus.

Now, I see a fair few "hallucinations" type prompts in whump events, and just generally within the whump community, and I see a LOT of auditory hallucinations type prompt fills - mainly in the form of malevolent whispers - and ye that's a thing, but there are so many other hallucinations.

The thing is hallucinations can effect literally any sense, not just hearing - though I will add that auditory is usually regarded as the most common.

this is a long post so I am going to put a cut here... below the cut is exploration of the tyoes of hallucination, the causes and a bit about insight.

So, I thought it could be "fun" to explore a few in a post. Lets explore the 5 "main" senses first:

Auditory Hallucinations

Description: These are the most common type of hallucinations. They involve hearing sounds that are not present. The sounds are hear as if they are coming from somewhere external to the body. So in my case I have a few of these, but my main one is a voice who is with me even when I am in meds (another good point there for anyone who wants to use mental illness in their fics even in meds we can do have symptoms). This voice has a name and most of the time he just sorts off passes comments about things and people around me, like a sarcastic narrator and it sounds like he is standing just behind me.

Common Examples:

Malevolent Whispers: Insidious voices that might threaten, taunt, or belittle you.

Hearing Music: Melodies or songs playing that no one else can hear. For me this kind of sounds like someone is playing a radio in a different room.

Environmental Sounds: Hearing footsteps, doors creaking, or other sounds suggesting someone else is present.

Command Hallucinations: Voices that instruct or suggest (its not always ademand, sometimes more subtle and manipulative) you to do certain things, often with a compelling and distressing sense of urgency.

Less used examples:

Kind/supportive hallucinations: Voices that are encouraging, reassuring and supportive.

Distortion: Rather than sounds with no origin hallucinations that disort or warp actual sounds/voices changing the meaning, making it as if the TV or Radio is addressing you personally, making it sound as if a friend is threatening you.

Fun fact: it actually is possible to have a two way (sort of) conversation with a hallucination - I know I do it relatively often. It will be different for everyone, but fo me its a bit like having a conversation on a bad phoneline, yes the voice will respond but often its almost as if he hasn't fully heard what I said - or is ignoring key points. I can do this both outloud and "in my head".

Visual Hallucinations

Description: Visual hallucinations involve seeing things that are not present. These can range from simple shapes and flashes of light to detailed images or scenes. They often appear as if they are in the physical world and can be very convincing.

Common Examples:

Shadowy Figures: Seeing indistinct, shadowy forms that may move or appear to watch the character.

Distorted Faces: Perceiving familiar faces as grotesque or altered in frightening ways.

Apparitions: Full-bodied figures that may interact with the character or appear menacing.

Lights/sparkles: The whump community seems to very much enjoy lights and sparkles, especially in drugging.

Less Used Examples:

Intrusive Visuals: Images of disturbing or graphic nature that suddenly appear in your line of sight.

Perceptual Distortions: Objects appearing to warp, change shape, or color in unnatural ways.

Double Vision: Seeing multiples of objects or people, creating a confusing and disorienting experience.

Scenery Shifts: The entire environment changes, making you believe they are in a completely different place.

Fun fact: Sleep deprivation can cause some wild visual hallucinations, even relatively "mild" sleep deprivation can start to effect a persons perceptions.

Gustatory Hallucinations

Description: Gustatory hallucinations involve tasting things that are not actually present in the mouth. These can range from pleasant to extremely unpleasant tastes and can be triggered without any external food or drink.

Officially these are considered "rare", but personally (as someone who has done a lot of peer support work in the psychosis/voice hearing community I think they are simply under reported.)

Common Examples:

Bitter or Metallic Taste: A persistent bitter or metallic taste in the mouth, often leading to a sense of unease or concern about poisoning.

Sweet or Sour Taste: Tasting something sweet or sour unexpectedly, which can be confusing if it doesn’t match the current context.

Less Used Examples:

Spoiled Food: Tasting something rancid or spoiled, causing nausea and distress.

Unfamiliar Tastes: Tasting something completely unfamiliar and hard to describe, adding to the character's sense of disorientation.

Mimicking Actual Foods: Tasting specific foods that trigger cravings or aversions, despite not eating anything.

Transforming food: Food tasting like other food - I know someone for whom everything tasted like strawberries for days.

Common Causes: Neurological conditions or can be a side effect of medications.

Olfactory Hallucinations

Description: Olfactory hallucinations involve smelling odors that are not actually present. These can be pleasant or unpleasant and occur without any corresponding external stimulus. They can be particularly disorienting because they may trigger memories or emotions associated with certain scents - extremely complex if the person also has PTSD.

Common Examples:

Burning Smell: Wood, rubber, or food, which can lead to panic and fear of a fire.

Rotting Flesh: An overpowering smell of decay or rotting flesh, causing distress and nausea.

Perfume or Flowers: Smelling strong scents like flowers or perfume - hallucinations don't have to be inherently unpleasant sensations.

Less Used Examples:

Chemical Smells: Smelling chemicals like bleach or petrol.

Unfamiliar Scents: Smelling odors that you cannot identify.

Food Smells: Smelling specific foods that trigger hunger or nausea, despite the absence of any actual food.

Tactile Hallucinations

Description: Tactile hallucinations involve feeling sensations on or under the skin that are not actually there. These can range from mild tingling to severe pain and can be extremely distressing.

Common Examples:

Crawling Sensation: Feeling as though insects or bugs are crawling on or under the skin - often leading to frantic scratching or picking.

Electric Shocks: Experiencing sudden, sharp, electric-like jolts.

Pressure: Feeling pressure or tightness around certain body parts, such as a hand gripping the arm or something heavy on the chest.

Less Used Examples:

Temperature Changes: Feeling extreme cold or heat on the skin without any external cause.

Wetness or Dripping: Feeling as though liquid is dripping or running down the skin, even when dry.

Phantom Touches: Sensations of being touched or grabbed, often when alone. Sometimes its an almost feather like touch, other times its more akin to a grab that if reak would leave a bruise.

Right now let's expand - because there are more than 5 senses.

Proprioceptive Hallucinations

Description: Proprioception is the sense of the relative positioning of one's body parts. Proprioceptive hallucinations involve distorted perceptions of where your body is in space or how it is moving.

Common Examples:

Floating Sensation: Feeling as if the body is levitating or moving without control.

Distorted Body Size: Perceiving limbs or the entire body as being unnaturally large or small.

Less Used Examples:

Misaligned Limbs: Feeling as though limbs are twisted or out of place.

Movement Hallucinations: Sensing movements that aren't occurring, like swaying or rotating.

Common causes: Neurological disorders or the effects of certain drugs, but can by caused by a huge array of things.

Vestibular Hallucinations

Description: Vestibular sensations involve balance and spatial orientation. Vestibular hallucinations affect your sense of balance, making you feel dizzy or as though you're moving when you're stationary.

Common Examples:

Vertigo: A spinning sensation, as if the environment or oneself is rotating.

Imbalance: Feeling as though you're about to fall over or can't maintain your balance.

Less Used Examples:

Motion Sensation: Sensing movement, like rocking or swaying, when you're still.

Gravity Distortions: Feeling as if gravity is stronger or weaker than it actually is.

Common caused: Inner ear issues, migraines, or anxiety.

Temporal Hallucinations

Description: Temporal hallucinations involve distorted perceptions of time. They can make time feel like it's speeding up, slowing down, or standing still.

Common Examples:

Time Dilation: Feeling as though time is passing much slower than it actually is.

Time Compression: Perceiving time as moving rapidly, making events feel like they're passing in a blur.

Less Used Examples:

Frozen Moments: Experiencing time as if it's stopped, with everything around you appearing frozen.

Temporal Displacement: Feeling as though you're living in a different time period.

Temporal Dissonance: Feeling as if time is moving differently for you in comparison to those around you.

Common caused: Extreme fatigue, high stress, or under the influence of certain drugs.

Interoceptive Hallucinations

Description: Interoception refers to the perception of sensations from within the body, such as hunger, thirst, or the feeling of a heartbeat. Hallucinations in this realm involve feeling internal sensations that aren't actually occurring.

Common Examples:

False Hunger: Feeling extremely hungry despite having eaten recently.

Nonexistent Thirst: An intense sense of thirst even when well-hydrated - I have had this one a few times and given myself electrolyte imbalances due tot he amount of water I ended up drinking (not fun).

Less Used Examples:

Phantom Heartbeats: Feeling the heart racing or skipping beats without any physical basis.

Digestive Sensations: Sensations of digestion, such as gurgling or bloating, without any real cause.

Common causes: Panic disorder or certain types of seizures.

Right, now lets quickly review the main "causes" of hallucinations

Mental Illness:

Schizophrenia: Can involve basically anything from this list, but anecdotally auditory and visual appear to be the most common.

Bipolar Disorder: Can include hallucinations, especially during manic or depressive episodes.

Schizoaffective Disorder: A combination of symptoms from both schizophrenia and mood disorders, often leading to a variety of hallucinations.

EUPD/BPD: Auditory hallucinations are relatively common.

In all of these the hallucinations will rarely (if ever) exist in isolation. If you do not have primary or secondary experience of mental illness then I would recommend doing a LOT of research - and talking to people who do (on this note my asks are open if anyone has any schizoaffective based questions).

Neurological Conditions:

Epilepsy: Particularly temporal lobe epilepsy, can cause a range of sensory hallucinations.

Parkinson's Disease: Can lead to visual and auditory hallucinations.

Migraine: Migraine auras can include visual and auditory hallucinations.

Once again the hallucinations will not be in isolatation so same advice as with mental illness.

Substance Use and Withdrawal:

Psychedelics: Drugs like LSD, psilocybin, and mescaline are known for causing vivid visual and auditory hallucinations.

Stimulants: Methamphetamine and cocaine can cause tactile and visual hallucinations.

Alcohol Withdrawal: Can lead to visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations.

You know what I am going to say that my "if you do not have experience of this then go talk to someone who does" advice may just stand for every potential cause.

Sleep Disorders:

Sleep Deprivation: Can cause a variety of hallucinations across different senses.

Narcolepsy: Often includes hypnagogic (while falling asleep) and hypnopompic (while waking up) hallucinations.

Medical Conditions:

Delirium: Acute confusion and hallucinations often seen in severe infections, fever, or after surgery.

Dementia: Especially Lewy body dementia and Alzheimer's disease, can cause hallucinations.

Medications:

Anticholinergics: Can cause hallucinations as a side effect.

Steroids: High doses can sometimes lead to hallucinations.

Certain Antidepressants and Antipsychotics: Occasionally, these medications can cause hallucinations.

Psychological Stress and Trauma:

PTSD: Flashbacks and hallucinations related to traumatic events.

Extreme Stress: Can sometimes trigger hallucinations.

Metabolic and Endocrine Disorders:

Thyroid Disorders: Hyperthyroidism or hypothyroidism can sometimes cause hallucinations.

Electrolyte Imbalances: Severe imbalances can lead to hallucinations.

Deprivation:

Sensory Deprivation: Go google the ganzfeld effect, it's facinating.

Isolation: Extended periods of isolation can lead to hallucinations, known as sensory deprivation hallucinations.

Autoimmune Disorders:

Lupus: Can cause neurological symptoms including hallucinations.

Tumors:

Brain Tumors: Depending on their location, they can cause hallucinations affecting different senses.

Ok, finally point for this post. Let's discuss insight, because it is not as black/white or binary as people seem to assume.

Definition: Insight, in this context, refers to the awareness and understanding that one's hallucinations are not real but are a product of their mind. Insight can be partial or complete, and it often fluctuates.

Complete Insight:

Description: The individual fully understands that their hallucinations are not real and are caused by an underlying condition.

Impact: This can help the person manage their symptoms more effectively and seek appropriate treatment. However, it doesn't necessarily lessen the distress caused by the hallucinations.

Partial Insight:

Description: The individual has some awareness that their hallucinations might not be real but can still struggle with differentiating them from reality.

Impact: This can lead to confusion and anxiety, as the person oscillates between believing and doubting their experiences.

Lack of Insight:

Description: The individual firmly believes that their hallucinations are real and external.

Impact: This can lead to significant distress and functional impairment, as the person might respond to these hallucinations as if they were real.

Now imagine these three points on a scale from 0 (complete insight) to 10 (lack of insight) a person can be anywhere on this scale, and can slide back and fourth along it.

Factors such as stress, fatigue, medication changes, or daily fluctuations in mental state can cause insight to vary. A person might have high insight at one moment and low insight the next.

Basically Insight Is Not Static.

Also sometimes insight is just FREAKING RANDOM fluctuation for no discernible reason - honestly at times there is zero logic.

so ye, halluncinations… the brain is freaking wild.

Disclaimer - this is by no means an exhaustive list and like with many things every individual will experience these things slightly differently.

A similar post about delirium A similar post about fever

[eye-prophet]

Dc x Dp Prompt

Look when Sam said that he's been acting like a cat more and more recently Danny thought she was joking. But now there are cat ears sticking out of his head and he has absolutelly no clue what to do.

Just yesterday he transformed into Phantom just fine, nothing out of the ordinary. His hair white, eyes green, teeth fanged, everything how its supposed to be. Now he is transformed and there are cat ears sticking out of his everflowing hair. A pair of unnaturally white fluffy cat ears.

But its not like he could think about it, hes fighting (insert ghost). And oh fuck. Thats Sam and Tucker in the crowd taking pictures of him. Clockwork has forsaken him, Danny had no other explanation.

After the fight he was gonna head to Tucker's because why is he a furry now. Sure maybe going to Frostbite is a smart idea, but Danny was so not in the mood for that.

So standing in Tucker's bedroom he was just waitung for his partners best friends to stop laughing at his misery. Danny could have waited, he wanted to if he was honest with himself. But he kind of can't do that when a freaking PORTAL opens up underneath him.

He barely felt the summoning take place before he was falling through the portal as Sam's and Tucker's faces froze with worry. Danny felt his form change, entering a more kingly one.

He arose in some dingy dungeon. A circle in blood and green around him with symbols drawn around. "Who dares summon the Ghost King?" His voice echoy and distorted boomed. I mean, if he was being summoned he can atleast be a bit dramatic.

A dying laughter cut through. All of Danny's 2?4?9?35? eyes snapped in its direction. There stood a depressed looking trenchcoat guy. He reeked of alcohol and magic.

"The- *wheeze* the fucking king's a furry-" trenchcoat barely got out laughing, a british accent present.

Danny's eyes quickly scanned his surrounding in confusion, seeing... holy shit isthatBatman. Trying to not appear super shocked he looked towards a very conviniently placed mirror in the dungeon (idk man im half asleep).

His Crown Of Ice floated above his head, the kindgly regalia looked normal, the totally normal amount of eyes and mouths sat on their regular places, constalations floating around him. But holy shit why were his legs like a cats? Is that a tail??? The ears are probably surprising him the least.

How was he supposed to be serius when even the depressed british gandalf didn't. And this was infront of The Batman. Danny is about to die fully right now. Death from embarassment, worse than electrecution. Trust him.

[2i1han]

if time stood still, would you?

Rewind.

pairing: musician!taesan x fem!reader │ word count: 12k │ genre: oneshot, angst, romance, nostalgia

tags: 90's au , first love , bandmember!taesan , musicshopowner!taesan , boyfriend!taesan , college!reader , 90's grunge inspired

warnings: mention of accidents/injury , unrequited love , mention of loss/tragedy

synopsis : follows a story about youth, and the passage of time. on your every birthday, you watch an old tape—one you've held onto for decades. in it, a familiar voice from the past makes a promise that was never fulfilled. some things change, but some feelings never do.

playlist : everything/the black skirts , reality/richard sanderson , the last stop of our pain/hanroro , back to the old house/the smiths, no surprises/radiohead , all apologies/nirvana , drain you/nirvana , about you/the 1975 , shower/1968 , silence/sunwoojunga , sunsetz/cas , no.1 party anthem/arctic monkeys , this life/moon sung nam , dream/han hee jung , you&i/kim jong wan , space/the poles

"happy birthday, my beloved y/n."

taesan's voice crackled through the old television speakers, distorted by time yet still undoubtly his. the grainy vhs footage flickered, casting a dim, bluish glow across the room. there he was— forever twenty, wearing his classic nirvana shirt. his face was bright with the kind of smile that had once made your world feel infinite.

"i'm sorry i can't be there today. you know i love you, right?"

your fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch, knuckles turning white as you tried to keep yourself steady. but it was useless. the warmth of his tender voice, familiar, and you yearn for, sent a fresh wave of tears pooling in your eyes.

"the first time i met you, it was as if my world pressed 'play' for the first time. before you, my life felt like a song stuck on pause—waiting, and unfinished. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything made sense. you are the music that turned my silence into something beautiful."

the screen flickered as the tape struggled to play smoothly, but you didn't need to hear the rest. you already knew every word, every pause, every soft breath he took between sentences.

"y/n, today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. and don't you worry, next time, we'll celebrate together. i promise it. we'll be together soon."

this message had been meant as a temporary goodbye—a placeholder for the promise that never came.

"i love you more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow, my dear darling, always."

han taesan. the only man you had ever loved. the only man you would ever love.

a sharp pain formed in your throat as you reached for the remote, pressing the power button with trembling fingers. the tv screen faded to black, leaving only your miserable reflection staring back at you.

a soft knock came from the door.

"come in," you called.

the door creaked open, and your niece, yujin, stepped inside, her gaze immediately landing on your pale face.

"you're crying," she said knowingly, her voice was gentle as she walked closer. "watching his clip again?"

you didn't answer, only swallowing back the lump in your throat as you wiped at your damp cheeks. careful taps, trying not to ruin the mascara you had applied earlier. you turned to the mirror, fixing the smudged edges of your makeup carefully—as if concealing your tears was something you had mastered over the years.

yujin sighed softly. "come on, the guests are waiting downstairs." she hesitated for a moment.

"happy 49th birthday, auntie."

you forced a small, tired smile and turned to her, pulling her into a gentle hug.

"let's go downstairs," you finally said.

as yujin walked ahead, you turned back toward the vhs player. your hands slightly trembled as you ejected the tape, the small cassette still warm from playing. you placed it carefully inside a worn-out box, the edges are frayed but you still refuse to let go of it.

with one last glance at the screen, you followed yujin out of the room.

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the laughter still lingered through the dining area, the hum of conversation echoed through the house. plates clinked in the kitchen, wine glasses half-empty on the white table. the warmth of candlelight flickered across the walls, reflecting orange hues over the framed photographs—pictures of years that passed too quickly.

"going out?" your sister asked as she cleared the plates, glancing at you from the kitchen.

you stood by the coat rack, adjusting the sleeves of your white coat. "yeah, gonna fetch some, uh... more wine from the store." you offered her a small smile, though it didn't reach your eye.

she didn't question it, she already knew.

your sister just gave you a nod, the same look she always did whenever you slipped away. making excuses while you go out.

you turned toward the door, exhaling as you stepped outside. the cold air brushed on your skin, opposite to the warmth of the house behind you. your feet moved instinctively, leading you to your car. but you weren't heading for the wine store. no, this was something else entirely.

a habit of yours from a wound that never healed.

the drive was short. five minutes away from home. a lifetime away from your past that you still keep on returning to.

as you pulled up by the sidewalk, your hands stayed on the steering wheel, looking at the music shop stood just outside, unchanged. a piece of memory frozen in time.

you then stepped out, clutching your coat around yourself as you made your way to the entrance.

the door was the same—beige paint slightly chipped, a large glass pane in the middle. the brass bell chimed softly as you pushed it open, and the scent of aged vinyl wrapped around the room, enveloped in nostalgia.

inside, are the same shelves, the same wooden counters, the same dim lighting that cast an old glow over rows of vinyl records. the walls were lined with faded posters—nirvana, oasis, the beatles. his personal favorites.

your fingers grazed the spines of the records, stopping at the one you always reached for— mtv unplugged, nirvana.

"the usual?"

a familiar voice came from beside you, the shopkeeper—now in his 50s— wore a smile.

you just looked for a moment, then nodded. "yeah... this one's a classic."

"you know, you could always buy it," he chuckled. "you've been a regular here since back then."

you exhaled softly. "no... i'm fine with listening to it here. every week, through that old player."

you nodded toward the turntable in the corner, the needle was worn but still working, still playing the soundtrack of your youth.

the shopkeeper didn't push. he never did. instead, he just gave you a nod before turning away.

and then, the bell chimed again.

a woman walked in, followed by two girls in their early twenties. their laughter filled the room—light, gentle, untouched by the weight of the past.

"hi, dad!" one of the girls beamed, holding up a paper bag. "we stopped by the store. figured we'd bring some snacks!"

the shopkeeper—their father, smiled as he walked toward them, his voice livelier, happier than you'd ever heard it before.

and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to look. really look.

one of the girls had his eyes. the same deep gaze you had drowned in long ago. and the other had his smile. that comforting smile that once made your whole life felt complete.

you stood there, vinyl still clutched in your trembling hands, as you watched the scene in front of you. the way they laughed, the way they easily existed in a world you no longer belonged to— you once belonged to.

your vision blurred, but you didn't cry. not yet.

instead, you closed your eyes for a little moment, letting the nostalgia sink in.

and then, the memories rewound.

↺ rewind, to 1994

detention, again.

you sat slumped at your desk, one foot tucked up on the chair, the other tapping impatiently against the floor. the loose jogging pants you had sneakily worn under your school skirt bunched at your ankles, but at least they kept you warm in this freezing classroom.

the culprit behind your punishment?

blasting rock music through the entire school's p.a. system like some kind of teenage anarchist.

the sentence of your crime?

will not trespass in the p.a. room again. written over and over on a sheet of lined paper, front to back, no gaps, no mercy.

you sighed loudly—for the fifth time. maybe sixth. you had lost count.

your teacher, the one who was supposed to be watching over you? passed out at their desk, head tilted back, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.

then, you eyed the window, thinking of an escape plan. but, when you second looked towards it, ryujin's grinning face popped up out of nowhere.

"psst—hey!" she whispered through the glass. same mischievous smirk.

"what now?" you muttered, barely looking up as you kept scribbling.

"new arrivals at mr. han's shop." she wiggled her eyebrows, waving both hands to hurry you up.

your head snapped up. new arrivals?

that changed everything. your mild consideration of escaping turned into a fully thought-out plan in less than a second.

the only problem? you were on the second floor.

but, of course, ryujin had a plan—she always did. she clung to a pillar outside, balancing on a maintenance ladder that neither of you were supposed to have access to. the school had confiscated it multiple times, but ryujin, being the delinquent mastermind she was, had bribed some p.e. students into sneaking it out.

"hurry up, dude!" she hissed, motioning for you to move.

you glanced at your sleeping teacher one last time. and then, out the window you went.

the cold metal of the ladder chilled your palms as you climbed down, ryujin barely holding it steady. both of you hit the pavement without getting caught. bingo.

giddy with adrenaline, the two of you bolted for the front gate, ducking past groups of students as if you were fugitives on the run.

your destination? flannel culture. your sacred safe haven. the best record shop in town.

ryujin had barely finished telling you about the new vinyl arrivals before you were both sprinting down the street, nearly tripping over your own feet in your hurry to get there first. your neatly tied ponytail had come completely undone, strands of hair flying everywhere.

by the time you reached the shop, breathless and slightly messy, mr. han—the owner, was already grinning behind the counter.

"morning, mr. han!" ryujin greeted, barely winded.

"i knew you two would get here before anyone else," he chuckled, arms crossed like he had been expecting this exact scenario.

you barely heard him. you were already beelining for the vinyls.

"sweet! these are fresh off the press!" you gasped, flipping through the stack, fingers gliding over brand-new releases.

"ditto," ryujin muttered, just as focused.

"i'll be behind the counter if you girls need anything," mr. han called out, but you were already in the zone.

your fingers immediately skimmed through the fresh arrivals, heart hammering in anticipation.

"definitely maybe" by oasis.

"dookie" by green day.

"weezer" by weezer.

"holy shit," you whispered, eyes widening as you flipped through the stack.

"jar of bells..." no idea.

then, you found it.

"mtv unplugged."

you had barely muttered the title under your breath when another voice joined in.

"mtv unplugged..."

you turned to find yourself face-to-face with a guy you hadn't noticed before—probably because you had been way too invested in the stack of squares in front of you.

and he was cool. nirvana shirt, ripped jeans, red flannel tied around his hips, short black hair, clear skin, a damn good jawline, and a smirk that only grew as he caught you staring.

your eyes flickered back to the vinyl still clutched in your hands, grip tightening. he was looking at it. he wanted it.

no way in hell.

your grip tightened.

"mtv unplugged. new release," he mused, glancing down at the album still clutched in your hands.

your hold on it locked. damn right, it was.

the boy chuckled, clearly entertained by the death grip you had on it.

"you should go for nevermind first." his voice was casual—like he wasn't trying to steal your vinyl right in front of you.

you shot him a narrow-eyed stare. "i've already listened to every single song on nevermind."

his smirk grew, realizing you weren't going to budge, he let out a short laugh and reached for a cd.

"fine, i'll let you have that one."

he grabbed nevermind instead, the cd, inspecting it with an approving nod.

your heart rate finally slowed down. victory is mine.

as he turned to go to the counter, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. "good taste, by the way."

and with that, he turned his back, leaving you standing there—still clutching your vinyl like your life depends on it.

ryujin strolled back over, a comic book in hand, the corners of her mouth curling into a knowing smirk.

"dude… who was that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice low enough not to attract any unwanted attention.

you exhaled slowly, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. "i don't know, but he tried to rob me off a good vinyl," you muttered, still clutching the album in your hands.

ryujin snickered. "classic." she bumped your shoulder lightly before pulling out the book, flipping it open to the next page. "come on, let's listen to it."

with a shrug, you led the way to the player, and the two of you settled next to each other, comic books in hand. the needle dropped onto the record, you plugged in the headphone jack. the soft crackle travelling through before the music swelled. for the next few minutes, you both silently absorbed the music through wires.

by the time the last track played, you were practically fighting back tears. it was almost dramatic how much you adored the album.

"that was gnarly," you said, as you carefully set the vinyl back in its case, treating it like the treasure it was.

ryujin nodded without looking up from her comic. "nirvana was the real shit." she shifted, tapping the side of her comic with a finger. "go look for more new arrivals. we haven't even finished this one yet."

you let out a half-hearted groan but couldn't resist. you liked the idea of finding more gems, anyway. but as you strolled back toward the shelves, your eyes caught something familiar.

it was him.

the guy from earlier. he was sitting near the counter now, leaning against the wall with a cd player in hand, his earphones hanging loosely around his neck. his relaxed posture and the way he completely disappeared into the moment caught your attention.

you looked down at the album in your hand, then back at him.

"poor guy…" you muttered under your breath. "if he doesn't get to listen to it right away."

without thinking, you walked over, tapping his shoulder lightly. he glanced up, removing his earphones with a raised brow.

"hey," you said, offering him the vinyl. "i noticed mr. han doesn't have the mtv unplugged cd in stock yet. it'd be a shame if you didn't get to listen to it instantly. it's really good."

the guy smiled, his eyes softening as he accepted the record from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours just for a moment.

"thanks," he said, the gratitude in his voice making you feel like you had done something right for once.

"you can use the turntable over there," you gestured toward the corner of the shop, where the record player sat. "there's a headphone jack available."

he nodded and walked past you, heading over to the turntable while you returned to ryujin's side.

"where was it?" she asked, nudging your shoulder.

you shrugged, your attention still on the guy who was now setting up the record player, eyes already closed as he settled into the music. "let's just play another after he finishes," you muttered, your head leaning closer to ryujin's comic, pretending to focus.

ryujin narrowed her eyes at you, the smirk creeping back. "you're way too generous today."

you flicked her arm. "focus. i don't want to wait for you to flip the page." she rolled her eyes but continued reading, letting you do what you do best.

it wasn't long before ryujin's stomach growled, cutting through the silence between the two of you.

"go grab something to eat," you said, pointing to the door. "i'll wait here."

she shot you a look, rolling her eyes dramatically. "you better not flip through the pages while i’m gone."

"promise nothing," you replied without missing a beat.

as soon as ryujin disappeared out the door, you leaned over and sneakily turned the comic to the next page.

but then, a voice caught your attention again.

"thank you," the guy from earlier said, appearing beside you, looking almost embarrassed to interrupt.

you jumped up, startled. "oh, it's nothing," you quickly reassured him, trying to brush off the awkwardness. "how was it?"

he smiled, almost sheepish. "as expected, it was great." he chuckled softly, adjusting his cd player.

you smiled in return, feeling the familiar rush of excitement when talking about music. "i freaking know, they've always been the best." the conversation flowed just naturally.

"i'm taesan," he said, a hand rising awkwardly in the air like he wasn't quite sure whether to offer a handshake or just a wave. "i'm the son of the owner of this shop."

you froze for a second. internally, you cursed your luck. of course, you had competed over the vinyl with the son of the shop's owner. but whatever, the early bird gets the worm, right?

"jang y/n," you replied with a smile, reaching for his hand. "nice to meet you."

you both sat down, the tension easing as you settled into conversation.

"were you playing nevermind earlier on the cd player?" you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

taesan hummed, his lips pouting as he thought for a moment. "yeah, i was. what's your favorite song?"

you leaned back slightly, thinking. "hmm, probably all apologies. especially the instrumental break. god, i love that song." your voice trailed off as you grinned widely, caught up in the thought of the song.

taesan laughed softly, eyes glimmering with something like amusement. "you're passionate. i like that."

you chuckled awkwardly, hoping the blush creeping up your cheeks wasn't too obvious.

"so," you said, eager to keep the conversation going. "do you go to school here?"

he nodded. "yeah, i'm at a university just one bus ride away from here."

you processed that for a moment, realizing with a small sigh that he probably wasn’t talking about your university. but still, you smiled. "oh, cool."

a comfortable silence settled between you two but that didn't feel awkward at all.

then, the chime of the record store door rang out, and you barely had time to look up before ryujin strolled back in, but her hands were empty. no takeout bags, no snacks—just an exhausted expression as she groaned dramatically.

"where' the food?" you asked, frowning.

ryujin groaned like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. "the convenience store ran out of kimbap, and the cashier was taking a lifetime to restock. let's just go eat at the food court. i need actual fuel if you want me to swing around longer."

"but—" your eyes flickered toward the bench where your bag sat. taesan was still there, his fingers idly drumming against the wooden surface as he looked at you and ryujin, confused. you hesitated, glancing between ryujin and the him.

before you could make a decision, mr. han waved you off with a smile. "go ahead, kid. your stuff's safe here."

ryujin had already grabbed you "move it. you'll live."

you barely had time to turn to taesan and wave. "we'll be back!" with a sigh, you let ryujin drag you out the door.

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you spent the next twenty minutes watching in mild horror as ryujin absolutely demolished two platters of bibimbap and a side of banchan. she didn't even pause between bites.

"you know, for someone who complains about getting broke from buying comics, you sure eat like a king," you muttered, stabbing at your food halfheartedly.

ryujin barely looked up, shoving another spoonful into her mouth. "shut up—'s called survival."

you exhaled, pushing a few grains of rice around your plate.

you wanted to get back to mr. han's shop.

at first, you convinced yourself that it was just because of the new vinyl arrivals. you hadn't even finished browsing yet—there were at least three more shelves to go through, and you hadn't checked if they had any used tapes in stock.

but then your mind drifted back to taesan.

you could still picture his thoughtful expression, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was trying to pick a favorite nirvana song. the way he had smirked slightly when he caught you rambling about all apologies.

you shook your head. nope. it was definitely about the records.

and the moment ryujin swallowed her last bite, you practically dragged her back toward mr. han's store.

but as soon as you stepped inside—taesan was gone.

you scanned the shop, almost hoping he'd just moved to a different section, but his spot near the turntable was empty. the warmth that had settled in your chest earlier flickered out, replaced by something you didn't know what.

you deflated instantly. ryujin barely noticed, already flipping through another volume of the comic she was reading earlier. you debated for a second before hesitantly walking over to mr. han at the counter.

"mr. han?"

the old man didn't even look up from his book. "mmm?"

you shifted awkwardly. "uh… do you know where taesan went?"

that's when he finally glanced up with a smirk. "i knew both of you would instantly match," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

you blinked. huh?

he simply chuckled, flipping a page. "he went back to school for a band practice. he has a packed schedule on weekdays."

you tried and failed not to look too disappointed as you dragged yourself back to the bench where ryujin was sitting.

she barely looked up from her comic. "what was that gloom all about?"

you flopped down next to her. "nothing."

"also," she continued, flipping a page dramatically, "why are you suddenly being all buddy-buddy with that music thief?"

you rolled your eyes. "come on, he's nice, ryu."

ryujin scoffed. "wow, you're saying that like you weren't just playing tug-of-war with him over a vinyl a few hours ago."

you ignored her, pulling out your book from your bag—then froze.

there, stuck to the back of your bag, was a small yellow sticky note.

your eyes narrowed as you peeled it off, fingers smoothing over the inked numbers scrawled in slightly messy handwriting. a pager number. and beneath it, just one word:

—taesan.

you froze, staring at the note like it had just fallen from the heavens, and for a moment, you forgot how to function.

your face went from deadpan to pure joy in under three seconds. you had to physically stop yourself from grinning too hard because ryujin would never let you live it down.

carefully, you peeled the sticky note off your book and folded it neatly. you then placed it inside your pencil case like it was some kind of rare artifact.

firmly, securely, so it wouldn't fly away.

ryujin finally looked up, her eyes narrowing. "why do you look like you just won the lottery?"

"no reason," you said quickly, zipping your pencil case shut.

ryujin stared at you for a long moment before muttering, "i don't like the look on your face."

you just smiled, pushing her shoulders.

and, the second you got home, you threw your bag onto the floor and face-planted onto your bed. you rolled onto your back and snatched your beeper off the nightstand like it was holy.

you sat up, unfolded the sticky note, and traced the inked numbers with your thumb.

your heart thumped.

should you page him now? would that seem too eager? maybe you should wait. play it cool.

you glanced at your clock. it had literally been twenty seconds.

groaning, you rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet against the mattress like some schoolgirl in a romance movie. then, without giving yourself time to overthink—you punched in the numbers and sent a simple message:

"hope class didn't bore you to death. thanks for the sticky note. - jang y/n"

the second you hit send, you muffled a scream into your pillow.

what the hell were you doing? what if he didn't reply? what if he thought you were annoying? what if—

your beeper vibrated almost immediately and quickly scrambled so fast you nearly dropped it.

"would've been worse if i didn't have all apologies stuck in my head. consider this your official music karma. - taesan"

a stupid, uncontrollable grin stretched across your face. you flopped onto your back, rolling around in pure, ridiculous giddiness, nearly sending your comforter tumbling to the floor.

before you could even type a response, another beep flashed across the tiny screen.

"7 pm? dad's store. - taesan."

you froze.

you clutched your beeper like it was a lifeline, rereading the message again. and again. was he… asking you out? no. no way. it was just a hangout. a casual thing between new friends.

you shook your head, forcing yourself to focus, and typed back quickly:

"sure! meet you there. - y/n"

then, you practically leaped off your bed and dashed to your closet. your hands flew across the hangers, eyes scanning every piece of clothing like you were preparing for the most important night of your life.

denim skirt? too much.

plaid jeans? too casual.

then you caught yourself.

you groaned, pressing your forehead against the closet door. why am i even stressing over this? it's not a date. it's not.

exhaling sharply, you grabbed a denim skirt and a brown flannel, slipping them on before you could second-guess yourself.

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you were walking ridiculously slow.

your heart drummed against your ribs, your hands fidgeting with your sleeves. you told yourself you weren't nervous. you told yourself this was just some casual meet-up.

but the second you spotted taesan standing outside the now-closed store, your breath caught in your throat. he hadn't noticed you yet.

earphones in, cd player in hand, his head tilted slightly upward as if lost in the music. his eyes were closed, his expression relaxed—lips barely parted, a faint, smile playing at the edges.

you hesitated, just watching him for a second.

the streetlights cast a soft golden hue over him, making the moment feel unreal—like something out of an indie film, grainy and warm, like a memory you were supposed to witness and never forget.

you bit your lip. then, finally, you stepped forward and lightly tapped his arm.

taesan's eyes fluttered open, turning to meet yours. his expression shifted instantly—calm turning to warmth, like the moment you step into a sunlit room after the cold.

"hey," he said, pulling his earphones out and tucking his cd player into his large pocket.

"hey," you echoed, stuffing your hands into your skirt's pockets. you glanced at the shop door behind him. "so... where to? mr. han already closed the store."

taesan just grinned. then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, dangling it between two fingers. "i'm not the owner's son for nothing."

a subtle laugh escaped your lips. you shook your head as he turned, unlocking the door and pushing it open. the blinds remained closed, keeping the outside world at bay.

inside, the air was warm. the scent of old records and faint aroma of coffee hung in the contained air. taesan flipped the switch, and the shop lit up—not with the bright, fluorescent glare of daytime but with the muted, greenish glow of the overhead bulbs. the only other source of light came from the street lamps outside, their soft yellowish tint seeping in through the cracks of the blinds.

you puckered your lips, stepping in and looking around.

taesan closed the door behind you with a soft click before roaming around the store.

"i have a favorite here, and i want you to listen to it," taesan said as he made his way to a shelf tucked in the corner.

you watched as he ran his fingers over the spines of records. then, with a small, satisfied hum, he pulled one out and turned to you, holding it up to show you.

you leaned in, studying the cover. the title and artist were unfamiliar. taesan noticed your puzzled look and smirked.

"you haven't heard of it, huh?"

you shook your head, but a smile crept up your lips. but that only made you more eager. something new. something taesan liked.

a small smile tugged at your lips. "i've never heard of this one."

"even better." he grinned.

taesan walked over to the turntable by the counter, motioning for you to follow. you stood close beside him as he carefully placed the vinyl onto the platter. the way he handled it—gentle, the kind only someone who truly cherished music would have, made you watch him a little longer than necessary.

"it's reality, by richard sanderson," he murmured, lowering the needle. "me and dad used to listen to this a lot when it first came out. i was eleven."

then, he turned to you, slipping the headphones gently over your ears.

you blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. his fingers barely brushed your skin as he adjusted the ear cups, making sure they sat just right. he was so close that you could see the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way the dim lighting softened his already soft features.

for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

the vinyl crackled. and then—music.

a slow, dreamy melody slipped into your ears. nostalgic, like the kind of song that belonged to another lifetime. your lips parted slightly as a smile crept onto your face.

you let your head tilt slightly, eyes fixed on the wall in front of you, absorbing every note. your fingers tapped lightly against the table in time with the beat, a small, unconscious movement.

and taesan— he just stood there, watching you.

the muffled sound of the song spilled from the headphones, barely audible, but he didn't need to hear it to know exactly what you were experiencing. he saw it in the way your eyes shimmered slightly, the way your breath seemed to sync with the rhythm, the way you looked like you were slipping into some other world entirely.

for a moment, everything slowed.

he should've looked away. should've focused on the music, or the record spinning beneath the needle, or literally anything else. but he didn't.

he just stood there, completely still, watching you as if you were the song itself.

you let your eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the music, letting it paint a scene behind your eyelids. a quiet, hazy film reel of things you couldn't quite place—warm streetlights, cityscapes blurring past, the kind of love that only existed in faded polaroids.

and taesan, he only saw one thing, a whole moment right in front of him.

the song had already started to fade out.

you opened your eyes, expecting taesan to finally move— to lift the needle off the vinyl, maybe say something about the track, but he didn't. he just stood there, watching you, completely still, as if he hadn't noticed the music had ended.

"i loved the song. really." you smiled, still caught in the the melody. "thank you for letting me hear it. it's something special to you, so... i feel honored."

your lips curled into a small, tight-lipped smile as you tilted your head slightly.

but taesan didn't reply.

he only stared, looking at you in that same quiet, unfazed way—as if he was trying to memorize you, to carve this exact moment into his mind so he wouldn't forget it.

you tried looking anywhere else. the wall behind him, the floor, the logo on his shirt, but your eyes kept finding its way back to his.

then, finally, he spoke.

"you're interesting." his voice was low, almost amused, a small, endearing smile on his face.

you let out a nervous chuckle, trying to shake off the weight of his stare. "i am always interesting." you threw in a playful shrug, encouraging whatever thought had just crossed his mind.

taesan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he turned back to the turntable, carefully placing the vinyl back into its sleeve. "no, i mean it. you are interesting."

you froze for half a second before sinking onto the bench beside the turntable desk, looking up at him. "you just met me."

taesan placed the vinyl on the desk before settling next to you. his head tilted back slightly, gaze drifting up to the ceiling, lost in thought.

"it's the first time someone's ever beaten me to a vinyl," he said with a chuckle, recalling what had happened earlier morning. "the way you gripped onto it with that look on your face—i don't know, i just thought it was funny. interesting. made me wanna know you."

his voice was quieter now, as you carefully listened.

"but then..." he exhaled, his hands resting loosely on his knees. "the way you listened to music—the way you get lost in it, i think that's what really got me."

he turned slightly, just enough so that you could see the corner of his lips quirk up.

"and when you gave me that vinyl, i guess that was it."

you blinked. that was it?

"but, you know," he added with a slight laugh, "your friend kinda stole you away before i could even say anything. then i had band practice, so..."

you remembered something then. the sticky note.

narrowing your eyes, you leaned forward. "how did you even know which bag was mine?"

taesan chuckled. "hmm... let's just say you have a pretty unique in utero keychain hanging from your zipper."

you let out a breath—half a laugh, half genuine disbelief.

"you're observant," you muttered.

taesan's smile faded slightly. "i'm observant when it matters."

he then turned his head toward you, while yours remained far away, simply existing in the moment. the air between you was still, the occasional whoosh of cars passing by outside, blurred and distant. it was quiet, but not empty.

then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head—only to find him already looking. but he didn't look away.

"let's go out," he said. his tone was steady, and effortless. no hesitation can be sensed

you nodded, tapping your lap before pushing yourself up to stand in front of him. "let's go?"

taesan let out a low chuckle, shifting upright from his relaxed lean, his eyes still fixed on you. "out." a smirk tugged at his lips, "like, a date."

you stood there, blinking at him, gazing in the way his eyes shimmered—starrier than the sky outside. you didn't think. you didn't need to. it felt like a decision had already been made long before this moment.

"okay," you said. "let's go out."

there was no rush of surprise, no shift in the air—just a mutual understanding, easy and natural, like falling into place. the way you spoke, the way he asked, the way his voice filled the quiet, and the way you both existed in each other's presence. it felt like you had known him in every lifetime before this.

taesan simply smiled, standing up with ease. "it's a date, then. but—" he said, glancing at the store's old stereo, "we're not going out just yet. it's still early, and we've got more music to dance to." he grinned, stepping away to browse through the shelves, searching for the next song.

you watched him move, the way he hopped from one record to another, flipping through them with an enthusiasm that made the moment feel infinite. and just like that, the night went on in your own little world.

two month had passed since you and taesan made it official.

at first, it was almost amusing how natural it felt—how seamlessly he fit into your life, as if he had always been there. after weeks of getting to know him, of late-night messages filled with laughter and quiet walks where words weren't needed, saying yes to him wasn't difficult at all. the only real challenge had been your parents, who—like all parents—wanted to make sure he was worthy of you. they made him chop firewood for grill nights, tested his patience with endless questions, and gave him skeptical looks whenever he came over. but taesan, with his charm and sincerity, had won them over before long. now, he was not just your taesan, but theirs too.

after spending the day hanging out with ryujin and the others, you were heading home. and there he was—waiting at your gate, earphones over his head as always.

even after all this time, the sight of him still made your heart race. it reminded you of the first time you both went out, of how everything had started.

smiling, you skipped toward him and playfully shook his shoulders.

"hi!"

taesan's expression immediately shifted, his cold face melting into the warmest, brightest smile.

"you made it." he beamed. "how was today?"

before you could answer, he wrapped his arms around you, swaying you gently from side to side.

"fine," you mumbled against his chest. "but i'm tired."

taesan pulled back just enough to hold your shoulders, leaning down slightly so your faces were level.

"wanna go for a walk? or stay in?" he reached up, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear.

you smiled. "come on, let's walk."

he would've objected. if it weren't for the genuine excitement in your voice, he would've already ushered you inside and made you dinner.

but instead, he laced his fingers with yours, walking around the quiet neighborhood, hands swaying back and forth.

then, after a few moments of silence, taesan glanced at you.

"i wanna show you something," he said.

you raised a brow. "what is it?"

he only chuckled before moving behind you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you forward.

"come on. trust me."

and of course, you did. you always do.

as you neared a greener part of the neighborhood, taesan suddenly spoke again.

"close your eyes."

you blinked up at him.

"if you look now, the surprise will be spoiled," he added, a small smirk on his face.

wanting to play along, you let out a soft laugh before nodding and shutting your eyes. taesan's pace slowed as he led you forward, his hands still firm on your shoulders.

your heart beat faster with each step. then, finally, you came to a stop.

you could feel taesan's presence in front of you, towering. his voice was gentle when he said, "open your eyes."

slowly, you did.

as your vision adjusted, the first thing you saw was his glowing smile. and behind him— a tree.

not just any tree, but a large, beautiful one standing tall in the night, its branches stretching over a small wooden bench. fireflies floated lazily through the air, their soft glow twinkled like tiny stars. dimly lit post lights stood around, casting everything in a cozy dim.

it was breathtaking. like something out of a dream. like something you'd only read about in a story, but never expect to see in real life.

and yet, here it was. with taesan.

your chest swolled with joy as your eyes welled up. you turned back to him, voice barely above a whisper.

"this is beautiful..." without thinking, you pulled him into a hug. "i love you, taesan."

for a moment, he didn't say anything.

then, he gently grabbed your shoulders again, tilting your chin up so you were looking into his eyes.

"i love you most, y/n."

then, with a small nod toward the bench, he spoke, "come, let's sit. i prepared something for you."

you followed as he led you to the seat, your fingers still tangled together.

then, you noticed a brown acoustic guitar leaning against the tree. taesan reached for it, settling next to you as he rested the instrument on his lap.

you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"i've sung a lot of songs for you already," taesan said. he let his fingers glide across the strings of his guitar, testing the weight of the moment before continuing. "but this one... this one's different."

you looked up as his lips curved into the smallest smile, his gaze shifting between you and the instrument in his hands. the glow of the streetlamp nearby cast golden light over his face, making him look almost unreal—like something out of an old, forgotten film.

"i started writing this the night we first went out. i add to it day by day," he admitted, his voice hushed, as if the confession itself was fragile. "after we crashed at my dad's shop. i don't know... i just felt like i had to put it into words. and now, i think it's time for you to hear it."

something in your heart ached at his sincerity. the night was quiet, save for the hum of cicadas and the occasional rustling of the leaves with every breeze that passed. the world seemed to pause just for the two of you.

then, the first strum. a comforting sound, followed by the melody that caressed you like a lullaby.

"you're my everything, the light that lingers in my eyes, the whisper in the quiet rain—the warmth that fills my empty skies."

you closed your eyes, letting the music pull you in. each note, each lyric, felt like it was written from the very core of your moments together—the stolen glances, the panicked laughter under sudden rains that caught both of you, the silence in the back of the store just listening to old tunes.

"on rainy days, we lie in silence, no words, just breathing, heart to heart. with closed eyes, the world dissolves—only you and i exist in the dark."

taesan's voice was dreamy, filled with something deeper than words could capture. it wasn't just a song; it was a piece of him.

and then, without realizing, a single tear slipped past your closed eyelids.

taesan's voice softened as he reached the last verse, his gaze never leaving you.

"and if you change, if time should fade you, know i will take you as you are, for even then, you'll be my always, my everything—my guiding star."

the song faded, but the air still hung with its presence. taesan placed the guitar down, his hands immediately finding their way to your face, thumbs brushing against your damp cheeks.

"open your eyes, my love," he whispered.

you did, only to find him looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

"you're the most precious thing that's ever happened to me, y/n," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "no music, no melody—nothing will ever compare to the harmony you brought into my life."

a soft kiss landed on your forehead, filled with so much meaning.

"happy birthday, beautiful."

you barely found your voice, still drowning in the moment. "but... my birthday isn't for another two days," you whispered.

taesan chuckled, his fingers tracing along your jawline. "i know. but i'll be leaving for gwangju tomorrow. my mom needs me for a while." his voice held a slight hesitation. "just for a week. and when i'm back, i swear, we'll do whatever you want. just you and me."

you wanted to believe those words more than anything. but deep inside, something held you back, a feeling you couldn't describe. as if a part of you already knew—this moment, this song, this night, would be the last perfect memory you'd have of taesan.

still, you smiled, pushing the unease aside.

"okay," you whispered, reaching for his hand, squeezing it just a little tighter.

"i'll wait."

and in that moment, you had no idea that those two simple words would become the cause of your life falling apart.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

morning arrived too soon, and with it, the inevitable farewell. you stood at the station, watching taesan board the train. at that moment, it felt like nothing more than a temporary goodbye—a short hurdle to overcome before he would be back in your arms in just a week.

but now, looking back, the memory plays differently in your mind. the scene isn't just a brief separation anymore—it's the sight of watching your life leave you, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers, no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

you waited. the two of you depended on a single beeper for communication, and though the messages were short and few, you cherished every one.

then, as the morning of your birthday approached, you found yourself at mr. han's vinyl store with ryujin.

"good morning, mr. han," you greeted, pushing through the door.

"early today, huh?" the old man smiled at you, his eyes kind. "happy birthday, daughter. i'm sorry taesan couldn't be here for your special day, but rest assured, he'll be back by monday."

his words melted in your heart. mr. han had always been more than just the owner of your favorite record store—he had been a constant presence in your life since you were thirteen, and now, he was taesan's father. the thought alone made you feel closer to him, even with the miles between you.

"she can't 'rest assured' anymore, mr. han," ryujin teased. "your daughter-in-law nearly got a fever from homesickness, you know. being away from her home and all."

you rolled your eyes, nudging her shoulder. "shut up."

mr. han chuckled. "here, i'm gifting this to you." he reached beneath the counter, pulling out a vinyl wrapped carefully in plastic.

you took it hesitantly, but as soon as your eyes landed on the cover, your face lit up. "in utero? no way! this is so sweet, thank you so much, mr.—"

"ah," he held up a hand, stopping you. "no more 'mr. han.' call me dad from now on."

"you've been a regular here since you were a stubborn 7th grader," he continued, smiling easily. "and now you're my son's girlfriend. so, no more formalities, alright?"

something in you softened at that. without thinking, you leaned against the counter, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

"i feel like i'm at a family reunion i wasn't invited to," ryujin joked, shaking her head beside you.

mr. han grinned, then reached for another package. "oh, and this—this one's from taesan. he mailed it here yesterday and told me to give it to you today."

your fingers curled around the box, taking it with both hands. "thank you... dad," you whispered, testing the word on your tongue.

mr. han's smile widened. "anytime."

the entire morning passed in the record store, the feeling of missing taesan softened—if only for a little while. and by evening, you and ryujin returned home, where your family had set up a small celebration for your birthday.

fhe two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the tv, the muffled chatter from the living room fading into the background.

"ew, you're nineteen now," ryujin teased, wrinkling her nose. being a year younger, she never missed a chance to remind you.

you rolled your eyes, tossing a pillow at her. "still far away from thirty," you snorted, laughing as you fidgeted with the box in front of you—the package taesan had sent.

ryujin nudged your arm. "what's that, anyway?"

you shrugged. "guess we'll find out."

carefully, you untied the yarn wrapped around it, peeling back the flaps to reveal its contents. a mixtape, a vhs tape, and a stack of cds from your favorite bands sat neatly inside.

you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "he knows me a little too well."

ryujin leaned in. "damn, he really went all out. let's check what's on the tape."

without hesitation, you crawled to the player beneath the tv, sliding the vhs inside before grabbing the remote. the screen lit up to life, static buzzing before clearing—revealing taesan's face.

a bright smile, soft eyes. he looked straight into the camera, and for a second, it felt like he was right there in the room with you.

"happy birthday, my beloved y/n."

his voice crackled through the old speakers, slightly distorted, yet every syllable carried the sincerity of someone who loved you with every fiber of his being.

"the first time i met you, it was as if my world pressed 'play' for the first time. before you, my life felt like a song stuck on pause—waiting, and unfinished. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything made sense. you are the music that turned my silence into something beautiful."

he smiled, pausing for a brief second as if searching for the right words.

"y/n, today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. and don't you worry, next time, we'll celebrate together. i promise it. we'll be together soon."

a trail of silence.

"i love you more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow, my dear darling. always."

he leaned closer to the camera, and then, the screen faded back to static.

you exhaled, with a shaky breath. a lump formed in your throat, but you refused to cry—this wasn't meant to be sad. it was meant to make you feel loved, even from miles away.

ryujin glanced at you, then patted your back. "you okay?"

you nodded, still staring at the screen.

ryujin leaned back against your bed, staring at the ceiling. "damn, taesan really does love you." she grinned, then looked at you. "i'm happy for you, y/n. happy birthday, my guy."

and in that moment, despite the distance, despite the ache in your chest, you felt whole.

you were happy. you really were.

lying on your bed after the long day, you stared at the ceiling, letting the glow of the streetlights outside reflect against your walls. after ryujin left, you stayed up, replaying taesan's message again and again, as if you could carve his voice into your mind, make it something permanent.

the way he smiled. the way he said your name, the way his voice crackled through the old speakers but never lost its warmth.

"i promise it. we'll be together soon."

you pressed your earphones closer, the mixtape he had sent playing, the song he sang for you that night before he left. it felt like he was right there, fingers strumming the chords.

you could already picture it—the week passing by quickly, and then he'd be back. he'd step off that train with the same boyish grin, shaking his head at you for missing him too much, even though he would've missed you just as much. he'd pull you into his arms, teasing you for being dramatic, but still holding on a little tighter, a little longer.

nothing bad could happen.

with that thought warming your chest, you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your lips.

and then, before you knew it, a noise.

the sudden, loud sound of footsteps storming up the stairs. the door swinging open with too much force.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

"y/n!"

you stirred, groggy. you've overslept. the afternoon sunlight streaming through your window, instantly blinding you. headphones still in your ears. for a second, you thought it was just ryujin being ryujin—barging in like she always did, shaking you awake for something stupid.

but then you felt it, the weight in the air. something was wrong.

you sat up, fast, the mixtape player tumbling from your hands. your pulse pounded, a sudden chill creeping up your chest as your best friend stood frozen in the doorway.

ryujin was breathless, shoulders rising and falling in quick, uneven pace. her hands trembled at her sides. but what scared you the most was her face—pale, drained of every bit of mischief and joy she always had.

she couldn't look at you.

"ryu...?" your voice barely came out, your own heartbeat drowning it.

she swallowed, her throat bobbing. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. then—

"taesan."

one word. just one. and suddenly, the world wasn't real anymore.

your breath hitched. you felt it before you even knew what it was, a weight pressing down on your chest, curling around your ribs, tightening, squeezing.

your hands clenched the sheets, your mind racing, trying to fill in the blanks. maybe she was overreacting. maybe he just missed his train. maybe his beeper was out of range. maybe—

"taesan, what?" you gasped. barely recognizing your own voice. "what, ryujin?"

she flinched, her lips parting, but she still wouldn't look at you. her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans.

seconds passed. she finally lifted her gaze, eyes trembling.

and before she even said another word, before she could let the next sentence leave her lips— you already knew.

you can barely remember what happened after ryujin told you. everything blurred together, the world tipping over, voices had muffled, your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

she had gone to mr. han's store early in the morning, like she always did. but today, instead of the usual quiet hum of records playing inside, she found the store getting closed, with mr. han outside, hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys, his face was pale and stricken with terror.

"taesan... he's caught in an accident."

that was all it took.

the next time you became fully aware of your surroundings, you were already running through the cold, sterile halls of the hospital, barefoot, still in your pajamas. your breath came out in ragged gasps, tears blurring your vision, but you didn't stop. you couldn't.

everything hurt—your legs, your lungs, your head. but none of it compared to the fear clawing at your chest, the paralyzing dread wrapping around your throat like a noose.

left. right. where is he?

your heartbeat pounded in your ears, blocking out the sounds of nurses passing by, the beeping of machines, the low murmur of worried families.

and then you saw him— mr. han.

sitting in the waiting area in front of the emergency room, his face buried in his hands. the moment your eyes landed on him, the final thread holding you together snapped.

"dad..."

the word fell from your lips in a broken whisper as you collapsed onto the chair beside him.

he didn't say anything at first. he just pulled you into his arms, his embrace just as tight, just as desperate as yours.

you both sat there. painfully long hours passed, but time meant nothing.

then, they let you see him.

mr. han went in first. you hesitated at the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe, scared of what might lie before you.

and then you saw himyour heart audibly shattered.

taesan lay in the hospital bed, his face was pale, his body wrapped in layers of bandages. his left leg was lifted, secured in a cast, wires and tubes connected to him like a lifelines. he looked small, fragile. so unlike the taesan you knew—the one who always stood tall, always carried himself with effortless ease, always made you feel safe.

now, he was unconscious. a deep, unmoving stillness. you couldn't step forward. you couldn't bear to get any closer.

"taesan... he went home earlier than he was supposed to."

mr. han's voice was rough, almost a whisper low.

"but i hope you won't blame yourself for this, y/n. it was his choice... an unfortunate one."

guilt wrapped around you like a claustrophobe. he was here because of you.

he was in pain right now because he loved you.

you pressed a trembling hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sob trying to break free. but nothing could stop the way your chest caved in, the way your entire body ached with something so heavy.

mr. han reached out, squeezing your shoulder gently.

"at least he's alive. and he'll be okay."

that was all you could hold onto. that was all you could hope for.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

the first few days after the accident were unbearable.

you visited the hospital every single day. sat by his bedside, hands folded in your lap, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. you had already memorized the sound of the machines, the way the heart monitor beeped in slow, rhythmic pulses. sometimes, you spoke to him—soft, whispered words that never received an answer.

"hey, taesan... it's me."

"ryujin's been making me eat properly, but you know how she is. she doesn't know how to cook for shit."

"i've been playing the mixtape you gave me. over and over. it's still my favorite thing in the world."

but taesan never responded.

his fingers never twitched. his breathing never changed.

he was there, but he wasn't.

and that was the worst part—watching him sleep, watching him remain so still, and not knowing when he would wake up. if he would wake up.

mr. han tried to stay hopeful. "he's a fighter, y/n. he's strong."

but late at night, when the nurses thought no one was listening, you overheard the hushed conversations between doctors. the uncertainty in their voices. the way they said "if he wakes up" instead of "when."

and it terrified you. some nights, you didn't sleep at all.

you sat by your window, hugging your knees to your chest, playing the last recording taesan ever sent you. his voice the only thing keeping you together— cracked slightly as he sang. you closed your eyes and imagined he was still here, still whole, still the same boy who left with a promise to return.

you whispered to yourself, like a prayer. "please come back to me."

and then—

one morning, the beeper went off.

you almost didn't answer. you had spent the entire night awake again, too afraid to close your eyes, too afraid that when you opened them, something worse would happen.

but then you saw it's from taesan's father.

"y/n, he's awake."

the phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

you didn't even bother grabbing your jacket. you just ran.

your legs felt weak as you reached the hospital doors, but the rush of adrenaline kept you moving. every step felt like you were running towards something unreal, something you had spent weeks desperately hoping for.

you imagined it over and over—

taesan waking up, his tired eyes landing on you, his lips curving into the smallest, weakest smile. "you're here," he would say, and you would laugh through your tears, grabbing his hand, feeling his warmth.

you wanted that moment— you needed that moment.

but when you stepped into his room, when his eyes finally met yours, you expected to be greeted with the same eyes you've seen just a month ago, the same smile you saw in the vhs clip.

but his direct, empty, and confused gaze says otherwise.

"dad, who is she?"

your heart stopped, and the world suddenly spun faster. you had prepared for everything—except this.

except for the possibility that when he woke up, you wouldn't exist to him anymore.

petrified, you couldn't do anything but stare at him, your vision blurring, body turning ice cold.

this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"taesan, she's..." mr. han hesitated.

but taesan's confused gaze never flinched. he didn't know you, didn't remember you.

every memory, every moment, every smile, every night spent whispering about forever— gone.

you turned abruptly, stumbling out of the room, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push open the door. the walls of the hospital hallway felt like they were closing in, suffocating you, crushing you under the weight of a new reality you never thought you would have to face.

you pressed your back against the nearest wall, gasping for air.

the nausea hit first. then the dizziness. then the overwhelming, unbearable grief.

mr. han followed you out, his face lined with concern, his voice was comforting when he knelt beside you.

"i'm sorry, y/n."

you shook your head, gripping your arms as if holding yourself together.

"no, no, no..." the words came out as broken whispers.

"the doctor said the trauma to his head was too severe," mr. han explained gently. "he's lucky to be alive. his memory... it's in pieces. some things, he remembers. some things, he doesn't."

you barely heard him.

everything else drowned in the roaring noise in your head. it felt like someone had reached inside you and ripped out your heart, leaving a hollow, aching space behind.

"give yourself time," mr. han said. "i'll help you reintroduce yourself to him—"

"no."

it came out sharper than you intended.

mr. han blinked, taken aback.

"no, mr. han. don't." your voice cracked at the end.

you couldn't do this.

you wouldn't do this.

because the taesan you loved—the one who knew your favorite songs, the one who always hugged you from behind when you least expected it, the one who promised to come back to you— that taesan was gone.

and maybe it was selfish. maybe it was weak, but you didn't want to be just another stranger in his life.

mr. han exhaled slowly, his eyes filled with something close to sorrow. but he didn't argue.

"i understand," he murmured. "but i'll be here if you ever change your mind."

except, you didn't. you never did, and that's it.

the guilt still sat in your chest like a sickness that had no cure, a lifetime illness that never fafrd. you spent the next year drowning in it, avoiding everything that reminded you of him—the store, the streets you once walked together. you kept yourself hidden in the comfort of isolation, blaming yourself until the weight of regret became unbearable. the only constant was ryujin, who sat with you through every sleepless night, listening to your sobs, carrying the same sorrow in her own heart.

but you never wanted to see taesan again. not because the love had faded—no, it was because it hadn't. because it still lived inside you, and that love had nearly destroyed him.

and just like that, in the blink of an eye, you were erased from his world.

two years later, after mr. han's passing, you left. you went overseas, studied, worked, and tried to piece yourself back together. you built a life—a good one, stable, structured. you had everything, everything except the warmth you once held in your hands. the kind of love that once made your heart feel alive.

that emptiness stayed with you for the next 16 years.

▶▶ fast forward, to 2010

the air smelled the same. that was the first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the taxi, suitcase in hand, standing in front of the house you called home. it had been a decade and a half since you last walked this street, yet the scent of the trees, the faint saltiness from the nearby river, and the warm, lingering aroma of your mother's cooking still clung to the air.

your mother was the first to rush out, arms wide open, pulling you into a warm hug. the comfort of her touch was the same, but her body felt smaller, frailer. her hair was streaked with more silver than before, and the deep lines on her face told stories of the years she had spent waiting for you to come back.

"you've gotten thinner," she muttered as she held your face, eyes scanning you as if trying to memorize every detail. "are you eating well?"

you let out a small laugh. "i'm fine, mom."

your older sister, now a mother herself, stood behind her, smiling softly. in her arms was yujin, her six-year-old daughter, peeking at you with curious eyes. she looked so much like your sister when she was younger—same round cheeks, same smile.

at lunch, the dining table was livelier than you remembered. your sister talked about her job, your mother shared neighborhood gossip, and yujin, growing more comfortable, proudly told you about a drawing she made in school. you listened, letting their voices fill the hollow that had followed you for years.

then, the conversation shifted.

"are you settling back here for good?" your sister asked.

you nodded while slicing into your food. "yeah, i've earned enough, but i still took a job at a company nearby. i'll be staying here for a while until i find my own place around the city."

your mother and sister exchanged glances but said nothing. you could already tell they wanted you to stay, but they wouldn't push. at thirty-five, you had already built a life away from home—except,

"y/n, dear," your mother spoke after a pause, setting her utensils down. "when are you getting married?"

you froze for just a second, but it was enough.

the room quieted, only present was the sound of yujin humming to herself. you didn't look up, simply pushing the food around on your plate.

your sister cleared her throat, sensing the tension. "mom—"

"i'm just worried," your mother interrupted softly. "you've been alone for so long."

you sighed, putting down your fork. "let's not talk about it."

she lowered her gaze, nodding in understanding. "we just want you to be happy."

happy.

the word sat heavy in your chest. you weren't unhappy, not really. you had built a life, studied, worked, traveled. you had done everything you were supposed to do.

but happiness? that was different.

"i'll figure it out," you said finally, offering a small, reassuring smile.

your mother let it go after that, but the thought stayed in your mind even as the conversation moved on.

and then, as if drawn by an invisible string, your thoughts drifted back.

to the store. to the past you had locked away.

to taesan.

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

after lunch, you found yourself holding on the car keys. the decision to drive to the store mr. han used to own wasn't made on impulse—it had been in the back of your mind since you arrived in town. you told yourself it was curiosity. you just wanted to see if it was still there, if time had been kind to it, if someone else had taken over.

it wasn't about him.

at least, that's what you convinced yourself as you pulled out of the driveway.

the thought of taesan crossed your mind like a wind. once, the idea of seeing him again would have sent your heart into a spiral, would have made you rehearse scenarios in your head. but now? it didn't thrill you anymore. it had been sixteen years. whatever was left of those feelings had dulled with time, worn down like an old photograph left in the sun too long.

or so you thought.

as you pulled up to the familiar street, your eyes brightened. the store was still there.

a small, involuntary smile formed on your lips. it looked the same, almost eerily so—like it had been preserved in amber, untouched by the years that had changed everything else. the sign still hung above the door, its paint slightly faded but still legible. the same large glass windows framed the front, revealing shelves lined with records, just as they had always been. not a single thing seemed altered.

it was as if time had stood still here.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe it had.

your grip on the steering wheel loosened as memories flooded in—memories of you and ryujin, laughing as you ran up the sidewalk, her voice echoing in your ears. you could almost see it, the shadows of your younger selves running past, breathless from excitement, pushing open the door with a little too much force. mr. han would already be at the counter, a cup of coffee in his hands, shaking his head with a grin.

the memory felt so vivid, so real, that you had to blink yourself back into the present.

through the window, you peered inside, searching for a figure behind the counter. but no one was there. the space looked empty.

you hesitated. then, exhaling softly, you stepped out of the car.

the afternoon air was slightly cold, carrying the slight scent of autumn leaves from the ground. your steps were slow, as you walked toward the entrance. the familiar wooden panels creaked beneath your weight as you reached for the door handle.

the store smelled the same—dusty vinyl, aged paper. it wrapped around you like the old times.

your gaze instinctively drifted toward the counter. it was empty.

your fingers hovered over the small bell placed neatly beside the register. for a second, you debated leaving. maybe this had been a mistake. maybe digging through old places would only unearth things better left buried.

but then, before you could retreat, you tapped the bell.

a few seconds passed. and then, footsteps.

a door creaked open at the back of the shop— a man stepped out, taller, and hair slightly longer.

everything went in slow-motion.

you had thought you were past this. you had convinced yourself that all those feelings, all those stupid heartbeats, had faded with time.

but the moment you saw the man walk through that door— looking different, but still painfully the same, everything came crashing back.

taesan.

your fingers curled instinctively, gripping the hem of your sleeve.

he looked more matured. his hair was neatly styled, and there were faint lines around his eyes. but his presence—his quiet, effortless presence was the same.

and he was smiling, but not in the way he used to.

this wasn't the smile that had once made you feel like the world had paused just for the two of you. this wasn't the same expression he had worn that day when he first saw you holding mtv unplugged, standing right behind where you were now.

no, this smile was polite. distant. the kind of smile you give to strangers.

"hello, ma'am. can i help you?"

his voice was calm, and professional.

you tried not to look, not to search for any remnants of the boy you once loved in his still-starry eyes. but in doing so, your own eyes began to glisten with the weight of sixteen years that had passed too quickly, and yet, not quickly enough.

before he could ask if you were okay, the bell chimed again.

a voice called out—

"hi, honey!"

and there it was. the smile. the one you had been searching for.

but it wasn't for you.

your gaze shifted toward the woman who had just walked in.

she had short hair. a soft yellow dress flowed around her frame. her presence was gentle, warm, as she stepped closer in a way that made something in you sink.

taesan's face softened. his entire posture changed.

"how's eunyoung?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"your daughter's been really naughty. good thing her sister's a responsible one," the woman chuckled.

daughter.

your ears rang.

you turned away before you could hear more. before you could process what it meant. before the tight wrap of reality could fully drag you down.

your steps carried you—perhaps instinctively, to the back of the store, where the old shelves stood. the same ones where you and taesan had once stood, side by side, two teenagers who thought the world only revolved around music and endless possibilities.

your fingers skimmed the edges of the records. some were familiar, old classics that had stood the test of time. others were newer, fresh additions to replace old ones.

and then— your hand stilled.

a single vinyl, untouched, tucked carefully between the others.

mtv unplugged.

a whisper of a memory stirred.

"mtv unplugged."

the voice echoed behind you.

you turned, and suddenly, you weren't standing in a record store in 2010—you were eighteen again.

"that's been a personal favorite," taesan said, his voice lighter now. "i don't know why no one buys it."

your lips parted, but no words came.

he glanced at you, but not like before, not with the warmth of love. just as a store owner speaking to a customer.

"gonna buy it?"

"no," you murmured, gripping the record a little tighter. "i'll just rent it."

taesan nodded, unfazed. "great. i'll be at the counter if you need recommendations."

and just like that, he walked away. without a second look. not realizing who you were.

without realizing what this place—what he, had meant to you.

but that didn't matter. you had no intention of crashing back into his life. he was happy.

and for you, that had to be enough.

▐▐ resume, to 2024

your eyes flutter open.

for the first time in three decades, the weight in your chest isn't unbearable anymore. it lingers— like a memory that no longer claws at your chest but merely exists somewhere distant. you exhale, grounding yourself back to the present.

turning back to the shelf, you run your fingers along the spines of the vinyls, their covers weathered by time. you pause, pulling out nevermind, feeling the rough texture under your fingertips. then, without hesitation, you stacked the vinyl along with the mtv unplugged in your arms.

the bell above the door chimes again.

you sense taesan's presence before he even speaks, his footsteps light as he steps beside you.

"nevermind too?" he said, amusement in his tone.

you let out a soft chuckle. "yeah, someone once told me i should go with nevermind first."

he hums in approval, the corners of his lips tugging into an easy smile. "sounds like a wise man advice."

you both laugh—softly, naturally.

the moment feels strangely effortless, as if the years between now and then have thinned into something preserved.

then, without warning, taesan reaches for a different shelf, pulling out a cd from a tucked-away spot. you glance at it—reality by richard sanderson.

"here," he says, offering it to you. "recommendation. i listened to this out of pure boredom once, and for some reason, i was drawn to it. it felt like—" he pauses.

you turn to him, waiting.

"...home?" he finishes.

you smile, nodding, taking the cd from his hands. "yeah. some songs do that to you."

a comfortable silence passed between you as you stare down at the album in your hands. then, almost without thinking, you speak.

"do you ever feel like you've lost something important, but you don't know what?"

taesan tilts his head slightly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling in thought. he exhales through his nose, contemplative.

"sometimes," he admits. "i get these dreams, and... weird feelings whenever i sense something familiar. maybe old things i should remember."

you nod at his response, lips pressing into a flat line. there's no sadness in his voice, only curiosity—like someone who has long accepted that some pieces of his past are just that: lost, but not necessarily missed.

that freed you.

"well," you say, lifting the cd slightly. "maybe you loved this song in another life."

a small smirk forms on his lips. "maybe."

you adjust the stack in your arms. "alright, i'll take all these. buying them, finally."

taesan follows behind you as you walk to the counter. the transaction is simple—just another routine exchange. but as you take the bag from his hands and turn to leave, his voice stops you.

"you've been visiting here since 2010, if i remember correctly," he says. "but i don't think i ever got your name."

you hesitate. then, with a steady stance, you turn back to him.

"jang y/n."

for a fleeting moment, you swear you see something—a flicker of recognition, a spark of something buried deep in his eyes. but just as quickly as it appears, it's gone, replaced by his usual easygoing expression.

taesan nods, polite, casual. "okay. please take care on the road, ma'am jang. i'll remember you."

you nod back, stepping out of the store for the final time.

▶ ılıılıılılılıılıılı.

tonight— an hour before your birthday ends, the air feels lighter than it has in years.

settling into your bed, you turn on the old vhs player, the usual static rustling before the screen flickers on.

there he is, again. smiling through the grainy footage, his voice carrying through the years like a remnant of your youth.

"today is your day, and i need you to promise me something—smile, even if i'm not there. celebrate, even if it's just for yourself. because you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer."

for the first time, your chest doesn't tighten. your eyes don't glisten with unshed tears.

maybe, after all these years, this wasn't a promise left unfulfilled. maybe this message was never meant to be a placeholder for something that never came.

maybe it was closure all along.

maybe, the answer taesan gave you at the store earlier was the final piece of it—the confirmation that you were never completely erased from his world. buried, perhaps. forgotten in some ways. but never truly gone.

we all exist in someone's life, even if only in echoes. and maybe that truth—that you were once there, that you once mattered, is enough.

you glance back at the screen one last time.

taesan—your taesan is still there, frozen in time, forever twenty, forever smiling. wishing you happiness.

you reach for the remote, pressing the stop button.

the screen fades to black.

ejecting the tape carefully, putting it back in its place, you finally lay him—and the past—to rest.

■ fin.

[rafry]

Euclydia, Cults and Need for Control

Disclaimer: this analysis raises sensitive topics. if you are/were a victim of a cult and the topic triggers you, please refrain from reading further(/seek help). Additionally, I am not a specialist on said topic, nor am I a clinician. But I am a survivor, so part of the narrative may or may not be just me projecting the trauma on a silly yellow triangle. That said, reader discretion is advised! :)

The take: Euclydia is likely to be a cult-like society and the reason Bill, after years of abuse, grows up to be as he is: a power-hungry monster. Let's analyze!

For the starters, The Start. Each state has its own anthem. How lucky that we were kindly provided with the Euclidian hymn (hidden under the code "FORGETTHEPAST")! Lets take a look:

"Two dimensions to and from, You always know which way to go If you're lost, don't be afraid, In Euclydia you've got it made! Run too far too right of frame, You'll appear on left again! Jump too high, don't fry or fret, You'll pop up from the ground, I bet! In this place there is no fear, Roles and rules, always clear, Euclydia, we hold you dear…"

That tells us way more than we could've asked for, really. The most important: Euclydia is a state of Clear Rules™. Everything works perfectly thanks to The Rules and The Roles, and the state is loved by it's citizens. It's might be a caricature 2D utopia, but how it reacts when the rules are questioned?

"Eye doctor of a different kind, who wants to make his patient blind The doctor says: 'three sips a day will make the visions go away' Fussy eater, baby Billy Wouldn't drink unless it's silly..."

If there's anything about cults and the way they make people behave, is that the "wrong" ones in the community are usually ostracized and/or heavily medicated to not cause any troubles. Those people are sometimes called 'heretics', but may as well just be called crazy or insane by their peers. Oh look completely unrelated picture:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane Starting fires with his brain"

Honestly, the other time it would be it. Euclydia, if not Is, then sure does Act like a cult in some way. I could've finished here, easily, but there's something missing, isn't?

"The hell do you mean by 'The Need to Control', OP?"

I mean that the BILLVILLE is important.

There's the thing about trauma survivors: some of us, after living a life with no control over ones societal position (ostracization/isolation), body (forcibly medicated) or even mind (feeling of inadequacy), crave for some form of control to be regained.

It can turn toxic very quickly when the only form of control one has ever seen in their life is being The Leader (cult leader/shitty parent/armageddon overlord/you get the idea, it's about becoming an authority figure).

And so, Bill becomes a cult leader! Very possibly covering up the need for control and admiration with what I call "The most inefficient way to build an Interdimentional Portal ever", since, well, he's got to lie to himself every now and then, that's his thing (trauma response).

As for the details:

He uses the dead mans body — the body that wouldn't cause any resistance, thus being perfect for taking under control.

He sees the position of the interviewer as more authoritative than the position of the interviewee — and he swaps the roles. That wasn't enough though, so he demands (politely) to be called "My Lord And Master" for a good measure.

He very possibly recreates some of Euclydia-like order in his own "Town" in terms of expressing individuality. They might've been pretty decent in following scripts, I think.

So, I don't think Euclydia has ever been religious in any way, since that would left some other scars on Bills psyche for sure. But highly authoritative, ignorant, strict in its rules to the point of self-damnation? That checks. That's the place that has formed Bill, after all.

That's the place that he wishes to rebuild.

Maybe not consciously, maybe distorted by his illness and broken memory of a loving-paradise-home that has never actually been that way, but he seeks the comfort of familiarity — most of us do. Familiar stings are better than an uncontrollable too-bright future, isn't?

I hope he does well on therapy.

[hivemuthur]

A Deer and a Man - Ch.3.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit - pure FILTH as promised: hair undone, bras abandoned, naked ankles and no stockings, Reader is in her whore era. Jk, there is some actual filth :v some warnings that I forgot to mention before: Reader is obviously a virgin, Viktor is not, Jayce? Jaybe, Jaybe not, I was told he reads as one and honestly, I don't mind :') Other than that, this fic has an implied age gap, that will be mentioned only once, of around 8 years between Reader and Viktor. So, sorry for the inconvenience, I'm somewhat biased when it comes to this topic, and consider age gaps to be worth mentioning when they oscillate around 10+ years.

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,3K

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family's wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author's note: @mithrava and @rennethen thank you for beta reading!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You adjust the piano stool to your height and give its mouth an experimental caress. You can see your distorted reflection in the polished lid. Once its teeth are bare, you press on the A key tentatively. Then, you give the keyboard an abrupt slide with the back of your palm, fingernails clacking against each one with a dry, repetitive click. A sigh escapes you, while you contemplate what should be the first tune you play in your new home.

It did not take long for you to grasp that your honeymoon was far removed from any sweet undertones, lingering instead in the realm of the dull and tasteless. The day after the wedding, as you stepped out of the carriage that had brought you and your husband to your new household, said husband took that very opportunity to step into a completely new personality—one you had not yet met.

Almost as if the crumbs of his previous kindness had been scattered before you solely to keep you from straying from the path. And it was not that he was being cruel—no. Distant was the more fitting word. Or rather, absent.

Absent was perfect.

During your silent journey, Viktor had been wholly absorbed in a text on the voltaic pile. You watched as his lower lip disappeared between his teeth, a finger tracing the lines of letters as he re-read the most intriguing fragments. Every so often, he would sigh or let out a soft gasp, his mouth parting as if to speak, only to freeze mid-thought—perhaps deciding that the present audience would not grasp the grandiosity of the subject matter.

He looked rather pretty like this, you noted—focused and flustered over something as dry and practical as a battery. You wondered if this was what you looked like while playing the piano. Yet besides Viktor, who had only ever had the opportunity to watch your back—or so you thought—there were no witnesses to confirm your speculation.

So you sat there, watching his reflection in the carriage window as he flexed his hand, took notes, and grumbled whenever the wheels jolted over the uneven road, smudging his careful handwriting. By the time you arrived, you had memorized the pattern his hair formed on his forehead and the slight crease between his brows when he concentrated. Not that sentimentality was at play here—merely a lack of better substance to occupy your mind. Soon after departing the city, the landscape had dissolved into a monotonous stretch of rolling hills, scattered trees, and shallow ponds.

Viktor offered you a hand to step down safely and an arm to escort you into the main hall, where your new staff awaited. You were introduced to the butler, housekeeper, lady’s maid, cook, and the rest of the footmen before being led on a tour of the house. Room after room unfolded before you, each accompanied by the expectant gaze of Algernon, or rather Mr. Griffiths, the butler, as he meticulously detailed the strengths and weaknesses of each space.

He led the way through the entrance hall, his measured steps echoing against the polished floor. The space was impressive, if a touch austere, with high ceilings, a sweeping staircase, and dark wood panelling that made the morning light from the tall windows seem distant rather than inviting. A large, gilt-framed mirror dominated one wall, reflecting the assembled staff and, just behind them, you and Viktor—him standing with his usual careful posture, his expression impossible to read.

The butler cleared his throat and gestured towards the double doors on the left. "The drawing room, my lady. A fine space for receiving guests."

You stepped inside, taking in the elegant furnishings—brocade-upholstered settees, a stately fireplace adorned with a marble mantel—but your gaze caught on the gleaming pianoforte tucked into one corner. A quiet, unexpected relief settled over you at the sight of it, the first familiar thing in this house that was not yet a home.

You forced a smile, turning towards the housekeeper, a severe-looking woman introduced as Mrs. Forsythe. “It is lovely,” you said warmly, though you wondered if you would ever feel at ease here.

"The adjoining parlour, should you prefer a more intimate setting," Algernon continued, leading you through a side door into a cosier space with softer furnishings, smaller windows, and a delicate tea service already arranged on a sideboard.

Next came the dining room, its vast mahogany table stretching the length of the chamber, surrounded by high-backed chairs and illuminated by a heavy crystal chandelier. The room smelled of polish and beeswax. You folded your hands in front of you, smiling at the cook, Mrs. Harrod, when she stepped forward to curtsey.

"The kitchens are below, of course," she said, eyeing you with a mixture of deference and curiosity. "We’ve a well-stocked larder, my lady, and I shall ensure your meals are to your liking."

"I'm certain everything will be wonderful, Mrs. Harrod," you assured her.

The tour continued, each room unfolding before you as Algernon detailed its use. There was the library, lined with bookshelves that stretched nearly to the ceiling, the faint scent of leather and parchment lingering in the air. Viktor’s gaze lingered here for the first time, but he said nothing. Then, the morning room, light and airy with pale floral wallpaper and comfortable chairs arranged for quiet conversation. The study, reserved for correspondence and household matters, sat adjacent, its heavy oak desk perfectly arranged.

A long hallway led to a billiards room—more for guests than yourselves, you imagined—followed by a small music room, where an older harp sat in one corner alongside another pianoforte. The footmen glanced at you, waiting for a reaction, and so you smiled again, nodding approvingly even as your jaw began to ache from the effort.

Viktor remained silent throughout, his expression unreadable. He neither reacted nor interrupted, allowing Algernon to carry on without interference. Occasionally, you felt his gaze on you, but whenever you glanced in his direction, he was already looking elsewhere.

Ascending the stairs, you kept your posture straight, mindful of the way the staff’s eyes lingered. The second floor opened into a wide corridor lined with closed doors, each leading to a chamber of its own. Algernon led you towards the first of them.

“This,” he said, opening the door with a measured hand, “is His Lordship’s bedchamber.”

The room was of generous size, its furnishings well-appointed yet distinctly reserved. The four-poster bed stood against the far wall, its dark wood frame matching the writing desk stationed beneath the window. The fireplace was already prepared, a modest armchair set beside it. Everything was in place, tidy, waiting. It did not feel like a space belonging to a man who had just taken a wife.

You stood at the threshold, taking it in. Viktor, beside you, regarded the room with unreadable eyes, his hand tightening ever so slightly around his cane.

“I believe,” he said after a moment, his voice deliberately even, “that I shall conclude the tour here.”

You turned to him, expecting an explanation. He was already shifting his weight, his movements careful, precise. With a slow breath, he lowered himself into the chair by the fire, adjusting his leg with practiced care.

“My leg is acting up,” he stated plainly, an excuse so mild it almost dared no further comment. His amber gaze flickered to yours, cool yet observant. “You may continue without me.”

Algernon hesitated only a fraction before bowing. “As you wish, my lord.” Then, with a glance towards you, he gestured toward the hallway. “Shall we proceed, my lady?”

“By all means,” you murmured, your eyes lingering on the door as it closed almost in front of your nose. And that was the last you saw of Viktor that day.

Behind those closed doors, Viktor took his first real breath. He waited for the sound of your footsteps to fade down the corridor before letting the back of his head thump against the thick wood. He sighed to himself.

“Imbecile.”

He did not know what would do more to ease his mind—sleeping or going straight to the workshop your father had arranged for him and Jayce. He did not know how much longer he could maintain this careful performance, nor how he was meant to uphold his end of the secret agreement you two had forged. But he had to regroup.

He slumped onto the bed, arms and legs spread wide, and sighed again.

“Absurd.”

Absurd was the way you licked your lips when you met in the morning to pack your belongings. Absurd was the way your hand had squeezed his when he helped you in and out of the carriage. Absurd was the way you had watched him the entire journey, barely blinking, breathing deeply—your eyes fixed on his fingers, on his hair, gaze burning right through him, making his clothes feel tight and his seat unbearable.

Absurdity. That was what he was making of it in his deranged mind, because clearly, you were just measuring up your opponent.

He loosened his cravat, then, growing impatient, pulled it from his collar entirely. He unbuttoned his shirt and pressed his hands against his chest. His heartbeat was uneven—final proof of his insanity. The heels of his palms pressed deep into his eyeballs, chest rising and falling, brace digging into the flesh of his leg uncomfortably when Viktor tried to make out anything that would make sense to him. And nothing did.

A vague, unsettled feeling took root in your chest when you finally reached your bedchamber, and Mr. Griffiths paused at the door. “Do you require anything else, my lady?”

“I think… Could I use the music room?”

“By all means, my lady. Everything in this house is yours to use as you please.”

Which is precisely how you’ve found yourself here—perched at the edge of the piano stool, subjecting the instrument to a volatile rendition of Mozart’s Fantasia in D Minor, swinging between tender, thoughtful passages and frantic, feverish key-smashing. Hunched over, eyes shut, your mouth moving as if forming words in a language only you can understand.

The sound echoes through the music room, spills into the hallway, and carries through the corridors—all the way up to Viktor’s bedchamber, where he presses his hands to his ears. His core burns, his hips rut helplessly against the mattress, and he mutters, “God, spare me,” desperate and alone.

***

Your first few weeks do not look all that different from the life you left behind. It feels as though you packed it up and brought it with you—everything except your parents, sisters, and, most painfully, Peggy. Your new lady’s maid is much younger and far more timid than she was.

Eliza knocks on your door every morning and helps you dress, just as Peggy once did, yet her reserve and cautiousness make the ritual all the more unbearable. Just to avoid giving the poor girl a heart attack, you almost instinctively continue to slip back and forth between your night and day self, growing more and more adamant by the day.

How many times have you tried to bring yourself to say a polite little no to a short stay, it is only for you to know. The only thing you have achieved so far is your bun becoming looser and looser, to the point of falling apart by the end of the day—much to Eliza’s horror over the number of pins lost somewhere around the house.

You spend your days alone, reading and playing the piano, performing for no one but yourself and your devoted staff. Viktor, meanwhile, spends all his waking hours in the lab, having effortlessly shed the composed facade he maintained upon arrival. Whenever you glimpse him—usually only for a fleeting moment as you cross paths in the dining room—his hair is mussed, his shirt collar undone by at least one button, his cravat entirely absent, and, to your utter ruin, his sleeves are often rolled up, exposing the taut skin of his forearms.

These glimpses are brief. He is always finishing his breakfast the moment you step into the dining room, wiping his glistening lips with a napkin before downing the last sip of coffee—already on his feet. You greet him with a rigid hello as you take your seat at the far end of the long table, another silent symbol of the growing distance between you. And each time, it strikes you: you do not even know if he has just woken at dawn or has yet to retire for the night.

Until today, when something is visibly askew, and Viktor lingers in the dining room a moment longer than usual. He sits hunched over a stack of notes when you enter, not sparing you a glance—only a quiet, hollow, Good morning.

Of all days, today, when you managed to furiously pluck the pins from your hair on the way to breakfast and shove them into a plant pot in one of the corridors, huffing at yourself in condemnation—why are you valuing your lady’s maid’s peace of mind higher than your own in the first place?

You gather your untamed hair away from your forehead, flip it over your shoulder, and sit carefully, mindful not to trap the curls beneath you. You hum and fuss over your plate, chin propped in one hand, until you finally crack the egg open with an echoing smack—and Viktor hisses, visibly annoyed.

“Is something the matter, my dear husband?” Your unamused voice carries through the room, and Viktor winces, huffing before setting the parchment down with a click of his tongue.

“I was an inch from solving a problem,” he replies with exaggerated politeness. There is more to the remark, lingering somewhere in his throat, but when he finally looks up at you, all he says is—

“Oh.”

“Oh?” you parrot.

“Forgive me, I must—” He stands almost abruptly, nearly knocking his coffee over. “I must call for Jayce. And possibly get back to this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the papers scattered on the table.

You watch him as he turns, noting the unevenness in his step—the slight wobble, the way his weight shifts too quickly onto his cane. Before he can pass, you twist in your chair, reaching out instinctively. Your fingers close around his forearm, just above where his hand grips the cane.

“Have you rested at all?”

The question lands between you like a stone dropped into still water. He freezes beneath your touch. The muscles under your hand tighten, but he does not pull away instantly. You feel the warmth of his skin, his sleeve rolled up, the faint tremor of exertion, and then—goosebumps, rising where your palm lingers.

You watch it with glazed eyes, your mouth slightly parted, and it becomes unbearably hard to stay motionless as you dangle between snapping your hand away, smoothing your palm down to his wrist to see if the tremor of your heart has a companion in his, or simply squeezing your fingers around him tighter. To keep him with you for just a little longer.

His throat bobs with a heavy swallow. Then, just as quickly as the moment came, it is gone. He retreats, wrenching his arm away as though burned. He does not dare look at his own skin—fears to check whether the imprint of your touch will be glaring at him, a brand he cannot afford to acknowledge.

“I need not your pity, my dear wife,” he says, sharper than necessary, the words laced with a venom that does not quite belong.

Your breath hitches, but the response comes swiftly, cutting through the tension like the precise stroke of a blade.

“I do not pity you. I am merely guessing that you have not retired for the night.” A pause, deliberate, pointed. Then, voice soft but unyielding: “It is only my suspicion, though, as you are a phantom that shows itself to me on rare occasions.”

Viktor blinks caught off guard by your words. His gaze sharpens, but there’s a hint of confusion in it. He turns fully, the squeak of his cane against the polished floor punctuating the moment. You take him in now, properly. The absence of his usual polish makes him appear almost boyish—no layers of coats or stiff cravats, no carefully smoothed-down hair. His shirt is loose at the waist, half-pulled from his slacks, the fabric creased with wear. It softens him, or so it should. But what follows does not suit his harmless appearance.

“I am merely taking full advantage of our agreement, as vowed.” His voice is smooth, edged with annoyance that sends a shiver through you. “Hunting my prey.”

Your breath catches, but you do not waver. His eyes drag over you, assessing, and then he gestures vaguely in your direction. “And yet, between the two of us, you afford yourself nothing more than loosened hair.” For the briefest of moments Viktor conjures the feeling of your curls beneath his fingers, a vignette of his own hand closing around the fistful of hair floods his mind’s eye, warmth waking in an unwanted place. No matter.

He steps closer, slow and calculated. “I do not see you running barefoot. I do not hear you playing the piano. I do not see you eating what you please, reading what you please. I see no effort at all to find your deer—” He leans in, voice a near whisper now. “Let alone hunt it.”

Your heart thunders, but you hold your ground. You meet his gaze, chin tilting upward in defiance. “You could have stopped at ‘I do not see you,’” you say, voice steady despite the heat curling at the back of your throat. “That would have been enough.”

Silence stretches between you, taut and unbroken. Then, Viktor exhales, and when he speaks again, your name falls from his lips softly—too softly. A warning.

You wait, but nothing follows.

At last, he straightens, stepping back just enough to sever the unbearable tension between you. “Indeed,” he murmurs, the usual tone devoid of emotion returning to his voice. “I am feeling rather tired.” A pause, measured. Then, with a glance toward the hallway, “Perhaps I should retire for a few hours before Jayce arrives.”

With that, he is gone, and you realise the spoon you’ve been holding has left a dent on the inside of your palm. A tremendous feeling surges through you—a mixture of anger and excitement. Both halves of you stir with something unspoken, as if you have been challenged, and you wonder if Viktor has the faintest idea of what he has just set into motion.

The answer to your question lingers in the corridor, where Viktor halts his wobbly trot to lean against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. The weather has grown unbearably hot these past couple of weeks, he tells himself. He will have to go completely nocturnal to survive this. It is possible—he is already halfway there. Jayce will arrive in the evening and take his mind off the intrusive thoughts. He cannot confuse the deer, not now.

The rest of the day passes in seemingly unimportant activities, though in truth, you strike another contract—one with yourself. Your day and night selves reach an accord: it is time to taste some of the alleged freedom that has been granted to you.

By the time the day dims into evening and Jayce’s carriage rumbles up the drive, you are already retired for the night, determined to wake before Eliza steps into your room, her gentle hands poised to constrict.

And so, when dawn stretches its pale fingers across the horizon, you are not in your bed.

You are already dressed—or rather, half-dressed, as far as society is concerned. No short stay, no stockings, bare feet enveloped by delicate satin slippers. The cool air kisses the skin left exposed by your loosened chemise, and for the first time in weeks, you feel unburdened.

Eliza’s head peeks through the door, her voice tight with worry. “My lady, you are up so early! Forgive me my oversight!” She steps in hastily, hands reaching as if to remedy the damage.

You only smile, brushing past her gently. “I can manage on my own.”

You are nearly at the door when a faint, barely audible squirm from Eliza makes you pause. Without turning, you add, “I can dress myself. But I wouldn’t mind some company from time to time, if you find a moment for me.” Your voice is warm, the offer genuine.

Eliza blanches, her face draining of colour. She nods—too quickly, too vigorously—and you cannot tell whether it is because she has noticed your scandalous lack of undergarments or because, somehow, you have become utterly intimidating overnight.

No matter which it is, you take your leave, stepping lightly down the grand staircase. The air is crisp with the promise of morning, your confidence unshaken—until your bravado falters slightly at the sound of voices drifting from the dining room. Viktor’s and Jayce’s.

You step forward anyway.

Their voices sharpen as you near, rising in a rapid exchange of ideas, heated but not hostile. The dining room door is ajar, and through the gap, you glimpse them—both dishevelled, shirts rumpled, hair mussed, sleeves rolled up, the remnants of a long night spent in relentless pursuit of something just within their grasp.

“I’m telling you, the reaction stabilised, but only for a moment—” Viktor gestures sharply, his cane propped against the table as he leans forward, hands braced against scattered notes.

Jayce shakes his head, pushing a plate of untouched food aside. “Then we’re missing something. Maybe—maybe the cooling process is too fast? We need to slow the transition.”

“That would—” Viktor stops mid-thought, snapping his fingers as if trying to seize the fleeting revelation. “That could work. If we control the gradient, if we—”

You step into the room.

The soft rustle of your movement isn’t enough to pull them from their world. Jayce rubs his forehead, squinting down at a set of scribbled calculations, muttering under his breath. Viktor paces—or tries to, moving in uneven strides before settling for gripping the edge of the table. Neither acknowledges your presence at first.

It’s only when you take your seat—silent, waiting—that Viktor glances up.

His entire body stills.

“Oh,” he breathes, his exhaustion-worn features shifting as his focus lands fully on you. His brow furrows slightly, as if trying to reconcile the image before him with the one his mind is struggling to catch up to. “Did we wake you?”

You shake your head lightly. “Not at all.” A pause. You glance between them, their energy still thrumming in the air like a current not yet dissipated. Amusement tugs at your lips as you add, “But I can't deny I'm feeling like I'm interrupting something.”

Jayce, who has been slower to register your presence, suddenly snaps to attention. His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands abruptly, eyes widening in realisation before he bellows your name. The sound echoes across the room, bouncing off the high ceiling, and before you can react, he’s already closing the distance.

His enthusiasm outpaces his manners.

He sweeps you into a hug, broad arms folding around you in an unpractised but genuine embrace. His hands pat your back—gentle at first, then slower, as if something unexpected has dawned on him. You swear you catch the faintest sound from him, a quiet huh, before he swiftly schools his expression into a bright smile, brushing off whatever surprise had momentarily struck him.

“Why are you all the way over here?” He gestures toward the edge of the table where you had settled. “Come, sit. You must tell me how you’ve been—I was worried we’d miss each other.”

You laugh, wholeheartedly, startled by the first honest touch you’ve experienced in days. Then, you glance over at Viktor, who is still standing, braced against the edge of the table. He gives you a timid nod while closing his mouth, then sits, smoothing down his hair.

Jayce, a faint blush playing on his cheeks, guides you with a hand on your back to take a seat between him and Viktor. He fixes your chair and slumps down beside you, leaning in with a boyish curiosity, shedding the last remnants of formalities now that it’s just the three of you. There is something familiar in it, something that makes you feel less like a wife on paper and more like a natural part of this strange little household.

He leans in conspiratorially. “So, tell me everything—how much of a thorn in your side has he been?”

You consider, for a moment, telling Jayce that something must be present to be a nuisance in the first place. But something deeper, some instinct not yet fully understood, warns you against such an admission. Betraying loyalty—even in jest—would lead nowhere.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, casting a glance at Viktor before saying, with measured amusement, “I find I have little cause to complain.”

Viktor, still smoothing a hand through his hair, blinks slowly at you, eyes narrowing just a fraction before he inclines his head in the smallest of nods.

Jayce huffs. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

Viktor exhales sharply through his nose. “And are you not going to ask if she has been a thorn in my side?”

And Viktor would have plenty to say on the matter. Not only have you somehow managed to work around his erratic schedule, but it would seem you are well on your way to orchestrating his downfall��death by one’s own sword. The familiarity of your arrangement is creeping into spaces he does not wish it to occupy, slipping into idle moments, threading itself through his thoughts when he least expects it.

The number of times he has stopped by your door, only to hesitate at the threshold, has already reached a ridiculous count—much to his own dismay. And all of this, when the two of you barely see each other.

Jayce barks out a laugh so sudden and loud that it nearly startles you. He claps a hand against the table, shaking his head. “Right. As if there exists a soul more exasperating than you.”

Viktor only rolls his eyes, briefly contemplating calling for a hearse in advance to carry away his still-warm corpse before Jayce tears him apart in front of you.

Thankfully, the rest of breakfast passes without much torment for Viktor as Jayce and you fall into easy conversation, catching up on the time lost between visits. By the time the clock strikes nine, Jayce yawns—big and unreserved—before pushing back his chair and announcing his departure. He remarks that he has already overstayed his welcome and promises to arrive at a more humane hour next time, which, he assures, will be in four days.

Before leaving, he turns to Viktor. “I’ll get the things we need from the city before my next visit.”

With their goodbyes exchanged, Viktor leans back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes wearily. He sighs, then looks at you. “Are you not going to berate me into bed this time?”

You arch a brow. “Last time, it earned me some rather harsh commentary from you, so I will refrain from mothering you.”

His expression softens instantly. And suddenly, he is back—or rather, he shifts into one of the versions of himself that you have grown to like the most. Soft-spoken, his features gentle, a hand lingering on the table as though caught in indecision. He does not reach for you, and yet you feel the warmth of his skin as if he had.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I grow... irritable when I am overtired.”

“It’s quite alright. I am not easily offended.”

He hums at that and stands, bidding you farewell with a slight bow of his head. Yet somewhere between the table and the door, he hesitates, glancing back at you. His gaze flickers downward—just for a second—to your bodice, to your bare feet in their slippers.

“I see you have taken my advice,” he remarks.

You feel warmth rise to your cheeks. “Yes, I am merely testing the waters.”

A sound—so faint you barely catch it—escapes him. Something like a sigh, like the start of a whine swiftly swallowed down. “Good,” is all he says before taking his leave.

You smile to yourself, kick off your shoes, and curl up in the chair, biting into an apple without slicing or peeling it.

***

By the time of Jayce’s next visit, Viktor has managed to adjust his sleeping schedule—if only slightly—into something resembling human behaviour. He cannot deny his own excitement about the threshold they are about to cross. So much so that some of his defences have loosened almost without his noticing.

When the morning following Jayce’s first visit arrives, you take your seat all the way back by the table. Viktor notices before he even means to, and his mouth is faster to speak than his mind can stop him. “I see we are back to the original seat arrangement?”

You glance at him over your cup, the barest glint of amusement in your eyes. “Unless you don’t mind me sitting where I sat yesterday?”

Viktor nearly scowls at this game, realising too late that he is about to lose. He braces himself, carefully setting his spoon down before conjuring an answer that might put you in check. “I would not mind if that was what you desired.”

A perfect deflection—or so he believes, right up until you tilt your head ever so slightly, a knowing glint in your eye. Without hesitation, you approach the seat you had claimed yesterday and sink into it with deliberate ease, smoothing your hands over the tablecloth as though you had always belonged there. “Then I suppose I shall have to keep you guessing as to what it is I desire.”

Viktor stills. His fingers tighten imperceptibly around the edge of the table, mind racing to counter, to regain footing in a match he hadn’t realised was taking place. But you have left him no opening, no move to reclaim the upper hand.

Checkmate.

The air shifts between you, tension strung so finely it might snap at the slightest pull. Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, as if attempting to dispel it, and seizes upon the first neutral topic that comes to mind.

“Did you sleep well?” His voice is steadier than he expects, though he distracts himself by reaching for the sugar dish.

“Well enough,” you reply, mirroring his movement. “Though I admit, I nearly slept through breakfast.”

Your fingers brush against his—just a whisper of contact, fleeting yet electric. Viktor’s breath catches. It is the smallest of things, entirely unremarkable, yet his reaction is anything but. Heat prickles at the back of his neck. He withdraws a fraction too quickly, fingers curling into a loose fist against the tabletop.

You seem unaware of his flustered state, but he cannot risk testing his restraint further. Pushing back from the table, he stands, offering a polite nod.

“I should return to my work,” he says, voice carefully composed. A pause. Then, softer, “I will see you at dinner.”

He does not look back as he leaves, though he feels the weight of your gaze following him all the way to the door. Leaves you with your brows scrunched, before you finally shrug and go about your day.

Another time, he allows himself an odd smile during a brief conversation with you—a small greeting when he finds you reading outside, your belly pressed against the blanket, bare feet swinging idly in the air as you kick at your own buttocks. He is the one to initiate the chatter, asking what has you so engrossed, before his mind catches up with the inevitable flustered reaction caused by the sight of your bare shin.

Viktor nods absentmindedly as you speak, his ears processing the words—something about musical composition, about Bach’s fugues—but his mind does not listen to him.

Some primal instinct takes over, overriding his better judgement, and all he can do is memorise the delicate shape of your ankle, the gentle swell of your calf. His gaze lingers, bordering on something obscene, tracing the bare stretch of your skin where it catches the dappled sunlight. The sight is almost hypnotic, and yet, in your innocence, you mistake it for unwavering focus.

“In fact,” you say, perking up, your expression bright with enthusiasm, “I believe this is something that might catch your interest.” You shift, moving aside to make space for him on the blanket, and in the process, your skirt rides up just slightly—just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your knee.

It is nearly too much.

Viktor coughs abruptly, his throat tightening as if his own body conspires against him. He tugs at his collar, attempting to create more space, but it is no use—the air has grown thick and stifling.

“I—” His voice comes out strained, so he clears his throat again and schools his expression into something neutral. “I would, but I must prepare the lab for Jayce’s arrival.”

The excuse is polite, reasonable, and entirely necessary, lest he make an utter fool of himself. Without waiting for your response, he inclines his head in farewell and turns on his heel, making a swift retreat before temptation can take root any further.

Leaves you blinking dumbfoundedly as your mouth stops speaking mid-sentence again.

Never mind that, the rest of your day is consumed with the attempt to put your freshly devoured knowledge into practice. You spend hours hunched over the piano, fingers chasing after patterns, testing the way structure gives way to emotion in each phrase. The passing of time eludes you until the golden light of the setting sun vanishes entirely, leaving only the soft glow of candle sconces to guide your way.

Footsteps in the corridor signal movement in the house, the shuffle of weary men returning from their labours. You take it as your cue to retire for the night.

Stepping into the hallway, you find yourself crossing paths with Jayce and Viktor. They are both visibly spent, their shoulders drawn with exhaustion, but there is something undeniably triumphant in their expressions. Viktor carries the scent of burnt oil and paper, while Jayce's hair is in complete disarray, as though he has run his hands through it a hundred times over.

"Any groundbreaking success?" you ask lightly, directing the question to Jayce as he stretches with a groan.

"Hopefully," he says, laughing. "We’re making progress—some of it even intentional."

You huff in amusement. "I shall look forward to hearing the grand announcement, then."

"You’ll be the first to know," Jayce assures you, then clasps Viktor’s shoulder before departing. "Goodnight, you two."

That leaves you and Viktor alone, the silence between you both weighted, not uncomfortable but not quite settled either. Without speaking, you fall into step together, instinctively adjusting your pace to match his—slower, deliberate, the quiet tap of his cane punctuating each measured stride—as you ascend the stairs in tandem.

At the landing, where your paths are meant to diverge, Viktor hesitates. Just for a breath. Just for a moment too long.

Your eyes meet.

And then, as though scalded, he steps back, inclining his head with the faintest of nods before slipping away into the dark.

With a huff of resignation, you allow Eliza to undress you and prepare you for bed. She moves deftly, fingers working through the laces of your gown, but you do not miss the way her lips press together as though suppressing a question.

You arch a brow at her in quiet encouragement, and with a shake of her head—half exasperation, half amusement—she finally relents.

“If it is not too bold of me to ask, my lady—” she hesitates briefly before pressing on, “—it has been nearly a month now. How do you find marriage suits you?”

You let out a small breath of laughter, too tired to weigh your words with careful diplomacy. “Not too different from unwedded life, if I am to be truthful. Save for the absence of my sisters’ endless chatter.”

Eliza hums as she loosens the ties of your corset. “If I may say so, my lady, Mister Viktor strikes me as a good husband. Hardworking, thoughtful.”

You pause for half a moment before answering, smoothing your hands over your chemise. “He is a good friend, that much is certain.”

A small huff of laughter escapes her then, as though she cannot help herself. “Oh, my lady,” she says, shaking her head, “I may be young, but even my inexperienced eyes can see that you and Mister Viktor have long since passed the realm of friendship.”

You blink at her, caught off guard, and at once, she seems to realise she has overstepped. Her back straightens, her expression tightening as she rushes to amend her words. “I—I beg your pardon, I spoke out of turn, I did not mean—”

You hold up a hand, cutting off her flustered apology. “No, no, I rather liked that,” you say, surprising even yourself. A smirk tugs at your lips as you add, “Much more, in fact, than your continued attempts to sneak me a short stay each morning. I do hope we will soon be past that.”

Eliza exhales in relief, her mouth curling into a warm, genuine smile. She dips into a small curtsy. “Anything you wish, my lady.”

With that, she bids you goodnight and quietly takes her leave.

Left alone, you crawl into bed, drawing the covers up to your chin. The house is still, save for the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant hush of the wind beyond your window. But despite the quiet, despite the heavy comfort of your bedding, sleep eludes you.

Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to Viktor. To the way he had lingered by your door just moments earlier, caught in a hesitation neither of you had dared to name. To the way he had spoken to you at breakfast, as though testing boundaries he did not yet fully understand. To the fleeting brush of his hand against yours, his fingers warm, his breath catching just so—

You turn onto your side with a soft, frustrated sigh. Morning will come soon enough.

And yet, you do not think you will sleep at all. You swing your legs over the frame with an intention take a stroll to calm your mind.

Your bare feet make no sound against the polished floorboards as you slip into the corridor, the cool air brushing against your skin like a whispered warning. You tell yourself this is only a brief walk to settle your thoughts, to quiet the restlessness that refuses to let you sleep. Yet, without meaning to, your steps carry you past Viktor’s door before you can register the path you have taken.

You mean to keep walking. Truly, you do. But then—

A ghost of your name reaches your ears.

You stop short, the breath catching in your throat. Perhaps it was nothing—a trick of the night, the house shifting in its slumber. But then it comes again, unmistakable now, low and hoarse and pulled from behind that door.

Your fingers hover over the wood as if drawn by an unseen force. You glance down the corridor—empty, silent—before pressing your ear against the surface.

What you hear sends a shiver racing down your spine.

His voice is rough, uneven, his breaths laboured between the syllables of your name. Even through the barrier of the door, the strain in his tone is evident, the sound of it sinking straight to the pit of your stomach. He is panting, sighing, the rhythm of his breaths quickening into something unmistakable.

Your mind can only grasp at the edges of what is unfolding beyond that door, yet the images come unbidden.

Viktor, alone in the dark, his fingers ghosting over his parted lips as he imagines yours wrapped around him instead. His hand strokes himself with urgent, desperate movements, the need unbearable, overwhelming. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like a curse. His mind is flooded with visions of you—your bare skin, your hands gripping at him, your body surrendering beneath his touch.

He pictures you riding his cock into oblivion, your hair cascading down your back, tickling his thighs as your head lulls on your shoulders in pleasure, lips moaning out his name. Your throat calling out for him, for God, as his thumb rubs you and his palm clasps around your waist. Your belly stretching over a bulge where his cock fills you up—if he were so lucky for you to lean back, propping yourself on his legs, presenting yourself to him. Your body long and arched as he runs a palm against your stomach, feeling himself hitting that spot that makes your thighs clench around the sharp angles of his hips.

Then, it’s your mouth on him again. That sweet tongue you stick out whenever you play the piano is now flicking against the bundle of nerves under his tip, teasing him. His thumb, no matter how precise, does you no justice—he is certain. His hand is a poor tribute, nowhere near good enough to mimic what your mouth would feel like, sucking on him. Were he so lucky. But clearly, he isn’t.

What he has instead is his own hand—calloused from years of tinkering and writing, ink stains embedded into his skin for eternity. His wrist aches, on the verge of pain, as he pumps himself hastily, chasing completion that wears your face. His free palm runs up and down his torso before clasping around his balls, picturing your wet cheeks pressing against them.

He writhes against the sheets, his self-restraint fraying, his control slipping with every ragged breath. He curses himself for this weakness, for this indulgence. But even as shame wars with desire, he cannot stop.

His own contract—his careful, calculated arrangement—has turned against him. He had thought it would be a shield, a safeguard. But instead, it has left him starving.

And now, the second contract—the one he has spoken aloud in front of many witnesses, the vow to worship you, body and soul—feels dangerously within reach.

His stomach contorts and curls as lust coils tighter and tighter. His skin nearly burns with the friction of his swollen cock, twitching in his own grasp, fingers curling tighter as he pretends it’s your cunt squeezing him. He pretends it’s your mouth enveloping him, your cheeks hollowed out as you hum around him.

With a wrenched-out grunt, he paints his own belly white, chanting your name to the rhythm of his stuttering hips. Drenched in sweat, he pumps his cock until the last drops of seed take their exit, leaving him spent—yet his soul still longing.

The last groan has you gasping, your body tightening and clenching around nothing—a sensation wholly unfamiliar until this moment. It is strong, undeniable, leaving you weak as you stagger back to your bedroom. You bury yourself beneath the covers, heart racing, mind muddled, lips dry. What on earth?

And Viktor groans again in his damp bed, his stomach slick with his own spent. The want for you is overwhelming, insatiable—his hand nearly not enough. How he is meant to keep his part of the deal, he does not know.

He may as well call for that hearse.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Love Bites

A bookstore barista catches the attention of a vampire drawn to her scent, and everything changes when she invites him in.

Word Count: 6,956

Content Warning: mentions of blood and biting.

The rain poured steadily, creating rivers along the curbs and a persistent rhythm against the asphalt. Y/n pulled her coat tighter around her, the cold seeping through the damp fabric. The dim glow of streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, casting distorted halos that barely lit the way. Her shoes squished with every step, water seeping through the soles as she navigated the uneven sidewalk.

She glanced around, the city that never sleeps unusually subdued in the downpour. The occasional car splashed by, headlights cutting through the darkness, but the streets felt eerily empty. Her apartment was still several blocks away, and the thought of the warmth inside kept her moving despite the chill that gripped her.

The rain masked the usual cacophony of the city, leaving only the sound of water and her own breathing. As she rounded a corner, a faint light from a bodega sign flickered, offering a brief sense of orientation in the endless maze of shadows and slick surfaces.

“Almost there,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the rain. But with every step forward, the night seemed to grow darker, the path more uncertain.

Y/n barely noticed the bodega’s door swinging open until a figure stepped out into the rain. She flinched slightly, startled by the sudden movement. A man stood there, pulling up the hood of his coat, his face half-lit by the flickering neon sign above.

“Bit of a miserable night, isn’t it?” he said, his accent soft and distinctly British, cutting through the rain like a warm thread.

Y/n blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The man’s green eyes seemed to hold an unusual brightness despite the gloom, his hair damp and curling slightly at the edges where it peeked out from under his hood.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she replied, clutching her coat a little tighter, the chill biting at her fingertips.

He gave a small, almost sheepish smile, the kind that didn’t quite belong on someone standing in the middle of a downpour. “You alright? Look like you’ve had a bit of a rough one.”

Y/n hesitated, unsure why she felt compelled to answer. There was something disarming about him, his tone unassuming, as if they’d crossed paths a thousand times before. “Just trying to get home,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady.

He nodded, glancing down the street as if considering her path. “Not too far, I hope?”

“A few more blocks,” she said, motioning vaguely in the direction she’d been heading.

He tilted his head, a small crease forming between his brows. “This time of night, in this weather… mind some company? At least until you’re closer to home?”

Y/n studied him for a moment, weighing her options. He didn’t seem threatening—just someone caught in the same rainstorm, maybe trying to make it a little less lonely. After a pause, she gave a slight nod.

“Alright,” she said, her voice quieter now. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, I’m Harry by the way,” he replied, falling into step beside her. The rain continued its steady rhythm, but somehow, the darkness didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The rain softened to a mist as Y/n and Harry walked side by side, their footsteps splashing lightly against the wet pavement. The quiet lull of the city made their conversation feel intimate, as though the rest of the world had faded away.

“So,” Y/n began, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His hood had slipped back slightly, revealing more of his damp curls. “What were you doing out so late in this weather?”

Harry smiled faintly, his hands buried in his coat pockets. “Needed a walk. Clears my head, y’know? And the rain… well, it’s peaceful in its own way.”

Y/n hummed in agreement, noting the melodic lilt of his voice. She found herself glancing at him more often than she meant to. There was something otherworldly about him—his pale complexion almost luminous under the faint glow of the streetlights, his features sharp but softened by a kindness in his eyes.

“And you? What’s got you out here braving the elements?” he asked, turning his gaze toward her.

“Long day at work,” she admitted, sighing. “I usually take the subway, but it was packed, and I just… needed some air.”

Harry nodded, as if he understood completely. “Fair enough. Sometimes the chaos down there feels worse than the storm up here.”

As they walked, Y/n noticed how his presence seemed to ease her nerves. She didn’t normally trust strangers—especially not in a city like this, and especially not on dark, rainy nights. But with Harry, it felt different. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt safe, as though he was someone she’d known for years rather than minutes.

They reached the corner of her street, and she glanced at him again. His coat clung to his frame, and she realized he wasn’t shivering despite the cold. In fact, he seemed entirely unaffected by the weather, like he belonged to the rain and the darkness surrounding them.

“You live nearby?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

He nodded, gesturing vaguely down the street. “A few buildings that way. Looks like we’re practically neighbors.”

She smiled, a small warmth blossoming in her chest. “Small world.”

Harry’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, a softness there that made her cheeks heat despite the cold. “It is,” he said quietly, his tone almost wistful.

As they stopped in front of her apartment building, Y/n hesitated, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want the moment to end, even though they were still practically strangers.

“This is me,” she said finally, gesturing toward the door.

Harry nodded, his smile faint but genuine. “Glad I could walk you home, Y/n.”

She blinked, her heart skipping. “How did you know my name?”

For a split second, his expression flickered—something unreadable passing across his face—but then his smile returned. “You told me earlier, didn’t you?”

Y/n frowned, certain she hadn’t. But before she could question it further, Harry gave a slight nod.

“Get inside before you catch a cold,” he said gently. “Goodnight.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the misty rain, leaving Y/n standing there, heart racing, wondering why she felt so drawn to him. 

The next day

The bell above the bookshop door jingled as Y/n worked behind the counter, the steady hum of espresso machines and soft chatter creating a comforting background noise. She loved her job, it was the perfect blend of cozy and bustling, surrounded by books and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

She glanced up as a familiar figure caught her eye. Harry was sitting at a corner table in the café, a book open in front of him. His damp curls from the night before were now dry, but he still had that same ethereal look about him—pale and strikingly beautiful, like he’d stepped out of a painting.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then decided to approach him. She grabbed a clean cloth and pretended to wipe down the nearby table before stopping beside his.

“Well, well,” she said, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. “Are you following me now, or is this just a coincidence?”

Harry looked up from his book, his lips curving into a small smile. “Caught me,” he replied, his tone playful. “Couldn’t resist the coffee.”

Y/n chuckled, leaning slightly against the back of a chair. “You know, most people come here for the books and the coffee. It’s kind of our thing.”

He raised a brow, amusement dancing in his green eyes. “Is that so? What if I’m just here for the company?”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing the grin tugging at her lips. “Smooth.” Gesturing to the menu board, she asked, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Pastry? We’ve got these killer croissants today.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t really eat…”

Y/n blinked, her smile faltering. “Oh. Uh… okay. Just coffee, then?”

He shook his head, his gaze steady but kind. “I’m good with this.” He tapped the book in front of him, avoiding her curious stare.

A strange vibe settled between them, and Y/n felt a small prickle of unease. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the way he’d said it—so casual, yet so odd—stuck with her.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m just over there,” she said, forcing a smile as she nodded toward the counter.

“Thanks, Y/n,” Harry said softly, his voice carrying that same calm warmth that had put her at ease the night before.

She walked away, glancing back once to find him already immersed in his book again. The unease lingered, though, as if there was more to Harry than he was letting on.

Y/n lingered behind the counter, her hands busy with a towel as she wiped down the espresso machine. But her thoughts kept drifting to Harry, sitting so calmly at his table like he belonged there, as if their encounter last night hadn’t been strange at all. The question that had nagged her since then resurfaced, and before she could overthink it, she walked back over to his table.

“Alright,” she said, stopping in front of him, her arms crossed over her apron. “I need to ask you something.”

Harry looked up from his book, his brow lifting slightly. “Go on.”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his calm, steady gaze. “Last night, when you walked me home, you said my name. But I never told you what it was. How did you know?”

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“You sure you didn’t tell me?” he asked lightly, though there was something unreadable in his tone.

“I’m sure,” Y/n said firmly, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not exactly something I forget.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe I overheard someone else say it.”

“There was no one else around,” she countered, crossing her arms tighter.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and melodic. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”

“It’s a fair question,” she pressed, feeling a mix of curiosity and frustration. “It’s not every day a stranger magically knows your name.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly, his gaze softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

Y/n felt her breath hitch at his tone, the way it seemed to hold more weight than his casual demeanor suggested.

“So?” she prompted, leaning closer. “How?”

Harry glanced down at his book for a moment, his fingers brushing the edges of the pages. Then he looked back up at her, his green eyes almost glowing under the café’s warm lights.

“Let’s just say,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “I’m very good with names. Especially when they belong to people I’d like to remember.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his words. There was something cryptic in his answer, something that left her feeling like she was only scratching the surface of a much larger mystery.

She straightened, unsure of how to respond. “That’s… vague.”

Harry smiled again, softer this time. “Maybe some things are better left that way.”

Y/n studied him for a moment longer, her unease mixed with an undeniable curiosity. Finally, she nodded, stepping back. “Alright, mystery man. But don’t think I’m letting this go.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, his smile returning, though his eyes seemed to hold a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share.

The days slipped by, and the bookshop settled back into its usual rhythm—customers browsing shelves, the hiss of steam from the espresso machine, the steady hum of conversations drifting through the café. But Y/n’s thoughts kept wandering to Harry.

She hadn’t seen him since that day. No quiet figure tucked into the corner with a book, no knowing smiles or cryptic comments. She found herself glancing toward the door whenever the bell jingled, half-expecting him to walk in with that calm, unreadable expression. But he didn’t.

“Everything okay?” her coworker, Ellie, asked as she restocked a display of mugs.

Y/n blinked, realizing she’d been staring at the café’s empty corner table for too long. “Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just zoning out.”

Ellie gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been weird lately. Is this about the guy who was here the other day? The tall one with the curls?”

“What? No,” Y/n said, maybe a little too defensively.

Ellie smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Y/n sighed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “It’s not like that. He’s just… interesting. And I haven’t seen him around. I might’ve scared him off.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “What’d you do? Grill him on his life story?”

“Maybe,” Y/n muttered, heat rising to her cheeks.

Her coworker laughed. “Relax. If he’s worth it, he’ll come back. Guys like that always do.”

But as the hours ticked by and the café emptied out for the night, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Harry wasn’t just any guy. There was something different about him—something that made her want to figure him out, even if she couldn’t explain why.

Later, as she locked up the shop and stepped out into the crisp evening air, she found herself looking down the street toward the direction of his building. The thought crossed her mind: What if I went to see if he’s around?

She shook her head, pushing the idea away. It was silly. He was a stranger, practically. But even as she walked home, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see him again or if she’d scared him away for good.

The rain had stopped earlier in the evening, leaving the streets slick and shining under the glow of the streetlights. Y/n pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she walked, the familiar route past the bodega feeling strangely empty tonight.

She hadn’t planned to take this way home, but her feet had carried her here anyway, as if some part of her was hoping to see him again. The corner bodega’s neon sign buzzed faintly, casting a pale light on the pavement. The door was open, a faint clink of glass bottles and low conversation spilling out, but Harry wasn’t there.

Y/n lingered for a moment, pretending to check her phone as she glanced around. The street was quiet except for the occasional car passing by, its headlights cutting through the dimness.

What are you even doing? she thought, feeling a little ridiculous. It wasn’t like Harry had promised to meet her here or even hinted at being nearby. For all she knew, he was off doing something completely unrelated to her.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something—or someone.

With a sigh, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started walking again, her shoes clicking softly against the wet pavement. The night felt heavier than usual, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

When she finally reached her apartment building, she paused on the steps, casting one last glance down the street. Nothing. No sign of him, no flash of dark curls or the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Maybe he really is gone, she thought, a pang of disappointment settling in her chest.

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she resolved to let it go. Harry was just a stranger who had crossed her path briefly—nothing more. 

The weeks passed in a blur of routine. Y/n poured herself into her work at the café, stacking books, crafting perfect cappuccinos, and chatting with regulars. But her mind often drifted to Harry—his mysterious air, his cryptic comments, and his sudden absence. Every night she took the same route past the bodega, hoping for even a glimpse of him, but the streets remained empty of him.

Until one night.

The air was biting as she walked, her breath visible in the faint glow of the streetlights. The bodega’s sign buzzed faintly in the distance, and she was about to pass it when a shadow shifted in her peripheral vision.

“Y/n.”

The voice was unmistakable—low, soft, and tinged with something that made her heart skip. She turned quickly, and there he was.

But he wasn’t the same Harry she remembered. His usually radiant complexion looked pale and dull, his dark curls messier than before. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders seemed to sag as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“Harry,” she breathed, a mix of relief and concern flooding her. “Where have you been?”

He offered a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Around.” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken much in days.

Y/n took a hesitant step closer, her worry growing. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering down the street as if he were debating whether to stay or leave. “I’ll be fine,” he said finally, though the words felt hollow.

She frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s not convincing.” Without thinking, she added, “Come back to my place. You look like you need… something. Rest, food, whatever.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to hers, wide with surprise. For a moment, he seemed frozen, as if the idea of being taken care of was foreign to him. “Y/n, I—”

“No arguments,” she interrupted, her voice firmer than she expected. “It’s cold, and you look like you’re about to keel over. My apartment’s just a few blocks away.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening as if he were about to refuse. But then something in his expression softened, and he gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”

The walk to her apartment was quiet, the sound of their footsteps the only noise between them. Y/n kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to piece together what had happened in the weeks since she’d last seen him. He looked strung out.

When they reached her building, she opened the door and gestured for him to follow her inside. “It’s not much,” she said as they climbed the stairs, “but it’s warm.”

Once inside, she flipped on the lights, casting the small living room in a cozy glow. Harry stepped in hesitantly, his gaze sweeping over the space.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, shrugging off her coat. “I’ll grab you something to drink.”

He nodded, sinking onto the edge of her couch as if he didn’t quite belong there. As Y/n moved to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him and why, despite his mysterious nature, she felt so compelled to help him.

Y/n filled a glass with water in the kitchen, the sound of the tap running filling the quiet apartment. She glanced toward the living room, where Harry sat on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff, his hands loosely clasped between his knees.

“Here,” she said, walking over and holding the glass out to him. “You look like you could use this.”

Harry glanced at it but didn’t move to take it. “I’m not thirsty,” he said softly, his tone calm but firm.

Y/n frowned, lowering the glass slightly. “You sure? You look—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted gently, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She hesitated, the glass still in her hand. The refusal wasn’t rude, but there was something about it that felt… off. Her instincts prickled again, the same way they had back at the café when he’d made that odd comment about not eating food.

To ease the tension building in her chest, she forced a nervous laugh and said, “What, are you a vampire or something?”

The room fell silent.

Harry’s faint smile vanished, and his gaze locked on hers, unblinking and intense. The air seemed to shift, the cozy warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling stifling.

Y/n’s heart thudded in her chest as the seconds stretched on, her own laugh fading into the stillness. “I was just kidding,” she said quickly, her voice quieter now.

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but there was something guarded in his eyes. “That’s an interesting guess,” he said finally, his tone measured.

The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. She tried to laugh again, but it came out shaky. “Well, you’re pale, you don’t eat, you’re… mysterious. You kind of fit the stereotype.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And would it scare you if I were?”

Y/n froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not—and that uncertainty was the most unsettling part of all.

“Harry,” she said carefully, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re kidding, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting hers again. “Maybe,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The room felt heavier now, the unspoken tension crackling in the air. Y/n clutched the glass tighter, her mind racing. She couldn’t decide if he was messing with her or if there was something she was better off not knowing.

Y/n blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. “What?” she asked, her voice a little unsteady.

Harry tilted his head slightly, his green eyes steady and unreadable. “If I were a vampire,” he said softly, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather, “would you let me… drink your blood?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she continued to tighten her grip on the glass of water, unsure whether to laugh, run, or… stay. The question was absurd, yet the way he asked it—so direct, so quiet—made her pulse quicken in a way she couldn’t quite define.

“I—uh…” Y/n stammered, shifting on her feet. She tried to gauge his expression, but it was impossible to tell if he was serious or just teasing her.

“You’re nervous,” Harry said, leaning forward slightly. His voice was low, but it wasn’t threatening. If anything, it sounded… curious. “But you’re not afraid.”

Y/n swallowed hard, her breath catching as she realized he was right. Her nervousness wasn’t from fear—it was from something else entirely. A strange mix of curiosity and anticipation coursed through her, leaving her unsure of how to respond.

“Well,” she said finally, trying to keep her voice light, “I think most people would be nervous if someone asked to suck their blood, Harry. Hypothetically or not.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though his gaze remained fixed on her. “Fair point,” he murmured, his tone almost playful. “But you haven’t answered the question.”

Y/n stared at him, her mind racing. Was he joking? Was he testing her? Was this just another layer of his cryptic nature, or was there something more?

“I don’t know,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “Would it hurt?”

The question escaped her before she could stop it, and her cheeks burned as she realized what she’d just said.

Harry’s smile grew slightly, the intensity in his eyes softening just a fraction. “Not as much as you’d think,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

For a moment, the room felt impossibly still, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Y/n’s mind screamed at her to break the silence, to laugh it off, to do something—but all she could do was stand there, caught in the strange pull of his gaze.

Harry’s gaze darkened, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “So,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would you let me do it?”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She didn’t speak, couldn’t find the words, but after a moment, she nodded—slowly, hesitantly.

His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place, and before she could second-guess herself, Harry closed the distance between them. His hands cupped her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepened, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her closer. Y/n felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, every thought and worry drowned out by the electric connection sparking between them.

Before she realized it, Harry’s lips left hers, trailing a line of featherlight kisses along her jaw, down to the curve of her neck.

“Trust me,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm and sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n barely had time to process his words before she felt the sharp, sudden sting of his teeth breaking the surface of her skin. The pain was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a strange, heady warmth that spread through her like liquid fire. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, her mind spinning.

Harry held her firmly, his grip strong but careful, as if he were afraid of breaking her. She could feel the pull of his mouth on her neck, the sensation both terrifying and intoxicating.

When he finally drew back, his lips red and his breathing heavy, Y/n swayed slightly, her vision hazy.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

Y/n blinked up at him, her hand instinctively going to her neck. She nodded, though her words came out shaky. “Yeah… I think so.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hand brushing her cheek. “Good,” he murmured. But there was something in his eyes—an intensity, a hunger—that made her heart race all over again.

Y/n leaned back against the armrest of the couch, her hand still pressed lightly to her neck. The room felt brighter, sharper—her senses alive in a way they had never been before. She wasn’t scared; if anything, she felt a strange, almost blissful calm.

“Is this…” she began, her voice dreamy, “going to turn me into a vampire or something?”

Harry let out a low laugh, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “No,” he said, his tone amused but gentle. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s a bit more… complicated than in the stories.”

Y/n tilted her head, her curiosity piqued despite the haze of euphoria swirling through her. “So, how does it work?”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at her, though the faint hunger lingering in them hadn’t entirely disappeared. “You’d have to drink from me, for one,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “But it’s not something I’d let happen. Not to you.”

She frowned slightly, her fingers absently tracing her neck where she could feel the faint warmth from the bite. “Why not?”

He smiled faintly, leaning closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because I like you the way you are,” he said simply, his voice carrying an honesty that made her heart skip.

The faint flush in her cheeks deepened, and she looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re… different,” she murmured, unsure if it was a compliment or an observation.

“So are you,” Harry countered, his voice soft but serious. “More than you know.”

Before she could respond, he added, almost to himself, “You taste… sweet. Like nothing I’ve ever had before.” His gaze met hers, his lips curving into a sly smile. “I could find myself addicted to you, Y/n.”

Her heart thudded at his words, a mix of excitement and trepidation flooding her. “Is that… a bad thing?”

Harry’s smile faltered for a moment, and his expression grew darker, more thoughtful. “It could be,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “For both of us.”

The weight of his words hung between them, but Y/n found herself unable to look away from him. Despite everything—his mysterious nature, his cryptic answers, and now, the undeniable truth of what he was—she didn’t feel afraid.

Instead, she felt drawn to him even more.

Harry’s gaze held hers, an intensity in his expression that made Y/n’s breath catch. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his tousled curls as if weighing whether or not to speak.

Finally, he sighed, his voice low and deliberate. “The first night I saw you… outside the bodega,” he began, his green eyes locking onto hers, “it wasn’t by chance.”

Y/n tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, a faint flicker of guilt flashing in his expression. “I… I caught your scent,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “As I walked out, it hit me like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Sweet, warm, impossible to ignore.”

She blinked, stunned by his words. “You smelled me?”

Harry gave a small, almost apologetic smile. “It’s a… heightened sense. Part of what I am. Your scent—it was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. I couldn’t help myself. I followed it.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened, her thoughts racing. “You followed me?”

“To your apartment,” he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “And then… to your job the next day. I couldn’t stay away. I needed to understand why I felt so drawn to you.”

Y/n stared at him, her mind swirling with questions. “So… when you showed up at the café, that wasn’t a coincidence either?”

He shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “No. It was intentional. But when I met you, when we talked… it wasn’t just your scent anymore. You were…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You were magnetic. I was… enamored.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she felt her stomach flip at his confession. “Then why did you stop coming around?”

Harry looked away, his jaw tightening briefly. “Because I was afraid you’d catch on. That you’d figure out what I am, or worse… that I’d lose control.” He met her gaze again, his voice softer now. “But when I saw you taking that same route every night, I knew you were looking for me. And I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. “You came back… for me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his tone unwavering. “I tried to stay away, but you… you make that impossible.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, the weight of his words settling over her. She should’ve been frightened—by the revelation, by the intensity of his feelings but instead, she felt a strange sense of relief, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Y/n,” Harry continued, his voice low, almost reverent. “But you’ve pulled me in, and I’m not sure I could let go even if I wanted to.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, her hand still resting on her neck where his teeth had pierced her skin. Her heart was racing, but not from fear. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and finally admitted, “I feel it too. Like… there’s some kind of connection between us. I can’t explain it, but it’s there.”

Harry’s eyes softened, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “I’ve felt it from the moment I saw you,” he murmured.

She hesitated, her fingers curling into her lap as she worked up the courage to ask the question lingering in her mind. “Do you… do you drink from other people?”

Harry shook his head, his expression turning serious. “No,” he said firmly. “We have other ways to get blood. Hospitals, banks, sources that… don’t involve hurting anyone. Feeding directly from someone—it’s rare for my kind, and we don’t take it lightly.”

She studied him for a moment, her chest tightening as a strange mix of emotions swirled within her. “But you drank from me,” she said quietly.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I did. I shouldn’t have, but… I couldn’t resist. You’re—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching slightly before he continued. “You’re different, Y/n. I’ve never wanted someone’s blood like I wanted yours. But it’s not just that. It’s you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away, unsure how to process his words. After a moment, she looked back at him, meeting his gaze directly. “So… you’re a vampire.”

Harry blinked, and then a low laugh rumbled from his chest. He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “That’s such a dramatic word,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But yes, I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

Y/n arched an eyebrow, her nervousness fading slightly as his humor eased the tension in the room. “I mean, it is what you are, isn’t it?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “It just sounds… cheesy, doesn’t it? Like I’m straight out of some old gothic novel.”

“Well,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, “you did just bite me and drink my blood, so… maybe the label fits.”

Harry grinned, his fangs briefly flashing in the light, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

Y/n shifted on the couch, her curiosity burning brighter than ever. She tucked her legs beneath her, leaning forward slightly. “I have so many questions,” she admitted, her voice trembling just a little, but more with excitement than fear.

Harry smirked, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he watched her. “Then ask,” he said smoothly. “I’ll answer—within reason.”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Within reason? That sounds suspicious.”

His smirk grew, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “There are some things you might not be ready to hear yet, love. But I’ll do my best.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Fine. First question: how old are you? Like, really?”

Harry laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Straight to the point, I see. I’m… older than I look. A little over a century.”

Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but lean back in disbelief. “A century? You’re over a hundred years old?”

“Give or take a decade,” he said, his tone light. “Though I stopped counting after the first fifty or so.”

Y/n shook her head, trying to process that. “Okay, next question: can you go out in the sun, or is that a no-go?”

Harry chuckled. “I can, but I don’t recommend it. It’s uncomfortable—think of it like a really bad sunburn that happens almost instantly. That’s why you usually won’t find me out during the day unless I absolutely have to be.”

She nodded, her mind buzzing with possibilities. “Do you sleep in a coffin?”

That earned her a full laugh, Harry throwing his head back slightly. “No, I don’t. I have a perfectly comfortable bed, thank you very much.”

Y/n grinned. “Alright, what about garlic? Crosses? Holy water?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Garlic’s just food. Crosses don’t bother me unless someone shoves one in my face, which is just rude. And holy water? Let’s just say it’s not my favorite thing, but it’s not going to make me burst into flames either.”

She laughed, relaxing a little more as she listened to him. “Okay, serious question now,” she said, her tone softening. “Is it… lonely? Living so long?”

Harry’s expression grew thoughtful, the teasing edge fading from his features. “It can be,” he admitted quietly. “You watch people come and go. You lose people. It’s part of the deal, but it doesn’t make it easier.”

Y/n felt a pang of sympathy in her chest. “That sounds… hard.”

“It is,” he said simply. “But then, sometimes you meet someone who makes it worth it.”

Her breath caught at the way he looked at her as he said it, his gaze steady and warm. She quickly diverted her attention to her next question, her cheeks flushing. “Alright, last one—for now. Why me?”

Harry smiled softly, leaning closer. “I wish I knew,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “But whatever it is, Y/n, I’m not sure I want to question it.”

Y/n hesitated before asking her next question, her voice barely above a whisper. “Would you ever… turn someone? So you could stay with them?”

Harry’s expression softened, his gaze dropping to his hands as he thought about her words. The air in the room grew heavy with the weight of the question, and Y/n could see the conflict flickering in his eyes.

He finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “It’s not a decision I’d take lightly,” he admitted. “Turning someone… it’s not as simple as just giving them eternal life. It changes everything—your body, your mind, your world. There’s no going back.”

Y/n watched him carefully, her heart thudding as she tried to read his expression. “But if it meant being with someone you loved… forever?”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met her gaze. “I’ve thought about it,” he said honestly, his tone raw. “And I won’t lie—it’s tempting. But it’s also selfish.”

“How is it selfish?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Because it’s not my life I’d be changing. It’s theirs. I’d be asking them to give up so much—the sun, the ability to grow old, to live a normal life. It’s a lot to ask of someone, and it’s not something I could do lightly. Especially to someone I care about.”

Y/n felt a lump form in her throat at the sincerity in his voice. “So… you wouldn’t do it?”

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d want to say no. To let the person I love live their life the way they were meant to. But if I knew I was going to lose them…” He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to let go.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, and she reached out, placing a hand over his. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside her, “I think you’re stronger than you realize.”

He gave her a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But with you… I think I’d have to be.”

Y/n’s hand lingered on his, her touch grounding him. She looked at him, her eyes soft but filled with determination. “I want to see you again, Harry.”

His jaw tensed, and he glanced away, as though wrestling with his thoughts. “Y/n,” he started, his voice low and measured, “this… this might not be a good idea. For you.”

She frowned, tilting her head. “Why not?”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “Because the more time you spend with me, the harder it’ll be for both of us to walk away. And you might have to one day. For your own good.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but she shook her head, her voice unwavering. “I don’t want to walk away. I don’t care how complicated this is—I want to see you. I feel… connected to you, Harry. I can’t just ignore that.”

His green eyes met hers, a flicker of something raw and unguarded passing through them. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said softly, almost sadly. “Being close to me… it’s not safe. It’s not normal.”

“I don’t want safe or normal,” she replied firmly. “I want you. Whatever that looks like.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, as though trying to steady himself, before opening them again. “You’re making this harder than it already is,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension in his voice.

Y/n leaned closer, her hand still on his. “Then stop fighting it. You want to see me again too, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but the way his gaze softened told her everything she needed to know. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I do.”

Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “Then let’s not overthink it. Just… let’s see where this goes.”

Harry’s expression remained conflicted, but he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm. “But we take it one step at a time. No promises, no expectations.”

Y/n nodded, her smile widening slightly. “One step at a time,” she echoed.

Y/n’s heart was racing, but she didn’t hesitate. Slowly, she leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. Harry’s breath hitched, his conflicted expression softening as she closed the distance between them.

Her lips met his, soft and tentative at first, but the electricity between them was undeniable. Harry responded almost immediately, his hand coming up to cup her cheek as he deepened the kiss. There was a gentleness in the way he touched her, as though he was afraid she might break, but there was also an intensity—an unspoken longing that neither of them could deny.

The kiss was slow but full of meaning, every moment stretching as though time itself had paused for them. When they finally pulled back, Y/n’s cheeks were flushed, her breathing unsteady.

Harry’s green eyes searched hers, a mix of wonder and restraint in his gaze. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

She smiled softly, her fingers brushing against his. “Maybe,” she whispered, “but you’re worth it.”

For a moment, Harry looked like he might protest, but instead, he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re making it impossible for me to stay away,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” she said with a small smile, her confidence growing. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

[vaeral]

Personal Danny Phantom Headcanons!

These are mostly for my fanfic that I've mentioned multiple times already. Sooooo, minor spoilers I guess? Maybe?

Danny's arm aches after he does the ghostly wail, as it was dying screaming while being electrocuted that gave him that unique power.

Weaker ghosts that lack an obsession can be killed by outright splattering them. This one I thought of when I realized that multiple times in the show that some main villains get splattered but end up OK later while some (the ghost animals for example) do not reform.

Ghost cores consistency can change as needed, with it most of the time being (to put it weirdly) a little more solid than jello, but can shift temporarily into a more liquid state if need be for whatever reason. They can also be moved anywhere throughout the ghosts body.

Danny's ghost form is FAR more solid than other ghosts due to being half alive, and thus far more durable. Also why he doesn't distort his body much in those stretching ways, because there is a limit to how much he can do it.

Danny's core is purely solid and condensed, making it smaller than most ghost cores. It is, of course, freezing cold and looks like an uncut gemstone with hard, uneven edges. It is about the size of a large marble, the kind that you could comfortably hide in the palm of your hand. It's colors are mostly light blue with the slightest bit of the ectoplasm green in the very center of it, as it is about as clear as blue ice.

Danny is very, VERY concerned whenever he needs expose his core and thus unconsciously makes it grow sharp icicles to keep people from touching it, these icicles, of course make it look star shaped.

Sam and Tucker have gotten deep into ghost world stuff, with Sam incorporating ghost stuff and ectoplasm into her witchcraft with some success (CW is helping her), meanwhile Tucker is actually upgrading his PDA with the alien-esq tech actually from the ghost zone, like Skulker's suit. Eldritch horror tech for the win!