#AWS Technical Essentials

[cloudwizardconsulting]

What is the AWS Certified Solutions Architect – Associate?

Cloud-based technologies, like Cloud Architecture, play a pivotal role in driving innovation and efficiency in businesses. With more and more organizations migrating to cloud, the requirement of qualified professionals in the domain has been at an all-time high.

The AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate is a certification of expertise for an individual in AWS Cloud services, particularly on architecting solutions that are high-performing, resilient and cost efficient at the same time. With this certification, any aspiring cloud professional can become employment-ready and land a well-paying job in a cloud-based organization. Let us take a look at the details of the certification and how to achieve it.

A Brief Outline Of The AWS Certified Solutions Architect – Associate 

AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate certification focuses on skill development in solutions that are optimal in cost and performance. An individual with this certification would display an in-depth understanding of the AWS Well-Architected Framework. The certification validates the individual’s ability to design and implement solutions over a variety of AWS services like EC2, S3, RDS, and VPC to meet a variety of business motives. 

The certification further enhances the portfolio of learners and increases their credibility and confidence when seeking employment in the domain. They develop expertise to select the apt AWS services for specified use cases, and understand the best practices concerning AWS architecture.

What Is The AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate exam? 

For achieving the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate certification, candidates need to successfully pass an examination testing their abilities to design and deploy reliable AWS solutions. It is the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate (SAA-C03) examination, which validates a candidate’s ability to design solutions based on the AWS Well-Architected Framework. 

This associate-level exam judges the candidates’ knowledge of architectural principles, AWS services, and best practices for designing solutions based on the cloud. The exam covers a range of topics related to cloud computing, including performance optimization, security implementation, and designing resilient architectures over AWS. Here are its specifications: - 

Level: Associate

Length: 130 minutes

Cost: 150 USD

Format: 65 questions, multiple choice or multiple response

Delivery method: Pearson VUE testing center or online proctored exam

Points To Keep In Mind Prior To Taking Up The Certification 

While there are numerous benefits one can expect from achieving the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate certification, there are also a few points to consider prior to taking up the certification exam. These points are mentioned underneath: - 

Who is the certification meant for?

The AWS Certified Solutions Architect – Associate certification is ideal for professionals with: -

Experience in AWS technology

Strong understanding of on-premises IT infrastructure

Familiarity with mapping on-premises to cloud

Experience with other cloud services

Prerequisites for the Certification

While hands-on coding experience is not mandatory for taking up the exam, candidates should have a solid understanding of basic programming concepts and AWS services. Familiarity with AWS Cloud Practitioner Essentials or AWS Technical Essentials is also recommend.

Be A Certified Solutions Architect With Cloud Wizard’s Authorized Training & Certification Courses 

Passing the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate Exam is certainly a milestone for an aspiring cloud professional’s career. However, it requires rigorous training and guidance on the concepts of Architecting on AWS. Getting in touch with an Advanced Tier Training Partner like Cloud Wizard can benefit you in a lot of ways. 

With lots of classroom training programs for a number of Cloud-based certifications provided by AWS, you will be well-versed with each and every topic prior to the certification exam. Additionally, they provide specialized exam readiness training sessions so you can be a certified cloud professional in no time! 

Want to explore further? Take a look at more AWS Certifications

[bbokicidal]

Maybe Our Last .:. SKZ [L.FX]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Lee Felix x Fem!Reader Warnings : DUB-CON, Tentacle penetration I don't know HOW ELSE to word it!!, Hentai-esque themes, Monster Fucking (essentially), Throat fucking (kind of)

Kinktober Day 6 of 10 : Monster fucking w/ Felix Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8K

I'm going to write a small snippet here because I need this to be clear; There is no sex between Felix and the reader; Changbin is the character who becomes the tentacle monster so technically he's fucking them both lol, and both Felix & the reader experience a sort of aphrodisiac which is why this is labeled as Dub-Con. If you don't like this type of shit just DON'T FUCKING READ IT LOL - also I've never written anything like this before so if it's bad... oh well.

You’d caught his eye the moment you walked into the party; The outfit, the style you’d worn your natural hair in, the dramatic makeup, the contacts, the thigh highs, the cute shoes – 

Felix had seen that character multiple times before; A beauty from one of his favorite animes in the world and now it was like she’d come right to life in front of his very eyes in the form of your Halloween costume. 

If he was honest, Felix wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his composure around you that night. You already made his heart race before, your demeanor was always so pleasant and kind towards him any time the two of you had bumped into each other or conversed as your friends spoke with each other, and now he knew you were about as big a nerd as he was; Which made you 10 times more attractive. As if you could get any more perfect.

Hell - He wasn’t even sure how he got you to sit down and talk to him on the couch like this; Your legs thrown over his lap, his hands resting respectfully atop them while the two of you chit-chatted as if you weren’t sitting in the middle of a massive college Halloween party. Biggest one that happened on campus, actually; Changbin just had that reputation going for him; Couldn’t let his people down this year, could he?

Music blared around the two of you, people dancing and singing, drinking ungodly concoctions of Rum and juice and edible glitter and making out against the walls; someone gagging just behind at the smell that was slowly flooding out of the downstairs restroom and towards the kitchen. Though, it felt as though none of it mattered as you were in your own little world with Felix.

“Yeah, I mean - her basic outfit is just so boring so I guess I tried to recreate the ascended version; I just think it’s cooler.”

“Definitely.” Call Felix a loser. He can’t keep himself from staring over at you in admiration, awe rushing through his veins the more you talk about what you thought of the show and what your opinions on different arcs were. His replies remain short and sweet - and you try your best to keep the conversation going, you do, but it’s hard to focus when he’s just so… pretty.

With a pink knitted sweater tucked into light wash jeans, he’d managed to secure a small pair of white wings to his back. He’d buttered up his look by applying glittering hairspray to the platinum locks that fell down over his shoulders and framed his face so well, a chunkier rose gold glitter overtaking the freckles on his cheeks. It seemed to complete the look for the cutest pixie you’d ever seen in your life; Not that you’d seen many.

“So you know the guy who lives here?” You question, tone soft. You’d heard of him before but you’d never talked to him personally; You’d really only been invited to the party because he was a friend of a friend. 

Felix’s lips part before he nods, a shy and polite smile overtaking his lips. “Ah - Yeah. Changbin’s a close friend of mine. He’s pretty cool, I guess.” His eyes darted over to peek at said friend, Changbin’s head popping into the restroom as his hand secured its hold on the doorframe. He looks as though he’s investigating something but Felix hasn’t a clue what, so instead of fretting about it he turns his attention back to you. “You don’t?” Felix quips before continuing. “I mean - you don’t know him?”

You blink a few times, offering a small shake of your head. “Oh, no. He’s a friend of my friend, Hyunjin. They’re practically attached at the hip and I see him around every so often but I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him before, you know?” You smile, giving a shrug. “We just don’t really run in the same friend group I guess. No big deal.”

The hand that had previously been resting against your shin - which was placed in Felix’s lap as you lounged back on the sofa in Changbin’s living room - moved to instead gently grasp at your knee. Felix giggles, “You should talk to him sometime. He’s genuinely one of the nicest guys I know. I get that his physique can be kind of intimidating but he’s really a nice guy. Maybe after the party we can –”

“Oh my God,” A girl shrieking from behind the sofa causes your body to jolt in surprise, your leg pulling off of Felix’s lap. He selfishly misses the contact immediately but lets his gaze pull from you to the young woman standing just over your shoulder. She’s turned away, her hand shaking as she points to the bathroom doorway. Changbin was gone, but where his hand had previously rested was now an oozing trail of green slime. Like something had slapped against the doorway and left a puddle that dripped down the polished wood. “Changbin?!” She cries, free hand pressing over her mouth. “Are you okay?!”

Hyunjin pushes past a few people to get to the girl, his hand resting against her arm as he glances between her horrified expression and the bathroom doorway. “What -?! What? What’s going on? Why are you yelling?” He stares down at her, the girl trembling under his touch. Her face had gone ghastly white, her joints blushed with blood that tried to push through to her extremities that had long lost all sense of warmth.

“Changbin,” She gasps out her friend’s name, her fingers shaking horribly as they dig into her cheek in terror. “He was trying to figure out what that awful smell was but I just – I saw him get pulled into the bathroom by something! I swear, it was like a monster - It was –”

The atmosphere turns horridly tense. The air thickens with dread as people begin to back away from the bathroom and some even turn to leave, wanting to get out of the house in case something horrible had happened. What if it was another person and Changbin had just been attacked? What if there was a serious sense of danger in the house now? And as you listen in, your chest feels heavy enough to cave in on you. You didn’t know Changbin well but that didn’t mean you didn’t care about him. He seemed like a genuine guy and right now you could only hope that this was some sick, cruel Halloween prank happening.

By the time you push yourself up off of the couch to even move into action Hyunjin is already in the bathroom doorway. His rushed demeanor comes to a sudden halt as he stops where the door cracks open, his gaze settled behind it and directed towards the shower. Everyone seems so quiet now, waiting impatiently for Hyunjin to give them some sort of update.

The only response they get for at least five seconds is the color draining from his face. His jaw clenched as he huffs out a breath before his body turns back to the living room and he pushes himself to leave the bathroom as quickly as possible.

He points, throwing his arm towards the front door that isn’t too far from where you stand. “Get out!” His voice leaves his throat in a scratching scream, begging for people to run from whatever it was he had seen in the bathroom only moments ago. “Get the fuck out!” He cries. “Run! Fucking run!”

People scatter; Dust settled on a shelf for decades now disturbed and dispersing into the once pure air. Footsteps are loud and heavy as some book it for the upstairs area, their shoes thumping heavy against the wooden steps. Most head for the front or back doors, Hyunjin’s hands pushing people to move into action as screams and cries fill the house and drown into the music still playing from the stereo speakers. 

The bathroom door slides open and what emerges makes your blood run cold.

That wasn’t Changbin.

That was a monster.

With eyes pure white and veins pulsing angrily in his throat, the Senior exited the bathroom not on his own two legs; Maybe not of his own free will. His head lulled as if he was no longer present, the parasite within him pushing him to exit and begin to attack. His upper half looked as if it had been melted and glued to the body of an octopus - if that octopus had biohazard green tentacles and slime oozing from every orifice. It pushed out of the corners of his mouth as his expression turned into a heavy scowl, his head tipping in the direction of the people scrambling for the front door - one of the tentacles reaching out in a quicker manner than expected. It had taken him so long to reveal himself that you were sure he was sluggish when it came to movement, but the tentacle seemed to snap out and wrap around the closest person’s waist.

Hyunjin gasped in horror as the wet surface slid and soaked his band tank, grabbing onto him tight and curling around him a few times to ensure he couldn’t escape from its hold. The tip of the tentacle smothered his cheek in goo and he visibly cringed, pulling his head back as far as he could while it rubbed against his face.

You hadn’t even realized your own body had become frozen in its place until Felix had reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours to pull you back to him. “Hey,” He yells over the noise, gently tugging on your arm, “We’ve gotta go!”

Your eyes drag to Felix before you nod, surely out of it by everything you were witnessing. This had to be some horrible nightmare - surely. Changbin wasn’t some scary tentacle monster and Hyunjin wasn’t getting smothered in goo and this house party was not just taken over by some… alien octopus parasite!

Felix moves to guide you as far from Changbin as he can get you, which isn’t very far unfortunately. His attempt is futile; The moment he rounds the couch it’s already too late. A tentacle had wound around your ankle and begun to lift already, refusing to let you go while suspending you mid-air. Felix, also refused to let you go.

He cried out as his hand was ripped from yours, watching you be lifted towards the ceiling as you screamed and begged for him to find a way to get you down. “Felix!” Your gasps were slashes to his heart, the knife twisting and digging into the muscle, ripping it apart. “Felix - Help me! Help me!”

Though he’s no better off. A third leg had wrapped over Felix’s chest, slime oozing from what looked to be the suction cups of the tentacle - only open and gaping as they sucked and clung to his sweater tight. Felix’s mouth opens though no sounds escape, his body only reacting as it knows how to when he’s this terrified. His hands come down on the tentacle and he hates how smooth it is, how slimy and wet it feels against his skin. “Let me go,” He gasps out, his head turning to look over towards Changbin’s upper half. Not that he’s really Changbin anymore. “Changbin-hyung! Let me go! Let me go, I’m your friend!”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction instead as he hears your voice letting out soft whines. The tentacle holding you up by your leg had tightened its grip and squirmed down towards your inner thigh, still wrapped up against you so snug that it made the soft fat beneath it bulge under your thigh highs. He didn’t even bother to take in the way your skirt had flipped upside down to reveal the pink panties underneath - He didn’t care. He was instead watching a separate tentacle rubbing against your face as if it were nuzzling you, smearing a pale green goo over your cheek and towards your mouth that made you spit in disgust. The tentacle pushes lower instead and wraps loose around your neck, your eyes darting down to watch as the suction cups open and release what looks like a sort of gas.

Your gasps are immediate, the sweet scent filling your body as you cried, “What the fuck is that?!”

Felix barely even registered that the tentacle wrapped over his chest had done the same, and when he did he was dumb enough to look down right into it. The scent was… nice. Pleasant. It made his body hum with a pleasant vibration that made him feel so warm and fuzzy. A feeling akin to being drunk for the first time - feeling a little out of it, a little loose. It felt immediate, too. 

His body slowly began to relax as the gas fogged around his head, the cups closing shortly after to let the air around your bodies clear. His eyes slowly pulled back to you, and though you were a bit hazy now, you were still there. 

The tentacle wrapped over your neck slithered down towards your chest, wrapping beneath the swell of your breasts tight so the fabric pulled taught against your curves - and the poor pixie across from you couldn’t stop himself from looking. He didn’t even feel guilty about it at the moment either. In any other circumstance he would’ve been too respectful and shy to even steal a quick glance but now, something about it felt so shameless. 

The tentacle slipped lower to give your body more support, leveling you out so you could essentially lay as though you were in bed instead of being hung upside down. How kind of it.

Felix swallows hard as his eyes trail over. He watches the tentacle holding onto your leg adjust itself so your thighs push apart for it and your body seems to naturally comply, your head tipping back as you allow the creature that was once Felix’s best friend to bend your body to its will. He finds himself whimpering when the tentacle pushes higher, the tip of the appendage wriggling and squirming over your skin until it tucked under your skirt and pried at your panties.

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, a heavy blush coating your cheeks at the realization that it’s trying to get at the most intimate of spaces on your body. The appendage curls tight around your panties before it begins to pull back, though when they refuse to move from your hips because of how snug they are - it opts to instead rip them right open. The fabric falls like nothing from your body before the tentacle moves back to work, your skirt ruffling against your hips and thighs as it pushes over your slit and curls the very tip around your clit in an effort to make you moan. And it works, of course.

Felix’s cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you being touched like this. He knows it’s gross - knows it’s dirty and knows you’ll no doubt judge him for enjoying nasty Hentai like this (if you even live to see the next morning…) but he really can’t help it. He can’t help that he’s getting hard at the sight of you like this. It’s like a scene right out of a movie he’d watched recently - The tentacles, your stupid Halloween outfit…

“Felix…” Your soft call of his name makes him snap back into reality - which isn’t far from his fantasies right now. His hands tightened down on the tentacle wrapped over his chest as he felt something push between his own legs; An appendage separate from the others had slipped up his left leg and prodded at the bulge in his jeans, curling slowly around the outline of his half-hard cock while he whined. His lashes fluttered and he squirmed at the feeling, the friction more than enough to make him chub up just a little bit more. 

He curses, whimpering under his breath. “Fuck,” Felix gasps, biting down hard into his lip to stop any other sounds from escaping from his mouth.

His gaze darts back to you just in time to see the tentacle between your legs begin to squirm back. The cups along the inner section of the appendage open slowly and begin to once again ooz the slime that had slicked up your face and soaked into your costume’s top. It dripped over your inner thighs and as you sucked in a breath, the tip of the tentacle pushed carefully into your entrance. It eased it’s way in until it was nearly five inches deep - though this wasn’t quite like having sex with just.. Some guy. First of all - this was a monster; Second - the tentacle was thick. 

It felt as though it was attempting to split you right in half, wriggling deeper before finally pulling back and pushing into you once more.

“Oh my God,” Your voice leaves in a desperate hum. Felix watches in both shock and awe as your head falls back at the feeling of your pussy being filled to the brim; The little suction cups kissing at your walls every time it pushed into you further, the tip squirming against the entrance to your cervix and begging to be let in - to fill you until you would burst.

Felix’s head swirls as his gaze drops once more. He stares at the tentacle wriggling its way into his waistband, his mouth dropping open to let out a moan that makes him feel disgusting. He’s enjoying this and part of him loathes himself for it. “Shit,” He whines, the appendage wrapping around his cock when it slipped into his boxers and smothering his length in slick, sticky goo. It soaked through to the denim of his jeans and caused a heavy, damp stain that made him embarrassed and made him whine in protest. His hands curled into fists, reaching down with both to try and rid the appendage from his waistband before another - smaller and thin as a rope - wrapped tight around his wrists at lightning speed. He trembles as his arms are pulled above his head, no longer able to defend himself against the tentacle wrapping around his cock and making him twitch and writhe in pleasure. “Fuck – Fuck,” He cries, his toes curling in his sneakers at the ache that forms through his abdomen. “Fuck –!”

Your eyes finally press open as you hear Felix whining across from you, your gaze settling first on his flushed and desperate expression before falling to watch as the tentacle below wraps around his cock and coats him in goo. You can’t see anything but you know it’s a delicious sight.

Though, the appendage previously touching Felix seems to realize something of its own - It can’t fill Felix like it can with you, so it would have to find another way to inject its semen into the man.

“Shit,” Your whisper is barely audible as you peek up, watching the tentacle drag over Felix’s chest before coming up and prodding at his lips. He barely has time to react as it forces it’s way into his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat and making him choke on a whimper as goo drips down the corners of his mouth. His gaze meets yours before you watch as his eyes flick down between your legs, watching the tentacle between your thighs pump into you quicker than before. Your shaky, unstable moans meet Felix’s ears and he hates that the mix of seeing you getting fucked and having his mouth used at the same time are what makes him coat the inside of his jeans in cum that mixes with the goo left behind.

Your gasps become frantic as the tentacle pushes further into you, stretching you as much as it can before it suddenly stops, burying itself into your walls and pumping something out of the cups that had once again opened. You can feel it; It’s hot and heavy, thick, creamy. Holding a promise of your demise.

It’s the same moment that the tentacle buried in Felix’s throat seems to release the essence, Felix choking and gagging and closing his eyes in embarrassment as it fills his mouth full. The tentacle retracts as quickly as it came, black leaking from the corners of the pixie’s mouth as he swallows and spits at the same time - trying to figure out what it is and what to do in his post-sex haze.

The appendage between your thighs retracts and as exhaustion waves over you, so do the rest. Your body falls from the air and hits the ground with a heavy thud, Felix’s following only moments later. You land on your side, eyes glossy with tears of fear and pleasure as you look over at where Felix lay on his stomach to your right. His eyes are closed, though it’s not long before they slowly flutter open and attempt to meet your gaze. Felix’s hand slowly shifts from his side, coming to meet your own. His fingers curl into your palm as he sighs out, his body giving into the exhaustion and slumping against the hardwood - his cheek squished against the floor and his brain shutting off.

While you remain conscious a while longer, your eyes slowly move around to what you can see of the room. Hyunjin sits slumped against the wall, black ooze dripping down his chin and throat. His mouth had been filled the same as Felix, though while it happened a bit earlier on after he was grabbed, his body had already begun to turn. He was no longer present, his lower half bubbling and steaming and his legs gone, four appendages already present and squirming as the others began to form. 

Your eyes slowly dragged back to the blonde laying beside you, your thumb swiping over his knuckles in admiration. You take in the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way his lips part and the way the chunky rose gold glitter on his cheeks only adds to the charm of the deep brown freckles painting his skin. Part of you was… happy, that he’d fallen asleep before he’d seen what had happened to Hyunjin; What would happen to him now, too. Though as you lay in exhaustion and attempt to fight the sleep, as your brain clears itself of the fog and begins to be overrun by the slime that had entered your body and taken control of every functioning system left inside of you, and the fear settles into your chest; The realization that this would be the last time you would be human, the last time you would see Felix’s face. So you fight the sleep a little longer, just enough to try and memorize every detail of the man laying across from you before he becomes a monster, too. Your head pounds with the need to rest as your eyes finally drop closed, your body slumping and going loose as your future ahead of you lay unknown. But again, holding the promise of your demise.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[jezebelblues]

live on tour (interlinked) | h.s | 1

pt 1, pt 2 (complete)

summary: we don’t talk about it, it’s something we don’t do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

cw: smut18+ in pt 2, weed, alcohol, angst, sort of a slowburn idk, fem!reader, hs1rry

word count: approx 21.5k gulp

| idk how to feel ab this!!! stay with me now. + tumblr forced me to put this into two parts. [wink, nudge: the lyrics always mean something] i'm posting pt 2 right after this. smut is in 2nd part if that's only ur cup of tea

masterlist

June, 2017

It was Mitch who vouched for her.

Harry had trusted him implicitly since the first meeting. His effortless cool, his way of speaking only when necessary, and the way his guitar sounded like it could split the sky—all of it made him essential to Harry’s debut. If Mitch said someone was good, Harry would believe it.

But good wasn’t the issue.

“S’not about talent,” Harry had said one night in rehearsals, after the original second guitarist dropped out. “I just need t’feel like we fit, you know?”

Mitch had nodded, taking that as permission to make the call.

Her name was YN.

He’d heard the name before. Her reputation in the industry wasn’t loud but sharp—a razor’s edge that hinted at precision and professionalism. A prodigy of sorts, she’d landed her big break with Pink Floyd’s operatic revival of The Wall, the youngest lead guitarist in the show’s history. Since then, she’d moved from project to project, touring, sitting in on sessions, lending her guitar to artists who wanted her distinct, cutting sound.

Harry had always assumed she was someone you called when you needed the best, but not someone you kept around.

He wasn’t sure why that thought stuck in his head when Mitch mentioned her name.

He fumbled with the hem of his white t-shirt and stood at the back of the dim rehearsal space, watching Mitch set up. The low hum of amps warming up filled the room. Mitch’s quiet focus steadied Harry’s nerves—until the door opened.

She walked in with her guitar strapped across her back. She wasn’t early, but she wasn’t late either. The kind of timing that said she knew she was good but wasn’t going to make a show of it.

“Hey.” Mitch greeted her with a slight nod. He’d already taken his place behind the mixing board, leaving Harry to do the introductions.

YN turned her head toward Harry. Her eyes flickered over him briefly, as if appraising him, and then landed back on Mitch. “This the audition?”

Harry frowned. “Not an audition. A rehearsal.”

She raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn’t waver. “Right. Rehearsal.”

There was no handshake, no nervousness, no wide-eyed awe that he was used to when people first met him. She treated him like someone she was there to work with, not someone she wanted to impress.

Mitch gestured to a stand near the tall brunette. “You can set up there.”

She walked past them both without another word, unzipping her guitar case and pulling out a battered Stratocaster, crème and pine green. Harry noticed her hands immediately—nimble fingers with calluses thick enough to catch the light.

“Let’s get on with it then,” she grinned, plugging in.

He leaned toward Mitch, speaking low enough that she couldn’t hear. “Bit cocky, isn’t she?”

Mitch smirked but didn’t reply.

The first run-through was solid. She played with precision, hitting every note cleanly, and her technical skills were undeniable. But something about it felt cold, distant. Harry tried to catch her eye while they were playing, but she was hyper-focused on her guitar, her face blank.

When they finished the first song, he put his hands on his hips. “Alright,” he paused, louder than necessary. “That’s…fine. Let’s take it from the top.”

YN looked at Mitch. “Fine?”

Harry cut in before he could respond. “Yeah, fine. It’s technically good, but there’s no feeling in it. This isn’t session work. We’re putting on a live show. People need t’feel something when you play.”

She stared at him for a moment, then set her guitar down on its stand. “And what exactly do you want me to feel? We’re playing your songs.”

The tension in the room spiked. Mitch glanced between the two of them, looking ready to intervene.

He crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she started, brushing her hair back from her face, “that if you want something specific, maybe tell me what you’re looking for instead of just saying it’s not good enough.”

Her words hung in the air.

Mitch cleared his throat. “Why don’t we try the next track?”

She picked up her guitar without waiting for Harry’s input. Her fingers brushed the strings in a quick, angry strum as she tested the tuning. Harry stared at her, his jaw tight.

She didn’t flinch under his gaze.

It went on like that for the next hour.

Every time YN played, he found something to critique. Her tone, her phrasing, her timing—it didn’t matter that Mitch disagreed and kept insisting she was perfect for the role. Harry refused to back down, nitpicking every detail.

By the time they reached the final song, the air in the room was thick with unspoken animosity. YN played the opening riff of kiwi with more aggression than necessary, her fingers sliding over the frets like she wanted to punish the guitar.

When they finished, she shifted her weight and unplugged her amp. “Are we done?” she asked, slinging her guitar back over her shoulder.

Harry opened his mouth, ready with another critique, but Mitch cut him off. “Yeah. We’re done f'today.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn’t look at Harry again as she walked toward the door.

When it closed behind her, Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “She’s not right for this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“I’m positive,” He snapped. “She’s not a team player. She doesn’t fit.”

He leaned back against the mixing board, crossing his arms, hair falling behind his shoulders. “You ever think that maybe you’re the one who doesn’t fit?”

Harry glared at him. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, “that she’s a better guitarist than you’re giving her credit for. And maybe you don’t like her because she’s not trying to kiss your ass.”

He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mitch shrugged. “If you want to replace her, go ahead. But good luck finding someone else who can keep up with me…or you.”

Outside the rehearsal space, YN stood by her car, lighting a cigarette. She didn’t smoke often, only with a drink or if she was tense. 

She exhaled a plume of smoke into the warm evening air, her jaw clenched. She wasn’t angry exactly, but there was something about Harry Styles that got under her skin.

It wasn’t his fame or his music—that was fine. She’d worked with big names before. It was the way he carried himself, like he expected the world to bend around him.

He wasn’t used to people pushing back, and YN had no intention of making it easy for him.

If he wanted her to feel something when she played, she’d give him exactly that.

Even if it meant setting the whole stage on fire.

The rehearsal space smelled faintly of stale coffee and amps that had been running too long. The walls were lined with soundproofing panels, their faded gray color doing little to brighten the room. YN arrived early this time—not out of eagerness, but because she didn’t want to give Harry anything else to criticize.

Her guitar case thumped onto the ground before she adjusted the ring on her pinky—not dainty, but not loud. Her mother’s birth flower ingrained along the gold surface, a piece of her she could carry since her death in 2014. She could hear Mitch in the back, tuning his Gibson, and the faint shuffle of Harry’s sneakers as he moved across the space, adjusting mic stands and scribbling notes.

She was effortlessly pretty, the kind of beauty that crept up on you when you weren’t paying attention. Her lips held a natural pout, and her hair framed her face in a way that looked casual but impossibly deliberate, like it had conspired with the universe to fall just right. Her outfit was understated, perfect for rehearsal—straight-leg blue denim that sat just right on her hips, an off-white baby tee with cherry bomb splashed in bold red across the center, and a pair of scuffed white club c reeboks that had seen more than their fair share of years since 2015.

Around her wrist was a faded friendship bracelet, its once-bright threads dulled by time but no less significant. Jude, her best friend since high school, had tied it there the night they graduated, their laughter mingling with the hum of summer cicadas. She’d never taken it off, not once, even as life swept them into different journeys.

When YN told Jude over vodka cranberries that she’d landed a gig playing guitar for Harry Styles—yes, that Harry Styles—Jude nearly fell off her barstool. She’d been the kind of One Direction fan who made custom shirts for concerts and cried during little things. YN still remembered the way her voice shook with disbelief as she grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “You’re telling me you’re gonna play for Harry fucking Styles?” It had taken two rounds of shots to calm her down, though her enthusiasm had lingered for weeks. It was the kind of reaction that reminded YN how surreal this opportunity really was.

She promised she’d get her a front row ticket the first night in New York. 

She took her time setting up, deliberately slow. If Harry wanted to play mind games, she could too.

“Morning,” Mitch greeted, glancing up from his guitar.

“Hey,” she replied, flashing a quick smile. Mitch was the only person in the room she felt remotely comfortable around.

Harry’s voice cut through the room, sharper than it needed to be. “You’re early today.”

YN didn’t bother looking at him. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of complaining.”

The sound of Mitch’s guitar string snapping filled the silence that followed. He muttered something under his breath and bent to grab a spare string from his bag.

He walked over, his footsteps deliberate. “It’s not complaining. It’s feedback.”

“Uh-huh,” YN’s lips twitched, focusing on adjusting her amp. She crouched to test the levels, purposely ignoring him.

Harry crouched too, just enough to catch her eye. He smelt like cedar and pine. “You have something t’say?”

Her hands paused on the dials. “Nope.”

“Good.”

She stood abruptly, the motion forcing Harry to lean back. Her expression didn’t change, but her grip on her guitar tightened.

The rehearsal started the same way the last one ended: tense.

YN matched Harry’s intensity with her playing, her fingers precise but hard, striking each note with the kind of force that could shatter glass. She didn’t look at him once, even when he stopped the song halfway through to give her another round of vague critiques.

“Can you make it less…clinical?” he asked, his hands gesturing vaguely in the air.

“Clinical?” she repeated, her voice flat.

“Yeah, like…put some soul into it. Like it means something to you.”

Her lips twitched into the faintest smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t aware Sign of the Times was a soul song.”

She didn’t mean that, not really. It was a song of his that she enjoyed, she liked the 70’s elements he took, the way his voice sounded with the instruments in the back—but he was getting under her skin, he deserved the same.

Mitch coughed to hide his laugh.

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

The tension in the room was palpable now, a live wire crackling between them. Mitch stood off to the side, quietly restringing his guitar, pretending not to notice.

Harry took a deep breath, his tone softening. “Look, I just need it t’feel real. Like you’re part of it, not just playing over it.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright.”

She picked up her guitar again and launched into the song before anyone could say another word. This time, her playing wasn’t just technically perfect—it was angry. The notes tore through the air, raw and sharp, as if she were trying to prove a point with every riff.

He watched her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He couldn’t deny it sounded good—better than good—but there was something about her attitude that made him want to push back harder.

By the time they reached the last song of the set, the air in the room was thick with frustration.

Mitch played the opening riff, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings, and YN followed with her part. Her playing was looser now, more natural, but the tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased.

When they finished, Harry didn’t say anything right away. He stood there, staring at her, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well?” she asked, her voice clipped.

“S’fine,” he said, his tone careful.

“Fine?”

“You’re improving,” he clarified, though the words felt begrudging.

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Good to know I’m living up to your impossible standards.”

Harry bristled. “It’s not impossible to ask for some effort.”

“Effort?” Her voice rose slightly. “I’ve been putting in effort since I walked through that door, but all you’ve done is nitpick every single thing I do.”

“Because I know what this show needs!”

“No, you know what you need,” she shot back. “This isn’t about the music—it’s about your ego.”

The words hit like a slap. Mitch’s guitar strap slipped from his shoulder as he froze, watching the scene unfold.

Harry’s expression darkened. “If my ego were the problem, you wouldn’t be here.”

The room went silent.

YN’s gaze didn’t waver. “Right. Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you dragged me into this.”

She slung her guitar over her shoulder and walked toward the door, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“Where are you going?” Harry called after her.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Taking a break. Unless you have a problem with that too.”

Before he could respond, the door swung shut behind her.

Mitch set his guitar down and looked at Harry, his expression unreadable. “You’re really bad at this, you know that?” he said finally.

Harry glared at him. “At what?”

“Not making her hate you.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t hate me.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “And the sky isn’t blue.”

He didn’t reply. He sat down on the edge of the stage, his shoulders slumping slightly. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, and it was throwing him off balance.

Mitch leaned against the amp, watching him. “You know, you don’t have to like her. You just have to work with her.”

“I know.” 

“Then stop pushing her so hard. She’s already good enough for this tour—you’re the one who needs to let go a bit.”

He didn’t say anything, but the knot in his chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else entirely.

Outside, YN leaned against the wall, her cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool evening air.

She wasn’t sure what was worse—working with Harry or wanting to prove him wrong so badly it made her chest ache.

She took another drag and let the thought dissolve in the smoke.

September third

The studio was quiet now, the hum of amps and chatter of the band long gone. The others had left half an hour ago, leaving YN to pack up her gear in peace. She moved deliberately, her hands steady despite the exhaustion settling deep in her bones.

The rehearsal had been grueling. Harry had pushed harder than ever, his sharp critiques grating on her nerves until every strum of her guitar felt like a defiance. She wasn’t sure if he noticed—or cared—but by the end of the session, she’d felt like she was one wrong note away from throwing her guitar through a wall.

Now, alone with the quiet, she could finally breathe.

Until she wasn’t alone.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind her, and YN stiffened, glancing over her shoulder to see Harry stepping back into the room. He had swapped his stage shoes for sneakers, the cuffs of his trousers rolled slightly at the ankles. His sweater was slung over one shoulder, and the faint sheen of sweat on his neck suggested he hadn’t been gone long.

“Forgot m’notebook,” he said, his voice casual as his eyes scanned the room.

“Lucky me,” she muttered, turning back to her guitar.

He didn’t reply, but she could feel his presence as he crossed the space, moving toward the table where his things were scattered.

YN focused on wrapping her cable, each loop tight and precise. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, not after the day they’d had.

But Harry didn’t leave.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged, as he lingered near the table. YN’s movements slowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Something you need?” she asked, not bothering to mask the edge in her voice.

When he didn’t answer right away, she turned to face him, her hands still clutching the coiled cable.

Harry was watching her, his notebook forgotten on the table. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, and the weight of his gaze made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“You were pushing today,” he said finally, his tone measured.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“During rehearsal,” he clarified, crossing his arms. “You weren’t playing like y’normally do.”

“Maybe I was just tired.” She countered, though the words felt like a lie even as she said them.

“You weren’t tired,” he said softly.

Her jaw tightened. “What do you want, Harry? If you’re here to critique me again, save it. I’ve heard enough for one day.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. “I wasn’t trying t’pick on you,” he breathed, his voice quieter now. “If that’s how it felt, I’m sorry.”

YN stared at him, her mind struggling to reconcile the words with the man who’d spent months nitpicking every note she played.

“Why do you care?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked at her. “Because I need this to work.”

His words landed heavily between them, and for a moment, the room felt too small.

“You act like it’s just me,” she said finally, her voice quieter but still tinged with frustration. “Like I’m the only thing keeping it from working.”

“I don’t think that,” he said quickly, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re good—better than good. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me.”

YN froze, her breath catching at the raw honesty in his voice. She hadn’t expected that—not from him.

The silence between them grew heavier, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Harry’s gaze dropped briefly, like he was searching for the right words. When he looked back up, there was something different in his expression, something softer but no less intense.

“You frustrate me,” he said finally, the words low but certain.

YN’s throat went dry. “Right back at you.”

He took another step closer, and this time, she didn’t move away. Her heart pounded as she looked up at him, her chest tightening under the weight of his stare.

Neither of them spoke, the silence crackling with unspoken words.

She didn’t know who leaned in first—maybe it was him, or maybe it was her—but suddenly the space between them was almost nonexistent. She could feel the warmth of his breath, see the faint flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he lingered just close enough to touch.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her fingers curled into the coiled cable in her hand, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Harry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

The sound of his name seemed to pull him back, his eyes searching hers for a fleeting moment before he stepped away.

“I should go.” 

He grabbed his notebook and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

YN stood there, her heart still racing, the ghost of his presence lingering in the air.

Whatever had just happened—whatever had almost happened—she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

September nineteenth

San Francisco was humming.

The Masonic sat perched atop Nob Hill like a jewel overlooking the city, its art deco façade catching the early morning light. By dawn, the line of fans already snaked around the block, blankets and camp chairs scattered across the sidewalk. A faint fog clung to the streets, giving the historic building an ethereal quality as the first rays of sunlight broke through.

It was opening night of Harry’s solo tour, and the air outside the venue was electric.

Groups of fans huddled close, wrapped in scarves and oversized sweatshirts, their conversations a steady hum of anticipation. Some clutched homemade signs or albums, while others leaned against the building, scrolling through their phones to pass the hours.

Inside the venue, it was chaos.

The crew had been there since 6 am, unloading crates of equipment, running cables like veins along the stage. Monitors were stacked, adjusted, then adjusted again. Lights were tested until they bathed the empty floor in saturated pinks and golds. A countdown clock blinked red backstage, a digital reminder that time was slipping through the cracks, too fast and too slow all at once.

By 10 am, the band was in full rehearsal mode, locked in a cycle of repetition and frustration. YN perched on a stool near the edge of the stage, her guitar resting against her thighs, the strap digging into her shoulder. Mitch was on her left, his head bent over his guitar, fingers moving like smoke over the frets. The two of them had been working together for months now, tight and efficient, a partnership forged in long hours and shared cigarettes.

Harry stood center stage, mic in hand, dressed like he hadn’t quite decided if he wanted to be a rock star or a poet today. He wore a loose black blouse unbuttoned to his sternum, tucked into tailored trousers that hung just right. His boots clacked against the floor as he paced, his movements restless, his voice sharp as glass when he spoke.

“Stop, stop,” he sighed, waving his free hand. “It’s off. That transition’s not right.”

She bit down on her tongue. It wasn’t off. She knew it wasn’t off. But Harry had a way of finding faults where there weren’t any, like he needed to pick at something just to prove he could.

Mitch glanced at her, a subtle flick of his eyes that said, Don’t.

She ignored him.

“It’s not the transition,” she jutted her chin, her voice cutting through the murmur of techs and assistants scurrying around the stage. “The timing’s fine. It’s your entrance that’s late.”

He turned to her slowly, the mic dangling from his fingers like a threat. “Oh, is it?” he asked, his tone light, almost amused, but his jaw was tight. “You sure about that?”

YN met his gaze, unflinching. “Positive.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of an amp in the background. Harry didn’t say anything, just tipped his head slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Then he turned back to the band. “Alright,” he paused, his voice smooth again, commanding. “Run it from the top.”

Mitch exhaled, a quiet sound that YN barely caught. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she adjusted the strap on her guitar and settled her fingers on the fretboard, ready for another round of the same song they’d played fifteen times already.

By noon, the tension was palpable.

Lunch was a quick affair, eaten standing in the dim backstage area while techs rushed past with tangled cords and boxes of equipment. She leaned against a speaker case, picking at a dry sandwich, her guitar propped up against her leg. Across the room, Harry was surrounded by his usual orbit of stylists and assistants, his laugh ringing out every now and then, low and easy. He looked completely unbothered, like he wasn’t the reason half the band was on edge.

Mitch sat down next to her, his plate balanced precariously on his knee.

“You’ve got to let it go,” he said quietly, not looking up from his food.

“Let what go?” She asked, feigning innocence.

He gave her a flat look. “You and Harry. The little pissing contest you’ve got going on.”

“There’s no contest,” she shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich. “I already won.”

Mitch snorted, but he didn’t argue.

By 5 pm, the soundcheck was over, and the venue was nearly ready. The stage lights cast long, dramatic shadows across the room, making everything feel larger than life. Outside, the crowd had grown to hundreds, their voices rising in bursts of cheers every time someone peeked out from behind the curtains.

Backstage, the dressing rooms were a flurry of last-minute preparations. Harry was in his dressing room, a blur of motion as his stylist fussed over his outfit. A floral suit hung on a rack nearby, catching the light like a disco ball.

In her own space, YN was tightening a loose screw on her guitar, her fingers moving with practiced ease. Her nerves were starting to hum, a low undercurrent she couldn’t quite shake. This was her first tour—her first real tour in a set band, a member, belonging—and it felt like walking a tightrope with no safety net.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, not looking up.

The door creaked open, and Harry stepped inside, his presence filling the small room like a gust of wind.

YN froze for half a second before returning to her task.“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering to hide the edge in her voice.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Just checking in,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “You ready for tonight?”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Are you?”

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Always.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Then Harry pushed off the doorframe and straightened, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary.

“See you out there,” he mumbled, and then he was gone, leaving the room feeling smaller and heavier than before.

By eight, the doors had opened, and the crowd was pouring in, filling the venue with a rush of energy that seemed to seep into the walls. Backstage, the band was gathered in a tight circle, their instruments tuned, their game faces on.

Harry stood at the center, his suit catching the light, his presence commanding as he gave a short pep talk. YN stood slightly to the side, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against her thigh. She barely listened to his words, too focused on the sound of the crowd beyond the curtains, their cheers swelling like a tidal wave.

When the house lights dimmed, the noise was deafening.

As the band took their places on stage, the roar of the audience hit her like a physical force. The spotlight burned bright, blinding her for a moment as she adjusted to the sheer magnitude of it all.

Harry stepped forward, his silhouette outlined in pinks and gold as he grabbed the mic stand. The crowd went feral, their screams rising to a fever pitch as he flashed that grin, the one that could disarm even the sharpest tongue.

He didn’t speak, he didn’t need to—the crowd did that for him. 

YN’s fingers hovered over the strings of her guitar, her pulse thrumming in time with the cheers.

And then the music began.

It was loud and raw and electric, the kind of sound that sank its teeth into you and didn’t let go. The stage pulsed with life, the crowd moving like a single, writhing entity, their hands reaching for something intangible.

Harry owned the stage, his presence magnetic, his voice weaving through the room like a spell. YN played like she had something to prove, her fingers dancing over the strings with precision and fire. For all their clashes, for all the sharp words and narrowed eyes, when they played together, it was seamless.

Perfect, even.

And maybe that was the problem.

The stage felt alive. No, not alive. Hungry. Like it had been waiting for this moment, this crowd, and it wouldn’t be satisfied until every single body in the Masonic was consumed by the music.

YN’s sneakers scuffed against the stage floor as she adjusted her stance, fingers flying over the strings of her guitar. The heat of the lights was a constant pressure on her skin, beads of sweat forming at her temples and sliding down the back of her neck. But she didn’t care. Not about the lights, or the heat, or the way her thighs ached from standing so long.

She was falling in love—with the music, with the electricity in the air, with the way the crowd moved like a living organism, surging and crashing like waves in sync with every beat of the drums.

The screams had been deafening from the start, a tsunami of sound that swelled every time Harry leaned into the mic, his voice wrapping around the room and pulling it taut. He worked the crowd like a master, every glance, every laugh, every sway of his hips sending the audience into hysterics.

She wasn’t immune.

She hated to admit it, but she felt it too—that gravitational pull, that magnetic charisma that seemed to pour out of him effortlessly. She caught herself watching him when she shouldn’t, her eyes flicking to the way his shoulders moved under the sharp lines of his pretty suit, the easy way he gripped the mic stand like it was an extension of his body.

And every so often, he’d glance at her.

Not a passing look. A moment.

It would last half a beat longer than it should, his eyes catching hers under the wash of the stage lights. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, challenging her, or something else entirely. But it was enough to make her fingers stumble once, the wrong note ringing out for a split second before she recovered.

If Harry noticed, he didn’t show it.

The setlist was relentless. The kind of music that made you feel like your heart was going to explode, like you couldn’t keep up and didn’t want to. The kind of music that made YN forget she was supposed to hate the guy running the show.

“Alright,” Harry said into the mic, his voice lower now, intimate, like he was sharing a secret with each and every person in the crowd. “I want to slow it down for a bit. Let’s make this next one special, yeah?”

The audience erupted, their cheers shaking the walls.

She let herself glance up, just once, and there he was.

Harry stood center stage, his eyes sweeping over the crowd like he could memorize every face. And then his gaze found hers. It pinned her, held her still even as her hands moved over the strings with practiced ease. He didn’t smile this time, didn’t smirk or tease. His expression was soft, unreadable, like he was trying to figure her out and didn’t quite know how.

YN looked away first, focusing on her guitar, on the warmth of the strings under her fingers. But she felt his eyes linger, even as he turned back to the crowd, his voice slipping into the melody.

The audience swayed, their voices blending with his, turning the room into one collective heartbeat. She could feel it under her skin, in her chest, this pulsing connection between the stage and the people who filled the seats. She couldn’t explain it, but it made her chest ache, a hollow kind of ache that was somehow beautiful.

She wasn’t just falling in love with the crowd—she was falling in love with the way they loved him. The way their energy fed into his, creating this endless loop of give and take. It was magnetic, intoxicating, and she hated how much she wanted to be part of it.

As the show reached its climax, the band hit the frenetic rhythm of kiwi. The crowd lost their minds, screaming and jumping in unison as the pounding bassline and frantic guitars drove the song forward like a freight train.

Harry was in his element now, prowling the stage like a lion in a cage, his energy sharp and electric. He threw himself into the song with reckless abandon, his voice raw, his body moving like it was possessed by the music.

She felt it too, her fingers sliding over the strings with an intensity she didn’t know she was capable of. She played like she wanted to leave a mark, like she wanted the crowd to feel every note down to their bones.

Harry spun toward her at one point, his eyes catching hers as he sang.

All over me it’s like I paid for it, like I paid for it—I’m gonna pay for this

The line wasn’t even hers, maybe thrown toward her, sure, but the way he locked eyes with her as he belted it made her throat tighten. There was something feral about the way he looked at her, something that sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her chest.

She didn’t look away this time.

By the time the last note of the encore faded into the ether, the crowd was still screaming, still begging for more. Harry stood at the edge of the stage, his hands pressed together in a gesture of thanks, his smile wide and genuine.

YN hung back, her guitar still slung over her shoulder, her chest heaving from the exertion of the last few songs. She watched him bask in the adoration of the crowd, the way they screamed his name like a prayer.

And for the first time, she felt it too.

That pull. That strange, inexplicable magnetism that made it impossible to look away.

The final notes of the encore still buzzed in her ears as she followed the band offstage, the roar of the crowd trailing behind them like an echo that refused to fade. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache—her fingers stiff from hours of playing, her calves burning from the constant movement—but the adrenaline still surged, making her feel weightless and untouchable.

She had done it. They had done it.

The opening night had gone off like a firework, every moment exploding brighter and louder than the last. From the first chord to the final bow, it had been electric. And for once, she didn’t feel like just another cog in the machine. On that stage, with the lights scorching her skin and the crowd’s energy feeding her soul, she felt like a part of something massive. Something alive.

And Harry—despite everything—had been a part of that.

They’d had moments up there, brief but undeniable, where their music seemed to sync in ways their personalities couldn’t. He’d looked at her like she was the only other person in the room, and she’d felt it, that spark. That rare kind of connection that made everything else fade into static.

She thought maybe he’d felt it too.

Backstage was a flurry of chaos, but it was the kind of chaos that came with relief. Crew members slapped high-fives, a few whooped into the cavernous space, and Mitch grinned at her as they stowed their gear.

“That was something, huh?” he said, leaning back against the wall, his guitar case resting at his feet.

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “It really was.”

Her eyes darted toward Harry, who was standing in the middle of it all, his floral suit catching the dim light of the hallway. He was talking to a few crew members, his laugh echoing down the corridor, easy and loud.

YN lingered on the edge of the group, still cradling her guitar, waiting for him to glance her way. Say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he clapped Mitch on the shoulder as he passed by, murmured something low and warm to the bassist, then disappeared down the hallway, flanked by his manager and stylist.

Her stomach sank.

Seriously?

The after-party was just as loud as the show, a whirlwind of congratulatory cheers and glasses clinking in a private room at some sleek hotel downtown. The crew was there, the band, a few industry types YN didn’t recognize but figured she should. She was used to this kind of thing—small, exclusive, the kind of celebration that was more about appearances than fun—but tonight it felt different.

She stuck close to Mitch for most of it, nursing a vodka sour and letting the buzz of conversation wash over her.

“Relax,” Mitch said at one point, leaning against the bar beside her. “You look like you’re still waiting for the second set to start.”

“I’m good.” She mumbled a little too quickly.

His brow arched, but he didn’t press.

Across the room, Harry was the center of attention, as always. He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, laughing and chatting like he hadn’t just poured himself out on stage for hours. She couldn’t help but watch him, the way people gravitated toward him, how he seemed to light up every corner of the room he stepped into.

But he didn’t look at her. Not once.

She tried not to let it bother her, but it did.

After everything on stage, after every glance, every unspoken connection, it felt like he was intentionally keeping his distance. Like he’d flipped some invisible switch, cutting her off before she could even figure out what had changed.

By the time the party wound down, YN had had enough. She slipped out quietly, her guitar case slung over her shoulder, and headed for the lobby. The cool night air hit her like a slap when she stepped outside, the noise of the party muffled behind the heavy glass doors.

She stood there for a moment, letting the city’s chaos replace the strange hollowness that had settled in her chest.

She didn’t know why she’d expected something different from him. He was Harry Styles, after all—the man who could command a room with a smirk, who probably had a million other things on his mind besides her.

But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight.

Maybe it was the crowd, or the way the music had felt like it was tying them together in ways they didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her, like she was part of it, part of him.

Or maybe she was imagining it all.

She sighed, adjusting her grip on the guitar case as she started down the empty street toward her hotel.

Behind her, the sound of the door opening and closing made her stop.

But when she turned, it wasn’t him.

It was just some random guest stepping out for a smoke, their lighter flaring briefly in the dark.

She shook her head and kept walking.

The morning after opening night started with a headache.

The alarm went off at five, its shrill tone slicing through the still-dark San Francisco hotel room. YN groaned as she rolled over and slapped it off, her limbs heavy with the weight of too little sleep and too much tension. Her body ached from the show—her fingers stiff, her shoulders sore—but the adrenaline still hadn’t completely worn off.

She dressed in silence, pulling on denim shorts and an oversized hoodie, her hair shoved under a worn baseball cap. By the time she dragged her case and bookbag downstairs, the lobby was already filled with half-awake crew members milling around with to-go coffees and luggage carts. The band gathered near the hotel entrance, everyone moving slow, bleary-eyed.

Everyone but Harry.

He stood near the glass doors, sunglasses perched on his nose even though it was still too early for sunlight. His outfit—effortlessly tailored black slacks and black tee, paired with boots that clacked against the marble floor—looked like it belonged in a photoshoot, not a cramped tour bus ride down the coast. His hair was artfully disheveled, like it had been tousled by the same wind that carried his confidence.

YN hated that he didn’t look tired. He looked perfect, unbothered, untouchable.

And, true to form, he didn’t acknowledge her.

Not directly, anyway.

“Morning, Mitch,” Harry nodded, his voice smooth and low as he greeted the guitarist with a clap on the shoulder. He grinned at Sarah and made some easy joke that had her laughing quietly, her coffee held close to her chest.

She stood off to the side, shifting her weight between her feet, watching the scene unfold like an outsider looking through a frosted window.

She thought about last night. About how he’d looked at her on stage like the world had narrowed to just the two of them. About how he hadn’t spoken a single word to her after.

She didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand him.

“Let’s get moving,” their tour manager barked, clapping his hands. “Bus leaves in five.”

YN grabbed her things and followed the group outside, the cool morning air biting at her cheeks as they made their way toward the waiting bus.

The ride to Los Angeles was tense in the worst kind of way.

She had claimed a window seat near the middle of the bus, her headphones cranked up to drown out the low hum of conversation around her. She stared out at the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean stretching endlessly to the right, the cliffs jagged and wild to the left. It should’ve been peaceful, beautiful even, but she couldn’t focus on anything but the gnawing irritation in her chest.

Harry was sitting three rows ahead, leaned back in his seat with one arm slung lazily over the headrest. He was talking to Sarah again, his voice low enough that YN couldn’t hear the words, but the sound of it still grated on her nerves.

She wasn’t sure why she cared so much. She didn’t want to care.

If he wanted to ignore her, fine. She could ignore him right back.

By the time they reached LA, the tension had evolved into a quiet kind of war.

At the Greek Theater, the crew unloaded equipment, their movements brisk and practiced as they prepared for soundcheck. The sun blazed down on the open-air amphitheater, turning the white seats into a blinding sea of light.

YN was on edge, her patience wearing thinner with every passing hour. He still hadn’t spoken to her, not even in passing. He was polite, distant, the way he’d been before opening night. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t spent the night before throwing glances her way that felt like they could peel her apart.

When he handed out notes during rehearsal, she barely looked at him, keeping her responses clipped and indifferent.

“Got it,” she muttered after one of his suggestions, her tone flat as she adjusted her guitar strap.

Harry blinked at her, his lips twitching into something that might have been surprise. “Good,” he said after a beat, turning his attention to Mitch without another word.

By the time the soundcheck wrapped, She was biting the inside of her cheek so hard it felt raw.

Later, while the rest of the band lingered backstage before the show, YN found herself leaning against the rail of the amphitheater, staring out at the empty seats. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges.

She didn’t hear him approach.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to find Harry standing a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers.

“Yeah.” She breathed, her voice guarded. She didn’t move closer.

He didn’t say anything else, just stood there, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The silence between them stretched, heavy and awkward.

“Something you need?” she asked finally, her tone sharper than she intended.

Harry’s head tilted slightly, his sunglasses reflecting the fading light.

“Just checking in.”

It felt like a lie.

“I’m good, Harry” She mumbled, turning back toward the stage.

He didn’t respond, and when she glanced over her shoulder a few moments later, he was already walking away.

Her fingers tightened around the rail, her chest heavy with frustration she couldn’t quite name.

She hated this.

Hated the way he could make her feel so small, so seen, then turn around and act like she didn’t exist.

It was like trying to hold onto water. The harder she gripped, the faster it slipped through her fingers.

-

Harry stood at the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. He bowed low, his sequined shirt catching the light, a grin breaking across his face. To the crowd, he was untouchable—a god in Gucci.

She followed Mitch and Sarah offstage, her steps quick and mechanical. She could feel Harry trailing behind them, his presence heavy even when she couldn’t see him.

Backstage was chaos, as it always was after a show, but it didn’t faze YN. She moved through the crowd of crew members and assistants like a ghost, ignoring the chatter, the congratulatory smiles.

Her heart was still racing, the adrenaline from the performance twisting into something darker, something restless.

“You good?”

Mitch’s voice cut through the haze. He was leaning against the wall, his guitar case already packed, his expression calm but curious.

“Yeah.” 

Lie.

Harry entered the dressing room a few minutes later, his presence shifting the energy in the space instantly.

He was laughing at something Sarah had said, his voice loud and warm, but the sound grated against YN’s nerves. She kept her back to him, pretending to be busy adjusting a loose string on her guitar.

She felt him glance her way—she could feel it—but she didn’t turn around.

Two could play this game.

And so, the bus ride back to the hotel was unbearable.

YN had claimed a seat near the back, her headphones on, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights outside the window. She could see Harry a few rows ahead, his arm draped casually over the back of his seat as he chatted with the others.

He hadn’t spoken to her all night, and now, sitting there in his own bubble of easy conversation and laughter, it was like she didn’t exist.

Her frustration simmered, bubbling just below the surface.

She replayed the show in her head, each pointed glance, each lyric he’d aimed at her like an arrow. It felt like he was trying to send a message, but she couldn’t decipher it.

Was he angry with her? Was this some kind of punishment? Or was he just playing a game she didn’t know the rules to?

She clenched her jaw and turned up the volume on her music, drowning out the sound of his voice.

By the time they reached the hotel, her nerves were shot.

She practically stormed off the bus, her guitar case banging against her thigh as she made her way to the elevators.

The band and crew trailed behind her, their voices a low hum of exhaustion and contentment. Harry was in the middle of the group, laughing softly at something Mitch had said.

YN pressed the elevator button harder than she needed to, willing it to come faster. She didn’t know if she was more angry or confused. Maybe both.

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes as the others piled in.

She felt him before she saw him.

Harry stepped in last, taking a spot in the corner opposite her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word, but his presence filled the small space like smoke, curling around her, suffocating.

The silence stretched as the elevator ascended, the soft ding of each passing floor the only sound.

When the doors opened on her floor, YN didn’t wait for anyone to move. She pushed past them, her guitar case bumping against Harry’s shin as she stepped out.

“Careful.” He muttered under his breath, the word low but deliberate.

YN froze, her grip tightening on the case. She turned back, her jaw tight, her voice barely above a whisper “You were in the way.”

Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the tension between them was almost unbearable.

But then he smiled. That infuriating, lopsided grin that always seemed to carry a thousand meanings “Goodnight, YN.” he breathed, his tone maddeningly calm.

And just like that, the elevator doors closed, taking him with it.

She stood there in the empty hallway, her chest heaving, her hands trembling against the strap of her guitar case.

She hated him.

And she hated that she didn’t.

Nashville hit like a fever dream.

The kind of heat that stuck to your skin and turned the air thick, every breath tasting like concrete and sweat. YN stepped off the plane and into the chaos of arrivals, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her nerves buzzing like a live wire. The overhead announcements droned on, blending with the chatter of passengers and the whir of suitcase wheels.

Behind her, the band followed, each of them bleary-eyed but quiet, the exhaustion of constant travel settling into their bones. They’d left Los Angeles behind with barely enough time to breathe, and now they were here. Another city. Another show.

Harry was in the middle of it all, of course.

He strode through the airport like he owned it, dressed in a casual white t-shirt and plaid trousers, his sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. His carry-on was slung lazily over his shoulder, the strap resting on a ringed hand, and he moved with the kind of effortless ease that YN had learned to despise.

She hated how calm he looked. How composed. Like he hadn’t spent the last two days pulling the same infuriating routine—ignoring her during rehearsals, barely acknowledging her existence outside of the necessary, and throwing her those strange, pointed glances on stage.

She adjusted the strap of her own bag and turned away from him, focusing on the bustling terminal as they followed the signs toward baggage claim.

By the time they made it outside, the air was heavy with humidity, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting long shadows across the tarmac. Their bus waited near the curb, sleek and black, the driver already loading their checked equipment and luggage into the belly of the vehicle.

YN stepped aside to let Mitch and Sarah board first, leaning against the side of the bus and tugging her baseball cap lower over her eyes. She was tired. Bone-tired. And the thought of spending another night in close quarters with Harry’s infuriating silence made her chest feel tight.

“YN.”

His voice came from behind her, low and steady, and it made her stomach flip in a way she refused to acknowledge.

She turned to find Harry standing a few feet away, his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses now, and his green eyes caught the soft light of evening, sharp and clear.

“Yeah?” she sighed, her tone flat.

Harry blinked at her, like he hadn’t expected her to answer. “I, uh…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “You left this.”

He held out a small notebook, the worn leather cover instantly recognizable. YN’s stomach twisted. She didn’t even realize she’d forgotten it.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, reaching for it. Their fingers brushed, and the contact sent a shiver down her spine. She snatched the notebook quickly, shoving it into her bag.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Harry shifted his weight, his gaze flicking past her to the bus, like he was trying to find an escape route.

“Long flight,” he said finally, the words almost awkward.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re making small talk now?”

His mouth twitched—something between a smirk and a grimace. “Just trying t’be polite.” His voice was low, almost teasing.

She didn’t know why that annoyed her so much. “Well, don’t strain yourself,” she shot back, her words sharper than she intended.

Harry’s expression shifted, the teasing edge dropping away. For a moment, he looked at her like he wanted to say something, something important, but then he just shook his head.

“Right.” he said softly. “Good t’know where we stand.”

Before she could respond, he turned and climbed onto the bus, leaving her standing there in the heavy Nashville air, her pulse thundering in her ears.

She clenched her jaw, gripping the strap of her bag so tight it hurt.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

With a frustrated sigh, she followed him onto the bus, determined to avoid him for the rest of the night.

The hotel lobby was as tired as YN felt—dimly lit, decorated in muted earth tones that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the 90s. A long line of leather couches stretched across one side, mostly empty now that the band and crew had already checked in and trudged upstairs to collapse into their rooms.

She stood at the reception desk, trying to ignore the looming presence of Harry a few feet behind her as she slid her ID across the polished counter.

She croaked out her first and last name, her voice tight with exhaustion. “Should be a reservation under that.”

The receptionist, a young woman with tired eyes and a forced smile, tapped at her keyboard. For a moment, YN let herself hope this would go smoothly.

“Ah…” the woman began, her smile faltering as she looked up at her apologetically. “It seems there’s been an error in the system.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of error?”

“It looks like…” The receptionist squinted at her screen, then back at YN. “Your booking and Mr. Styles’ booking were combined. There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

She blinked, certain she must have misheard. “What?”

“One room,” the woman repeated, her voice overly kind, like she was delivering bad news to a child.

A low sound from behind her drew YN’s attention, and she turned to see Harry standing there, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Of course,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

YN turned back to the receptionist, her pulse spiking with frustration. “Okay, well, can you fix it? Book me another room?”

The woman winced. “I’m so sorry, but we’re completely booked out. Between your show and a large business conference in town, there’s nothing available.”

“Nothing?”

The receptionist shook her head. “Nothing.”

YN stared at her for a long moment, hoping that if she stood there long enough, a solution would magically present itself. When it didn’t, she let out a slow breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “Okay, then I’ll sleep on the tour bus,” she said finally, her tone clipped.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the receptionist replied, her voice filled with polite concern. “It’s not very safe overnight, and the temperatures are supposed to drop quite a bit.”

YN’s jaw clenched. She didn’t care about the temperature. She cared about not being stuck in a hotel room with Harry Styles for an entire night.

“You can take the bed,” Harry said suddenly, his voice low and casual.

She whipped around to look at him, her exhaustion briefly replaced by irritation. “Excuse me?”

“You can take the bed,” he repeated, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He didn’t look tired like she did; if anything, he looked almost amused. “I’ll take the couch. Problem solved.”

His eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t continue the way she half-expected him to. He acknowledged her silence with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

YN turned back to the receptionist, her last shred of hope dying as the woman gave her a small, helpless smile.

“I really am sorry,” the receptionist said.

“Yeah,” She muttered, grabbing her room key off the counter. “Me too.”

The elevator ride to their shared room was suffocating.

She stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the back wall, her eyes fixed on the digital floor numbers ticking upward. He stood on the opposite side, his hands still in his pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

She could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy, like it had been building all day.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she practically bolted into the hallway, her shoes squeaking slightly against the polished floor as she found their room and slid the keycard into the lock.

The room was small but clean, decorated in the same neutral tones as the lobby. There was one queen-sized bed, a narrow couch by the window, and a small desk tucked into the corner.

YN set her bag down near the door, letting out a long breath. This was going to be a long night.

Harry stepped in behind her, the door clicking shut softly as he took in the room. “Well,” he said after a beat, his voice laced with dry humor. “Cozy.”

YN shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, raising his hands in mock innocence.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her carry-on and unzipping it with more force than necessary. She pulled out her pajamas and stalked toward the bathroom, muttering under her breath.

“You’re welcome to take the bed!” Harry called after her.

She didn’t reply, only slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Inside, she leaned against the sink, gripping the edge tightly as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess under her hat, her face flushed with irritation and exhaustion.

This was the last thing she needed.

She splashed cold water on her face, changed into her pajamas, and forced herself to take a deep breath before stepping back out into the room.

Harry was already sprawled out on the couch, his long legs dangling off one end, one arm draped lazily over his eyes. He looked too comfortable, like he wasn’t even remotely fazed by the situation.

“Goodnight, YN.” he smiled, his voice soft and teasing, muffled by his arm.

She didn’t bother replying, instead climbing into the bed and yanked the blanket up to her chin. She rolled onto her side, facing the wall, her back to him.

But even as she lay there in the dark, her body exhausted and her mind racing, she couldn’t ignore the steady sound of his breathing filling the room.

And somehow, that made sleep feel even further away.

The night dragged on like a bad song on repeat.

YN tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around her legs no matter how many times she tried to straighten them. The bed itself wasn’t the problem—it was soft enough, even if the pillows were too firm. The issue was the room. Or rather, the person in the room.

Harry’s breathing was steady and slow, almost annoyingly calm, like he had drifted off with zero trouble. The faint rustle of the blanket he’d pulled off the back of the couch only made it worse. She hated knowing he was just a few feet away, as oblivious and infuriating in sleep as he was awake.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the weight of him in the room, like his presence was something tangible pressing against her skin. She could picture him sprawled out on the narrow couch, too long for it, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. He had to be uncomfortable, but of course, he made even that look effortless.

She clenched her teeth and turned over again, dragging the blanket over her head.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing she knew, pale sunlight was streaming through the thin hotel curtains, casting faint patterns on the wall. The sound of movement drew her attention, and she rolled onto her back, blinking against the light.

Harry was already up.

He stood near the desk, pulling a fresh shirt over his head, the muscles in his back shifting under smooth skin. His hair stuck up in every direction, and there was a faint red line on his cheek, probably from the couch pillow.

YN groaned softly, her voice gravelly from sleep, and sat up.

He turned at the sound, his eyes catching hers for a split second before he gave her a lopsided smile. “Morning,” he rasped, voice low and rough.

She ignored the strange flutter in her chest and instead rubbed at her face, her palms digging into her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven,” Harry replied, glancing at his watch.

“Why are you up so early?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Couldn’t stay on that couch any longer,” he said with a shrug, running a hand through his hair. “Figured I’d let you sleep.”

She raised an eyebrow, more suspicious than grateful. “How thoughtful of you.”

Harry smirked, leaning against the desk. “I’m full of surprises.”

YN swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor against her bare feet waking her up a little more. She glanced at the couch, the blanket crumpled in a heap at one end, and felt the tiniest pang of guilt. He might be irritating, but even she had to admit that couch looked like hell.

“Did you even sleep?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Enough,” he said, brushing it off with a shrug. “You?”

She hesitated. She wanted to lie, to tell him she’d slept like a rock just to avoid giving him the satisfaction. But she was too tired to keep up the pretense. “Barely,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his smirk softened into something else, something almost understanding. “We’ve got a couple hours before soundcheck,” he said after a beat, pushing off the desk. “I’ll grab coffee if y’want.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer.

“You’re being weirdly nice this morning,” she drawled, narrowing her eyes.

Harry grinned, all teeth. “Don’t get used to it.”

Before she could respond, he slipped out the door, leaving her sitting there in the quiet room, her heart beating just a little faster than it should have been.

When Harry returned twenty minutes later, carrying two steaming cups of coffee and a bag of pastries from the shop across the street, YN couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed.

But she didn’t thank him either.

She wasn’t sure why, but the tension between them felt different in the light of day. Lighter. Less suffocating. Still there, sure, but not as sharp.

She sipped her coffee in silence, watching as Harry lounged on the edge of the bed, scrolling lazily through his phone.

By ten that morning, they were at the Ryman.

The iconic auditorium was a cathedral of music, its wooden pews and high ceilings steeped in history. YN had played a lot of venues over the years, but this one felt different. Sacred, almost.

The crew was already bustling around the stage, running cables and testing equipment as the band took their places for a quick run-through. She strapped on her guitar and adjusted the amp settings, the familiarity of the process grounding her.

“Alright,” the stage manager called, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “Let’s run it from Carolina. Just a quick one, then you’re free for the day.”

Harry stepped up to the mic, giving a thumbs-up to the techs at the soundboard. His voice rang out clear and confident, slipping into the song like it was second nature.

YN played her part without thinking, her fingers moving easily over the strings. But she couldn’t help noticing the way Harry was watching her again.

It wasn’t as obvious as before—just the occasional glance, fleeting but deliberate, like he was checking her reaction to something she couldn’t quite place.

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know if it was frustration or something else entirely.

They wrapped up soundcheck in record time, the stage manager dismissing them with a wave of his clipboard.

“Alright, folks. Enjoy your free day. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

The band dispersed quickly, everyone eager to make the most of the rare downtime. Sarah and Mitch mentioned something about finding a good barbecue spot, and within minutes, YN found herself standing outside the Ryman, squinting in the bright Tennessee sun.

She was about to head back toward the hotel when Harry’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Hendrix.”

She turned to see him leaning against the tour bus, his sunglasses perched on his nose. She hummed in response, holding her hand above her eyes to shield the sun.

He grinned, his voice light and teasing. “You’re not gonna spend the whole day in the room, are you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, pushing off the bus. “Just thought you might want to come along.”

“Come along where?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head in that infuriatingly casual way he had. “I was thinking about exploring. But if you’d rather sulk in the hotel…”

She glared at him, her irritation mixing with reluctant curiosity. “I’m not sulking,” she muttered.

“Prove it.” His grin widened.

She sighed, weighing her options. She could spend the rest of the day alone, aimlessly wandering the city, or… she could let Harry drag her into whatever chaos he had planned.

Against her better judgment, she took a step closer.

“Fine.” she grumbled. “But if you annoy me, I’m leaving.”

Harry laughed, a warm sound that somehow made her chest feel lighter. “Deal.”

As they made their way through the streets of Nashville, YN couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to fall into step with him.

They wandered through the heart of downtown, the air thick with the sound of live music spilling out of honky-tonk bars and the faint smell of fried food. He seemed relaxed, his usual sharp edges dulled by the easy rhythm of the day.

They ducked into a record store, where Harry spent an obscene amount of time flipping through vinyls, offering commentary on the cover art of each one.

“Look at this,” he said, holding up a copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. He grinned at her, and for once, it felt less like a challenge and more like… something else.

YN raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the album he held up, the iconic cover staring back at her. “What about it?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning against the edge of the nearest display.

Harry’s grin shifted, softer now, almost boyish. “It’s a masterpiece. Don’t tell me you’ve never given it a proper listen.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smirk. “Of course I’ve listened to it. Who hasn’t? Don’t go acting like you’ve discovered fire.”

“Ah, but have you really listened to it?” He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied her expression like it might hold the answer. “Like, lying on the floor, headphones on, letting it ruin your entire mood?”

“That sounds unnecessarily dramatic.”

“Dramatic? YN, this album is a rite of passage. The Chain? That bassline alone deserves its own religion.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, a quick, genuine sound that caught her off guard as much as it did him. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head.

He looked pleased with himself, his grin stretching wider. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Take it however you want,” she shot back, moving past him to inspect a crate of blues records. Her fingers skimmed over the edges of the albums, her pulse oddly steady in the low hum of his company.

Harry hovered near, occasionally picking up a record and commenting on it. “You’re quiet,” he noted after a few minutes, his tone lighter than she’d expected.

“Just... looking,” she replied, hoping the words sounded casual enough.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“No.” The lie came easily.

He didn’t press, and for once, she appreciated his silence. It gave her room to breathe, to figure out why the usual tension between them felt... different today. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I like this, you know.”

She glanced up, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic sincerity in his tone. “Like what?”

“This.” He gestured between them, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Hanging out. You’re tolerable when y’not glaring at me.”

She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scowl. “That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“Take it or leave it,” he said, his smirk returning but not fully masking the warmth behind it.

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t look away, and for a brief moment, the air between them shifted. The faint tension that always seemed to linger was still there, but it wasn’t sharp or heavy. It was something else entirely.

As the afternoon wore on, the tension that had been brewing between them seemed to fade, replaced by something quieter.

They grabbed lunch at a hole-in-the-wall diner Harry insisted on, where they shared a plate of fries and argued over whether ketchup or mayo was the superior dipping sauce.

“Ketchup,” YN said, dipping another fry.

Harry shook his head, mock disappointment written all over his face. “I expected better from you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.

By the time they made their way back to the hotel, the sun was sinking low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. She felt lighter, like the weight of the past few days had lifted, if only for a little while.

As they reached the elevator, Harry glanced at her, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“Thanks for coming along,” his voice was quiet but sincere.

She hesitated, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. “Yeah, well… it was better than sulking.”

He smiled.

The hotel room was quiet, the kind of stillness that settled into your bones and made you feel the weight of the day. After their spontaneous exploration of Nashville, she had parted ways with Harry in the hallway. He mentioned something about meeting up with Mitch, tossing her a casual, “See you later,” before disappearing down the corridor.

YN had nodded but hadn’t said much else. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed that he was leaving for the night.

After a long shower, she tugged on an oversized band tee—some faded thing she’d thrifted years ago—and a pair of soft cotton shorts. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders as she padded barefoot around the room, her phone in one hand as she scrolled through texts from her family.

Dad: Don’t forget to drink water. You sound so busy. Call us when you have time.

Younger sibling: lol saw a vid of harry styles crowd at your show. how’s that going???

She smiled faintly at the last one, shaking her head as she typed a quick response.

It wasn’t until she’d tossed her phone onto the bedside table that she remembered the little stash she’d hidden away.

She opened her suitcase, digging past neatly folded shirts and random cables until her fingers brushed against an emptied bag-balm tin, where she hid a pre-roll. She grinned to herself, pulling it out along with the battered cherry red lighter she always kept with it.

YN grabbed her guitar and wandered to the deep window sill, settling into it like a cat in the sun. She pushed the window all the way up, the night air warm against her skin as it rushed into the room. Nashville stretched out before her, the faint glow of the city lights mixing with the distant hum of passing cars.

She tucked the joint between her lips, the flame of the lighter flickering as she lit the tip. She took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl through her lungs and settle into her chest before she exhaled out into the open air.

The buzz hit quickly, a soft warmth unfurling in her limbs. She leaned back against the window frame, her guitar resting comfortably on her lap as she started to strum.

The notes came easily, her fingers gliding over the strings as she played whatever came to mind. A soft, haunting melody took shape. She kept her voice low, just above a whisper, the lyrics spilling from her lips like they were meant for the quiet night.

Spent my days with a woman unkind, smoked my stuff and drank all my wine

The joint hung from her lips as she sang, her voice airy and unpolished, but easy.

Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart 

She was so lost in the song, the feel of the strings beneath her fingers, that she didn’t hear the door open.

Harry stepped inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. He paused, his eyes catching on the scene in front of him—the open window, YN perched on the sill with her guitar, the smoke from the joint curling lazily in the dim light.

She didn’t notice him at first, too wrapped up in the song. Her voice was soft and raw, carrying just enough emotion to make the lyrics hit harder than they should have.

Seems that the wrath of the gods got a punch in the nose and it’s starting to flow—think i might be sinking.

Harry stayed where he was, leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed as he listened. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t announce himself right away. Maybe it was the way she seemed so unguarded, so lost in her own little world. It felt wrong to interrupt.

Her fingers lingered on the last note of the song, letting it fade softly into the warm night air. She leaned her head back against the window frame, the faint hum of the guitar strings still vibrating against her skin.

The room was quiet now, the only sound the distant buzz of traffic outside. She thought she was alone—until a flicker of movement caught her eye.

Her head snapped up to see Harry stepping closer, his strides slow and deliberate. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smirk or crack one of his usual jokes. He just moved, quiet and assured, until he stopped by the desk next to the window.

He sank into the chair with a soft creak, still close enough that YN could feel the heat of his presence.

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t acknowledge him outright. Not yet.

Instead, she glanced at him briefly, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second before returning to the guitar in her lap. Her fingers idly plucked at the strings, pulling out a soft, wandering melody—not another song, just sound to fill the silence.

Harry stayed quiet, leaning back in the chair as his gaze followed the slow, practiced movements of her hands.

When she paused, fingers hovering over the frets, the faint smell of smoke still curling in the air, Harry’s attention shifted.

Without a word, he reached for the joint resting between her fingers near the neck of the guitar. His movements were smooth, casual, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

YN didn’t stop him, but her lips parted slightly in surprise, her pulse quickening as his hand brushed against hers.

He brought it to his lips, the faint ember at the tip flaring as he inhaled. The smoke curled lazily between them, filling the small space with a warmth that felt heavier than the fading summer air outside.

She watched him, her fingers still resting lightly on the strings, the unfinished melody hanging between them.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking back to hers as the smoke dissipated into the room. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable—it was something else. Something charged, like the tension from the last few days had found a new way to manifest itself.

YN finally broke the silence, her voice low and rough. “Didn’t realize you smoked.”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t give anything away. “Didn’t realize you played Zeppelin.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twitching as she fought the urge to smile back.

“Don’t stop playing,” he murmured, leaning back in the chair and tipping his head toward the window.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him before she shifted the guitar back into place.

She didn’t play for him. Not really. But as the quiet notes filled the room again, she couldn’t help but notice how close he was, how the faint smell of smoke and something distinctly Harry seemed to blur the edges of everything else.

The melody was unmistakable, a classic she knew by heart. Slow, deliberate, and wordless, the tune drifted into the still night air. She tilted slightly, fingers brushing over the strings with a lightness that made it feel effortless.

Harry stayed in the chair by the desk, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence but far enough that he seemed content to linger in the space between them.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t interrupt.

His eyes flickered between her and the view outside, where the skyline blinked faintly in the distance. He seemed lost in thought, the faint haze of smoke from the joint twisting lazily around him.

The rhythm of her playing was slow, hypnotic, like it had seeped straight from her fingertips into the quiet air. She didn’t look at him directly, but she could feel his attention, even when it wasn’t on her.

When the joint burned low between his fingers, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned toward her. He lifted it to her lips, careful not to disrupt her playing, his movements casual but precise.

YN paused for just a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the gesture, but she let it happen. Her lips closed around it, inhaling deeply as her fingers continued their soft rhythm across the strings.

He stayed there for a moment, watching her before leaning back in the chair and taking the joint back between his own lips.

The smoke lingered between them, faint and warm, curling like an unspoken connection.

The song continued—soft, wistful, and unhurried. Her focus shifted to the melody, letting it guide her as Harry flicked his gaze between her hands, her face, and the view beyond the window.

Every so often, he’d lean forward again, passing the joint to her silently, his movements slow and patient. It felt strangely intimate, the quiet exchange, the way their hands brushed in the dim light.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but not with tension. It felt… deliberate.

When YN finally let the last note of the song fade into the air, her hands stilled on the guitar.

He didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back in the chair, the joint burning low between his fingers as his gaze lingered on her for just a moment too long.

“You should do that more often,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Play Floyd?”

“Play anything,” he replied, taking one last drag before stubbing the joint out on the edge of the ashtray she’d left by the window. “Or keep me guessing.”

YN shifted the guitar off her lap, leaning it gently against the window sill. She crossed her arms, the soft night air brushing against her bare legs as she glanced at Harry. “It’s my job to play for you, Harry.”

His head tipped slightly, his green eyes narrowing as he considered her. “That why y’were playing now?”

She scoffed, leaning her shoulder against the window frame. “No. But it’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To play what you want to hear. To make your shows sound good.”

Harry didn’t react immediately. He stayed leaned back in the chair, the now-extinguished joint resting in the ashtray beside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost lazy.

“You think that’s all you’re here for?”

“That’s what it feels like sometimes,” she muttered, her words laced with the kind of honesty she didn’t usually let herself share. “You’ve got everything planned, Harry. The look, the sound, the crowd. You don’t need me.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “If I didn’t need you, you wouldn’t be here.”

YN frowned, tilting her head. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Like I’m just another piece of the machine?”

Harry leaned forward then, his elbows resting on his knees as he met her gaze. The air between them felt heavier now, his next words slow and pointed. “You’re not just a piece. And you know it.”

For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She hated the way her pulse quickened under his stare, the way his voice—low and rough—seemed to wrap around her like smoke.

She turned her head slightly, looking out at the view instead of him. “You don’t act like it,” she mumbled.

He let out a low laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And how do I act, YN? Enlighten me.”

She hesitated, then turned back to face him, her arms still crossed over her chest. “You act like I’m just… there. Like you can turn me on and off when it suits you. Like I don’t matter unless I’m standing on stage next to you.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze never wavering from hers. “That’s not true.”

It was.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The silence that followed felt like it stretched forever. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft creak of the chair as Harry shifted his weight.

“You think I don’t notice you?” he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

Harry stood then, closing the distance between them in just a stride. He stopped just shy of the window, leaning one hand against the frame as he looked at her.

“You think I don’t notice you,” he repeated, his voice steady, almost accusing. “Every time you play, every time you step on that stage. Every time you look at me like you’re trying to figure out if I’m about to push you away again.”

YN swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “You don’t notice anything,” she said, though the words came out weaker than she intended.

His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to her eyes. “I notice everything,” he countered softly.

Her breath hitched, and she hated the way it made her feel like she was on uneven ground. “Then why do you act like this? Why do you make it so hard?”

“Because y’make it hard,” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “You shut me out before I even get the chance to try.”

YN laughed then, a hollow, bitter sound. “You’ve never tried, Harry.”

“And you’ve never let me.” he said, the words falling between them like a challenge.

The weight of his stare was suffocating, and for a moment, YN didn’t know what to say. She could feel the tension crackling between them, thicker now, more volatile.

“Bullshit.” She turned back to the window, her voice softer when she spoke again. “This is pointless.”

Harry didn’t move, his hand still resting on the window frame as his eyes lingered on her.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words hang in the air as the night wrapped around them. Neither of them said anything else, but the silence spoke louder than anything they could’ve said.

The morning came earlier than YN wanted it to. She’d barely slept, the weight of the night before hanging over her like a low fog.

The room was quiet when she woke, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the stillness. Harry’s side of the room was empty, the crumpled blanket on the sofa the only sign he’d stayed at all.

YN sat up slowly, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes as the memory of their conversation came rushing back. She didn’t know if she regretted it—what they’d said, what they hadn’t said—but she knew it had left her chest feeling heavier than it had in weeks.

She glanced at the clock. They had a longer rehearsal today, prepping for the Ryman show tomorrow. If she didn’t hurry, she’d risk being late.

With a groan, she threw off the covers and got ready, pulling on a worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt before stuffing her guitar into its case and heading out the door.

The venue was already buzzing with activity when she arrived. The crew was setting up the stage, the hum of amps and feedback filling the auditorium as the band trickled in one by one. Mitch and Sarah were already there, chatting quietly by the drum kit, while Harry stood near the mic stand, flipping through a setlist with their tour manager.

YN felt his presence before she saw him, the memory of his words from the night before still fresh in her mind.

Maybe. But it doesn’t mean it’s not real.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to push the thought aside as she made her way to her usual spot on the stage.

“Morning,” Mitch gave her a small smile.

“Morning,” she replied, setting her guitar case down and pulling out the instrument.

Harry didn’t say anything as she arrived, but she could feel his gaze flicker toward her for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to the stage manager.

Rehearsal started slow.

The band worked their way through the setlist, adjusting transitions, tightening harmonies, and fine-tuning every detail until the songs sounded like they could fill the Ryman’s historic walls without effort.

YN tried to focus, but it was harder than usual. Harry’s voice was everywhere—smooth and commanding, sharp and playful, depending on the song. His presence filled the room, making it impossible to ignore him no matter how much she tried.

But he didn’t speak to her directly. Not once.

It was infuriating, the way he could act like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t spent the night before saying things that neither of them had the courage to finish.

The longer the rehearsal went, the more it started to gnaw at her. By the time they reached Ever Since New York, her patience was wearing thin.

“Hold on,” Harry said, waving a hand as the band finished the first chorus. He turned to Mitch. “That transition’s still too rushed. Can we stretch it out a little more?”

Mitch nodded, already adjusting his guitar.

She sighed quietly, her fingers hovering over the frets as she tried not to let her irritation show.

“Something wrong?” He asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the space like a blade.

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing at him. “No.”

“Sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze sharp.

She stared at him for a moment, her chest tightening with frustration. “Just play the song, Harry.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright. Again.”

By the time rehearsal wrapped, YN was drained. Her fingers ached from hours of playing, and her chest felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

As the crew began packing up, she slung her guitar over her shoulder and made her way toward the back of the stage, desperate for a moment alone.

But before she could disappear, Harry’s voice stopped her.

“Hey! YN.”

Her grip on her guitar strap tightened as she turned to face him, the tension between them sharp enough to cut. He was standing near the edge of the stage, his expression carefully unreadable, though his shoulders were tense. “What?” she asked, her voice curt, already bracing herself.

He hesitated, just for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over her like he was trying to figure out how to start. “About last night.”

Her jaw tightened. She hadn’t wanted to think about last night—how raw it had felt, how vulnerable she’d let herself be for even a second. She’d been trying to shove it to the back of her mind all day. “What about it?” she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for softness.

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, quieter, but it still held an edge. “You meant what y’said, didn’t you?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t notice you,” he mumbled, his words more a statement than a question.

Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to keep her expression steady. “I don’t know why you care.”

“Because I do,” he shot back, his voice sharpening, though he still kept it low enough that no one else could hear. “And don’t act like you don’t, either.”

Her chest tightened at the accusation, but she refused to let it show. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she said coldly, crossing her arms.

His jaw ticked, and he took a small step closer. “You think this is easy? Working with you? Being around you?”

She scoffed, the sound bitter in her throat. “Right. Because you’re so perfect to deal with, Harry.”

His eyes narrowed, the frustration clear now. “You act like I don’t care, but you’re the one who’s been pushing me out since the start.”

Her breath caught, and for a second, she wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else flaring in her chest. “Because you make it impossible,” she snapped, a whisper. “You walk around like the world revolves around you, and you expect everyone to just fall in line.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, YN,” he said, his voice sharp, almost defensive. “Except maybe to stop pretending like none of this matters t’you.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Harry paused, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “you’ve made it pretty damn clear you’d rather be anywhere else than here—with me, with this band. So don’t act like I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit.”

YN stared at him, her chest heaving, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to throw something at him, wanted to shout, but the anger in her throat felt too tangled with something else—something raw and uncertain.

Before she could think of a response, Harry shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter half-smile. “Forget it,” he muttered, turning on his heel.

He stalked off the stage without looking back, his steps echoing in the empty auditorium.

YN stayed frozen where she was, her pulse pounding in her ears as his words replayed over and over again in her mind.

She hated that he was wrong.

And she hated even more that he wasn’t entirely right.

The 25th came fast, bringing with it the weight of a sold-out show at the Ryman Auditorium. YN felt it the moment she woke up—the low hum of tension in her chest, the kind that came from knowing she was about to step onto one of the most iconic stages in music history.

She moved through the day on autopilot, her interactions with the crew and band kept short and polite. She didn’t have it in her to do more, not after yesterday’s rehearsal, not after the argument with Harry that still lingered like a bruise.

By the time the sun dipped low over Nashville, casting long shadows across the city, the energy backstage was crackling with anticipation.

The band gathered in the wings as the crew finished final checks. She adjusted the strap of her guitar, her fingers tightening and loosening around the neck in a rhythm she didn’t realize she was keeping.

Harry stood a few feet away, his presence as inescapable as ever. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit with just enough sparkle to catch the light, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His hair was tousled in that perfectly imperfect way that she hated to admit suited him.

He hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday. Not directly. And she hadn’t gone out of her way to fix that.

“Alright, everyone ready?” the stage manager called, clipboard in hand.

The band nodded, one by one. Harry turned to them, his usual grin firmly in place, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when his gaze landed on YN.

“All good?” he asked, his tone light but pointed, like he was challenging her.

She held his stare, refusing to let him see the nerves twisting in her chest. “Good.”

Harry’s smirk softened, but he didn’t push it. “Let’s do this, then,” he said, turning back toward the stage as the house lights dimmed.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wall of sound that hit YN square in the chest as they stepped onto the stage.

The show opened strong, the band locking into the rhythm like clockwork. The crowd was electric, their cheers and screams filling every corner of the Ryman as Harry worked the stage, his voice weaving effortlessly through the music.

She focused on her playing, her fingers moving over the strings with practiced precision. She kept her eyes on the crowd, on Mitch, on the neck of her guitar—anywhere but Harry.

But it didn’t matter. She could feel him, his presence pulling at her like a tide no matter how hard she tried to resist.

It was during Woman that the tension finally cracked.

The song had always been a crowd favorite, its sultry rhythm and teasing lyrics sending the audience into a frenzy. Tonight was no different.

Harry prowled the stage, the mic in one hand, his free hand gesturing to the crowd as they screamed the words back to him.

And then, without warning, his gaze found hers.

—I told you but I know you’d never listen.

YN’s fingers faltered for the briefest moment, the wrong note slipping out before she corrected herself.

He smirked, slow and all-knowing, because he did. He knew what he was doing.

He sang the chorus, his voice low and taunting as he turned to her fully, his body angled toward her now.

The crowd screamed, but they didn’t notice the way his eyes stayed locked on hers, sharp and unrelenting.

Her chest tightened, but she refused to look away. Instead, she matched his intensity with her playing, her fingers flying over the strings like she could drown him out with sheer force.

The song ended in a crescendo, the applause erupting like thunder. Harry grinned at the crowd, blowing kisses into the sea of adoring faces, but when he turned back to the band, his smirk softened into something more subtle.

YN ignored him, focusing instead on retuning her guitar for the next song. But her hands were trembling slightly, and she hated herself for it.

The rest of the show passed in a blur of music and adrenaline.

By the time they reached the encore, she felt both exhausted and wired, her body caught in that strange limbo that came after hours on stage.

She risked a glance at Harry, and for a moment, she thought she saw something in his expression that mirrored her own—a kind of quiet exhaustion, tinged with something unspoken.

But then he turned back to the crowd, his charm cranked up to full volume as he thanked them, his voice ringing out like a promise. “Goodnight, Nashville,” he said, his grin wide and infectious. “You’ve been incredible.”

The applause was deafening, the crowd chanting his name as the band took their final bow.

Backstage crew members moved in every direction, packing up equipment and shouting over the noise. The band had scattered, Mitch and Sarah disappearing into their dressing rooms while Harry lingered by the door, chatting with a few industry types who’d come to the show.

YN slipped past the commotion, her guitar case slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the dressing room she was sharing with Mitch.

But before she could reach the door, Harry’s voice stopped her.

She froze, her grip tightening on the strap of her guitar. She turned slowly, her expression carefully neutral.

Harry was leaning against the wall, his shirt damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He looked tired but satisfied, his usual post-show glow dimmed by something quieter.

“Good show tonight,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes sharper than his words.

YN raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his smirk returning. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning back toward her dressing room. “Look in the mirror, Harry.” She didn’t wait for his response, didn’t look back as she pushed open the door and let it close behind her.

September 26th, Chicago Theatre

Chicago was cold, a brisk wind biting at the edges of everything, but the theater itself felt electric. The second show on this leg of the tour, and the crowd roared louder than even the Nashville audience had. YN had expected it—Chicago fans had a reputation—but it still sent a jolt through her chest every time the applause hit.

She’d kept her head down all day, avoiding Harry as much as possible after the tension-filled Ryman show. He hadn’t gone out of his way to talk to her either, which suited her just fine. The dynamic between them was still strained, but now it felt heavier, sharper, like a spring wound too tight.

On stage that night, they were professional, seamless even. The music flowed like second nature, and the crowd ate up every word Harry sang, every note the band played.

But Harry’s energy was different.

He stalked the stage like he had something to prove, his voice sharper, his movements purposeful. Every so often, his gaze would flicker toward her, his eyes dark under the stage lights, and her fingers would stumble, just for a second.

She hated that he could still affect her like that. Hated that her pulse quickened every time he looked at her like he was daring her to break.

When the show ended, she slipped out of the backstage chaos as quickly as she could, retreating to her dressing room before Harry could find her.

But she couldn’t escape the feeling that their fight wasn’t just simmering—it was boiling over, and it was only a matter of time before it all spilled out.

September 27th, New York City Music Hall

New York felt different, brighter somehow. The Music Hall was massive, its gold interiors glinting under the lights, the kind of place that made you feel like you were a part of something monumental just by standing inside it.

YN was buzzing, but not because of the show. Tonight, she’d finally made good on her promise to get her best friend in with VIP tickets.

Jude had shown up grinning from ear to ear, dragging along another friend, Sage, a boy she knew from a few mutual connections but hadn’t spent much time with. She didn’t mind—Sage was friendly, good-looking in that casual, effortless way, and Jude seemed thrilled to be there.

The show was flawless, a whirlwind of sound and energy that left the crowd screaming for more by the end of the encore. YN felt good, better than she had in days. Maybe it was Jude’s energy, or the thrill of being home in New York, or the fact that she’d managed to avoid Harry’s smirking glances on stage.

The energy backstage was lighter than usual, the post-show adrenaline mingling with the warmth of a half-empty box of beers someone had dragged in from a gas station. YN sat on a crate near the corner of the room, Jude and Sage perched close by, the three of them surrounded by the casual hum of conversation. Mitch was strumming idly on an unplugged guitar, Sarah was laughing with one of the techs, and the crew milled around, taking turns grabbing beers and tossing them to each other.

Harry sprawled in the cheap folding chair like it was a throne. His legs stretched out, boots crossed, beer bottle swaying loose between his fingers. He wore the smug indifference of someone who knew exactly how good he looked, from the sweat-mussed hair to the open collar of his shirt. A rock god slumming it in a room full of mortals.

Jude, of course, was eating it up, no matter how hard she tried not to. Her eyes kept drifting back, quick flickers like a moth circling a flame. YN could see the effort it took for her friend to focus on Sage, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, leaning just a bit too close. But the second Harry glanced their way, Jude’s attention snapped to him like a compass needle finding north.

“This is VIP treatment?” Sage asked, flashing one of his trademark grins. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his bottle raised like a toast.

Jude latched onto the question, grateful for the distraction. “Welcome to the glamorous life of rock and roll,” she quipped, sweeping a hand around the dingy green room. Half-eaten takeout boxes, a broken amp shoved in the corner, and a stack of mismatched chairs that looked like they’d collapse if you breathed wrong.

“I’m not complaining,” Sage said, his smile lingering, his tone dipping lower. “Not if it means I get to see you.”

The words hung in the air just a second too long.

YN felt the heat crawl up her neck before she even realized it. She took a long sip of her beer, keeping her face neutral, trying to ignore the heavy stare boring into the side of her head. She didn’t have to look to know Harry was watching. She could feel it.

“Careful,” Harry drawled, finally breaking the silence. His voice was low, lazy, but there was an edge to it. “Say something like that, and you might get her hopes up.”

Sage blinked, caught off guard, then let out a short laugh, brushing it off. “I think she can handle it.”

“Oh, sure,” Harry said, leaning back further in his chair. He swirled the beer bottle idly, staring into the amber liquid like it held secrets. “Just don’t trip over yourself trying too hard. You’d hate to embarrass yourself in front of the talent.”

Jude stiffened beside YN. Sage’s easy smile faltered, but he recovered fast, glancing at YN with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Speaking of talent, you were incredible out there,” he said, his voice softer, directed at her now. “That solo in Woman? Gave me chills.”

YN opened her mouth to respond, but Harry beat her to it.

“Yeah, chills,” he echoed, not looking up from his bottle. “Or was it the AC in the venue finally kicking in? Hard t’tell.”

Sage chuckled, but it was tight. Forced. “I meant it,” he said, still talking to YN. “You’ve got something special. You know that, right?”

Harry made a sound low in his throat, almost a laugh. Not quite. “Special,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word and finding it bitter. “Special enough t’get you a free beer and a backstage pass. Quite the honor.”

Sage turned to him now, his posture shifting, more squared. “That’s not what I meant.”

Harry’s eyes finally lifted, locking onto Sage with a lazy sort of intensity. “No?”

The word hung there, sharp and cold, daring Sage to keep going.

YN set her bottle down harder than she meant to, the dull thunk slicing through the thick air. “Harry.”

“What?” he said, the picture of innocence, except for the smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

Her jaw tightened. “Can I talk to you outside?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, playing dumb. “Outside?”

“Mm-hm.” She hummed sharply, pushing herself to her feet. “Now.”

He took his time standing, unfolding himself from the chair with the kind of slow, deliberate movements that made every second stretch out like taffy. His boots scraped against the floor as he stood, towering over her but pretending not to notice. “You sure y’don’t want to hash this out here? We’ve got an audience and everything. Could be fun.”

“Outside,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

Harry chuckled, low and infuriating. “Alright,” he breathed, gesturing toward the door like he was humoring her. “Lead the way.”

As she brushed past him, she caught a glimpse of Jude, wide-eyed and silent, clutching her bottle like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Sage sat back, his jaw tight, his smile long gone.

Behind her, Harry followed, his footsteps slow and heavy, like he wanted her to know he wasn’t in any hurry. And as they stepped out into the cold, stale air of the hallway, she could still hear his laugh echoing softly, more to himself than anyone else.

That laugh made her want to scream.

The alley behind the Music Hall was quiet, the distant hum of city traffic echoing off the brick walls. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the stuffy warmth of the backstage room. “What the hell was that?” she asked, spinning around to face him.

He took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes steady on hers. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, her arms crossing over her chest. “All the comments. The interruptions. What’s your problem?”

Harry leaned against the wall, his head tilting slightly as he studied her. “No problem,” he said lightly. “Just thought I’d keep the conversation interesting.”

“Interesting?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You were being a dick, Harry.”

His smile faded slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Maybe I don’t like watching some guy who barely knows you act like he’s been waiting his whole life to kiss your ass.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Are you serious?”

“You heard me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

She stared at him, her chest tightening with a mix of frustration and something she didn’t want to name. “Why do you even care?”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer until there was barely a foot of space between them. His eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “I dunno.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering against her ribs. “That’s not an answer.”

“S’the only one you’re getting.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them thick and crackling like static electricity.

She finally broke the silence, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to pull this shit, Harry. Not after everything.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then he took a step back, his smile returning, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Got it,” he said simply, turning toward the door.

She watched him go, her fists clenched at her sides, her heart pounding with anger—and something else she didn’t want to name.

She stayed in the alley long after Harry disappeared back inside. Her chest felt tight, her breathing uneven as she tried to process the exchange.

The words echoed in her mind, a sharp contrast to the smirk he’d worn when he walked away. She hated how he could get under her skin so easily, how his presence seemed to shift the air around her, how her anger at him never felt simple.

She leaned back against the cool brick wall, tilting her head up toward the night sky. The distant hum of traffic was a low comfort, a reminder of how big the world was outside of the theater, outside of him.

You don’t get to pull this shit, Harry.

But he had, and he would again. That much she was sure of.

Harry didn’t stay backstage for long. When he stepped back into the room, the energy was lighter without her there. Jude and Sage had moved on to laughing about something Mitch was saying, their voices rising over the clinking of bottles. Harry slipped past them with a nod, setting his empty beer bottle on the edge of a table.

“I’m heading out,” he said, his voice easy, casual, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Mitch looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Just tired. Think I’ll head back to the hotel.”

No one questioned him further. Harry had a way of ending conversations before they started, and tonight was no different.

YN finally pushed herself off the wall, shaking off the lingering tension as best she could. The night air had cooled her temper slightly, though the weight of her frustration still hung in her chest.

When she stepped back inside, the room felt just as loud as before, though the dynamic had shifted.

Jude waved her over immediately, her grin as bright as ever. “Hey! You okay?”

“Fine.”YN said, her voice clipped. She didn’t want to talk about what happened. Not now, not ever. “Where’s Harry?”

“Left a few minutes ago,” Mitch shrugged, strumming a lazy chord on the guitar he’d picked back up. “Said he was tired.”

YN’s stomach twisted, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Good,” she muttered, grabbing a fresh beer from the nearly empty box. She twisted off the cap and took a long sip, letting the bitter taste settle her nerves.

Sage caught her eye, his grin still intact. “You alright?” he asked, leaning closer.

“I’m fine,” she said sharply, the edge in her voice enough to make him hold up his hands in surrender.

Jude gave her a look—something between concern and curiosity—but didn’t press further.

She leaned against the table, tuning out the chatter as the night dragged on. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, the memory of Harry’s words—and the look in his eyes when he said them—refused to leave her alone.

The night dissolved into a blur of laughter, music, and the bitter taste of cheap beer. YN had let herself go too far, her usual restraint eroded by the buzz in her veins and the way Sage kept leaning closer, his voice soft and insistent in her ear. She didn’t even remember how the drinks had piled up so quickly, only that by the time Mitch and Sarah coaxed her into leaving, the room was spinning, and her legs felt unsteady beneath her.

Her friends had already left, a whirlwind of hugs and goodbyes as they promised to text when they made it back to campus. She barely remembered waving them off. Her focus had narrowed to just putting one foot in front of the other, the alcohol turning everything fuzzy around the edges.

Mitch had one of her arms draped over his shoulder, Sarah steadying her other side as they guided her into the hotel.

“You’ve got to start drinking water at some point,” Mitch said, his tone amused but laced with concern.

“Water’s overrated,” YN mumbled, her voice slurred but determined.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to your liver.”

They maneuvered her into the elevator, Sarah punching the button for their floor. The quiet hum of the ride did little to settle the nausea building in YN’s stomach.

“Alright, this is us,” Mitch said when the doors opened on their floor. He adjusted his grip on her arm, but she shook her head, pulling away clumsily.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” she insisted, stumbling forward and catching herself on the elevator wall.

“You sure?”

“Totally,” YN smiled, swaying slightly as she gave them a thumbs-up.

Mitch exchanged a look with Sarah, then sighed. “Okay, but if you fall over in the hallway, we’re not coming back down.”

“Love you guys,” She gave lopsided grin, blowing a haphazard kiss in their direction.

The walk to her room felt impossibly long. Her footsteps were uneven, and she clutched the wall for balance, the plush carpet doing little to steady her spinning head.

When she finally reached her door, she fumbled with the keycard, her hands clumsy and uncooperative. After several failed attempts, she groaned, leaning her forehead against the door in frustration.

But then her gaze shifted, and she realized something.

This wasn’t her room.

The gold numbers on the door were too low—she was on the wrong floor.

Harry’s room.

Her thoughts moved sluggishly, like she was trying to wade through molasses, but one thing became clear—she didn’t want to go back and figure it out. Not tonight.

Her fist hovered over the door for a moment, hesitation flickering in the back of her mind. She could just go back to the elevator, figure out her room, and collapse in her own bed.

But the alcohol dulled her better judgment, and she knocked before she could stop herself.

The door opened after a beat, and there he was.

Harry stood in the doorway, barefoot, loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was messy, like he’d been lying down, and his eyes flicked over her with a mix of confusion and concern.

“YN?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

“Hi.” She smiled, the word slurred and uneven.

He glanced down the hallway, then back at her. “You’re drunk.”

She hummed, nodding her head and leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Harry’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Dunno,” she pouted, blinking up at him. “I was trying to find my room, but…” She trailed off, waving a hand vaguely.

He sighed, stepping back and holding the door open wider. “Come in before someone calls security.”

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp near the bed. She stumbled inside, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the armchair by the window.

Harry shut the door, leaning against it for a moment as he watched her.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fantastic,” she mumbled, closing her eyes as the room spun around her.

“You do this often?” he asked dryly. “Stumbling drunk into the wrong room?”

“Not wrong,” she muttered, wagging a finger at him as she half-heartedly reached for the bottle of water on the table next to her. “I knew where I was going.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure you did.”

She squinted at him, her lips twitching like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re awfully judgy for a guy wearing sweatpants with wine stains on them.”

Harry glanced down, frowning faintly at the faint red blotch near his knee. It could have been wine, those were old—not that’d he’d remember. But for arguments sake, “s’not wine.”

“Oh, I see,” She smirking as she leaned back in the chair. “Fancy rock star can’t even handle his grape juice.”

“That’s rich,” he shot back, his tone calm but pointed. “Coming from someone who can’t even find her own room.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her expression softened into something quieter as the room fell silent. The edges of her bravado dulled under the weight of the alcohol and exhaustion, and she ran a hand through her hair as her voice dropped.

“Why were you so mean to me?”

Harry stilled, the teasing edge slipping from his face.

“When?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“From the start,” she frowned, her words slurred but steady enough to cut. “You act like you don’t give a shit about me one minute, and then you—” She broke off, gesturing vaguely. “And then you pull this I notice everything bullshit.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and moved toward her slowly, his footsteps soft against the carpet.

“You should drink that,” he breathed, gesturing to the water bottle still sitting untouched on the table.

YN blinked at him, her frustration flaring again. “Don’t change the subject, Harry.”

“I’m not,” he said evenly, crouching down in front of her. His eyes met hers, steady but guarded, and he grabbed the water bottle, holding it out. “Drink.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her chest tight. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, taking the bottle from his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone soft but laced with the faintest hint of amusement.

She took a few sips, grimacing as the cool liquid hit her empty stomach. Her head swam, the alcohol making her limbs heavy and uncooperative.

Harry stood, watching her carefully. “Come on.” He whispered after a moment, holding out his hand.

She frowned, looking at it suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you into bed,” he said simply, his voice calm as he wriggled his fingers.

“I’m fine here.”

“You’re not sleeping in a chair, YN.” He sighed, his tone firmer now. “Come on.”

With a groan, she let him pull her to her feet, though her legs buckled almost immediately.

He caught her around the waist, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” He mocked breathily, a faint smile tugging on his lips, but he stifled it.

He guided her to the bed, steadying her as she sat down heavily on the edge. She looked up at him, her expression softer now, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of her frustration.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Harry leaned down ever so slightly, brushing her hair behind her shoulders, thumbing away some of the mascara that smudged her cheeks. “Get some sleep, YN.”

“You’re deflecting,” she pouted, though her voice was fading, her head already sinking toward the pillow.

Harry shifted, pulling the blanket over her as she curled onto her side.

“Goodnight.” His voice was low and unreadable.

Silence.

He frowned, taking a step back. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, although he knew she didn’t hear him. 

-

The tour bus hummed steadily as it sped toward Boston, the headlights slicing through the dark. It was well past midnight, and the world outside the window was nothing but a blur of shadows and the occasional glimmer of a passing car.

Everyone else was tucked away in their bunks, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of the bus. The only sounds were the low murmur of the engine and the soft, absentminded strumming of an acoustic guitar.

YN sat curled up in the corner by the window, Mitch’s guitar resting on her lap. Her fingers moved lightly over the strings, coaxing out a quiet, meandering tune—nothing specific, just something to keep her hands busy. She stared out at the dark highway, the faint glow of her reflection in the glass blending with the streaks of passing lights.

Across the room, Harry sat at the small table, his laptop open in front of him. His shorts were bright pink, shirt faded and worn, hair messy and falling into his eyes. His fingers tapped softly on the keys, the blue glow of the screen reflecting off his rings.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t tense exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It felt like it had been stretched thin, like something fragile that might break if either of them pressed too hard.

She plucked a few more strings, then let the sound fade, her gaze flicking briefly toward Harry. “You don’t sleep, do you?” she asked, her voice soft but not without its usual bite.

He didn’t look up, his fingers still moving across the keyboard. “Not much.” he replied evenly.

“What are you even working on?” she murmured, shifting slightly in her seat to get a better view.

“Emails,” he breathed, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the screen. “Tour stuff.”

YN smiled faintly, her fingers returning to the guitar. “Rock star by day, admin assistant by night?”

Harry’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

She let out a low hum, her fingers drifting into a soft riff, the notes barely audible over the hum of the bus.

“Is that Mitch’s?” Harry asked after a moment, nodding toward the guitar.

“Yeah.” She brushed her thumb lightly over the strings. “He left it out earlier. Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, pushing the laptop back slightly. “He doesn’t. Just doesn’t usually let anyone play it.”

YN raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You saying I’m special?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, finally meeting her gaze. “Hardly.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “You’re such an ass.”

“Look in a mirror.” He smiled, echoing her words from days before, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

For a while, the silence returned, but it felt slightly less brittle this time. YN continued strumming, the quiet notes blending with the steady rhythm of the bus.

“You’re good.” Harry said eventually, his voice softer now. 

YN looked at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, leaning back again. “Just noticing, petal.”

Her chest tightened at the word, but she quickly shoved the feeling aside, focusing on the guitar.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She shrugged, her tone casual but laced with a challenge.

Harry tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s big enough.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and for a brief moment, the tension between them eased.

But then her fingers stilled on the strings, her gaze drifting back to the window. The reflection of the two of them in the glass felt surreal, like something out of a dream she wasn’t sure she wanted to wake from.

“Why were you up last night?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Harry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something more guarded. “Didn’t feel like sleeping,”

“That’s not what I meant,” she countered, turning to face him fully. “You didn’t have to let me in. Could’ve just shut the door and gone back to bed.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His gaze flickered to her hands, still resting lightly on the guitar, before meeting her eyes again. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to be alone.”

YN’s throat tightened, and she looked away, her fingers brushing over the strings again. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I know.” he said simply.

The quiet between them stretched, heavy and filled with things neither of them seemed willing to say.

YN strummed a few more notes, her movements slower now, more deliberate. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, steady and unrelenting.

“Go to bed, Harry,” she sighed eventually, her voice soft but firm.

“Not tired, YN.” There was no edge to the words.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the window as her fingers stilled on the guitar. “You will be tomorrow.”

“Guess I’ll take my chances.”

She glanced at him, her chest tightening at the faint smile playing on his lips. She wanted to say something, wanted to break the strange tension hanging between them, but the words caught in her throat.

So she said nothing, letting the silence settle again as the bus rumbled on through the night.

September 30th, Boston

The air backstage at the Wang Theatre was thick with anticipation. YN sat in the corner of the green room, tuning her guitar for the third time in as many minutes. The hum of the crew preparing for the night buzzed through the walls, but her focus was pinned to the task in her hands. She needed something to do, anything to keep her from replaying the last few nights over and over in her head.

She tightened a string a little too hard, the sharp twang making her wince.

“You alright over there?” Mitch asked, glancing up from where he was adjusting his pedalboard.

“Fine,” she muttered, not looking up.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry glance her way, his expression unreadable. She forced herself to keep her focus on the guitar.

By the time the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, YN was itching to get the show over with. The theatre was packed, the historic venue alive with energy, but it did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach.

The first few songs went smoothly enough, the band locking into their usual rhythm. Harry prowled the stage like he owned it—because he did—and the crowd hung on his every move.

But by the time they hit woman, things began to unravel.

It started small. A glance. A smirk.

Harry turned toward her as he sang, his voice dipping into the lyric like he was saying it directly to her.

The crowd screamed, oblivious to the sharp edge in his gaze. YN’s fingers faltered on the strings for a fraction of a second before she caught herself.

Her eyes snapped to his, narrowing, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his smirk deepened, daring her to react.

She refused to give him the satisfaction, pouring her frustration into her playing as the song built to its climax.

After the final note, the applause was deafening, the crowd on their feet as Harry grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He turned to the audience, shouting his thanks into the mic, but YN didn’t hear a word.

She slipped offstage the second the lights dimmed, her guitar slung over her shoulder as she headed toward the green room. Her chest was tight, her pulse racing, and she needed a minute to cool down before she said something she’d regret.

But she didn’t get far.

“YN!”

Harry’s voice cut through the noise backstage, and she stopped dead in her tracks, her hands tightening on her guitar strap.

She turned slowly, her jaw clenched as she met his gaze.

Harry jogged the last few steps to catch up with her, his sequined jacket glittering under the faint overhead lights. “What the hell was that?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“On stage,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. “You were off.”

“I wasn’t off,” she shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You missed a note in woman,” his voice was low and firm. “I heard it.”

YN’s jaw tightened, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to match his. “Maybe if you stopped staring me down like a lunatic during every damn song, I wouldn’t miss anything.”

Harry’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in his expression. “You think that’s why?”

“Don’t start with me, Harry,” she warned, her hands gripping the strap of her guitar so tightly her knuckles turned white.

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one starting something, YN. You’ve been looking for a fight all night.”

“Oh, I’m looking for a fight?” she snapped, her voice rising slightly. “That’s rich coming from the guy who can’t seem to decide whether he wants to piss me off or…”

She stopped herself just in time, the words catching in her throat.

Harry tilted his head, his gaze flicking over her face as a faint smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “Or what?”

YN glared at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep her composure. “Forget it.” She spat, turning on her heel and heading for the green room.

Harry didn’t follow, but she could feel his eyes on her back, heavy and unrelenting, as she disappeared down the hallway.

Back in the green room, she slumped into a chair, her guitar resting against the wall beside her. She closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath as the adrenaline from the stage finally began to fade.

She didn’t know what pissed her off more—Harry’s constant needling, or the fact that he was right.

She’d been off tonight.

But only because of him.

-

The tour bus rumbled down the highway, the lights of Boston fading far behind them as the road stretched dark and endless ahead. The show at the Wang  was barely two hours in the past, but it already felt like a weight YN couldn’t shake.

She sat in her bunk with the curtain pulled tightly shut, her knees tucked up to her chest and her notebook balanced precariously against them. Her pen hovered over the blank page, unmoving. She had opened it in an attempt to write something—anything—to push the tension out of her head, but her mind refused to cooperate.

Instead, it replayed the night in an endless loop: Harry’s sharp words backstage, the way his smirk twisted into something darker, the challenge in his eyes daring her to finish what she hadn’t meant to say.

Her chest tightened at the memory. She’d spent the rest of the night avoiding him—on stage, backstage, and now on the bus.

The thin curtain separating her from the rest of the bus didn’t do much to block out the low hum of conversation from the main area. Harry’s voice rose and fell in rhythm with Sarah’s and Mitch’s, casual and unbothered. He laughed at something Mitch said, the sound low and easy, and it made YN’s stomach twist.

How is he so unaffected?

Hours later, the bus quieted as everyone began retreating to their bunks. The lights dimmed, and the gentle sway of the vehicle as it sped down the highway turned the space into a cradle of silence.

Everyone except YN and Harry seemed to have no trouble falling asleep.

She could feel his presence even though they weren’t in the same part of the bus. He was out there, probably stretched out in one of the seats, scrolling on his phone or reading something. She hated that she knew his habits, hated that she’d memorized the way he fidgeted when he was restless, or the sound of his quiet sigh when he gave up on trying to distract himself.

She hated, most of all, that she cared.

She finally slid out of her bunk, her bare feet silent against the soft carpet as she padded toward the kitchenette. The small fridge buzzed faintly as she pulled it open, grabbing a bottle of water and leaning against the counter.

She tried to focus on the cold press of the bottle against her palm, the faint vibration of the road beneath her feet—anything but the sound of movement behind her.

Harry stepped into the kitchenette without looking at her. He opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a box of tea bags and tossing one onto the counter before reaching for the electric kettle.

YN didn’t say a word. She twisted the cap off her water and took a long sip, staring at the far wall as if it held the answer to whatever storm was brewing in her chest.

Harry didn’t seem to mind the silence. He filled the kettle, set it on the counter, and leaned back against the opposite side of the small space, his arms crossing over his chest.

The room felt smaller now, the air heavier.

YN turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

She froze, her back still to him.

“Not a bad thing,” he added casually. “Just different.”

Her grip on the water bottle tightened, her jaw clenching as she turned her head slightly. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

Harry let out a soft hum, not quite a laugh. “How long will that last?”

Her chest tightened as she walked away, slipping back into her bunk and yanking the curtain shut behind her. She sat in the dark, the sound of the kettle clicking off faint in the distance.

She hadn’t seen his face, but she knew he’d been smirking. She could feel it in the way his words lingered, curling around her thoughts like smoke.

And despite herself, she hated that it still mattered.

October 1st, Washington, D.C.

DAR Hall was completely sold out, shoulder to shoulder, elbow into ribs. 

Clips from the show in Boston, among other shows, started to surface online with whispers and reposts. It was only a matter of time, the crowd wasn’t stupid—the tension between the two was obvious, it was just a matter of deciphering if it was real or not. 

The consensus seemed to be split down the middle—they hated each other’s guts, or they were fucking behind closed doors. 

YN wasn’t sure if Harry saw it, but she sure did. Her younger brother had texted her about it first, a series of spam texts at three in the morning asking for every detail.

She left him on read. 

And now, here they stood in DC, before a sea of fans that seemed like they saw right through them, when YN herself didn’t even know what there was to see. 

Luckily, and unfortunately, there were only a few signs that seemed to be about YN and Harry, no one on stage acknowledged them. 

It was a sort of silent agreement that YN would stick to her one guitar during the entirety of the tour. But, when Mitch went to switch out for the acoustic, Harry had stopped him. 

He pulled his ear piece out slightly, whispering something to the guitarist before stalking towards YN on the wings of the stage. With the ear piece out, he could hear how insanely loud the crowd was—he couldn’t help but send shocked smiles in their direction. 

YN furrowed her eyebrows, her palm lying flat over the strings of the guitar as she pulled on her own ear piece. “What’s going on?” 

He stood near her, his breath peppermint and flat sprite. “Switch out, you’re doing track seven.”

She narrowed her eyes, leaning her head in further. 

Track seven on the setlist, meet me in the hallway. “What do you mean? You or Mitch play that.”

He smiled, bunny teeth and dimples. “Now you are.” He nodded toward her, shoving the ear piece back in and ambling back toward the mic that stood center stage. 

She wasn’t nervous, more caught off guard. She knew how to play it, it was just being asked to play it. She pulled the strap from over her shoulders, walking back toward the rest of the band and setting the instrument in its place. 

Mitch would approach with an easy smile, settling the acoustic strap over her frame while Harry continued to talk to the crowd. He adjusted it to her body, looking over the frets to make sure they were tuned for the song—they were. “You know it?” 

She rested her fingers on the neck, nodding with a distant smile. “Back of my hand.” She breathed, earning a small nod from the other guitarist. 

Her eyes squinted in the bright lights as she moved toward Harry, his smile still bright—as if nothing had been happening between them at all. He said something into the mic, his voice a buzz in the background to YN—all that made sense was the second glance he sent her, the look to start. 

The fans simmered down, but not silent. She let out a breath, eyes scanning over the crowd then back to Harry. Her pick moved over the chords seamlessly, as if she played it this way for years. 

His hands gripped the mic stand as he echoed out the first lines, his rings glinting in the golden light. His eyebrows would furrow, his lips would part—he was just music. 

He was an asshole to her, he knew it. He hated it, and she hated how he was completely under her skin, threaded into her veins. 

As they approached the chorus, they looked toward each other, a fleeting sideways glance. He nodded his head down, shifting slightly to the side to make room for her. 

His voice boomed over hers, deeper and more emotional, but they mixed in harmony. Her voice was soft underneath his, lighter, only a backing vocal for the chorus.

The crowd erupted, and some sense settled over YN’s shoulders, the lyrics eerily familiar to them, to their situation. 

Her tummy twisted, yet she played the cords harder, falling into the melody, his words, the reverberation of the crowd. 

—Cause once you go without it, nothing else will do. 

Nothing else will do.

[limethefirst]

When You're Gone

pairings: Thunderbolts* x teen!reader

warnings: major spoilers, reader has powers, reader has a form of ptsd from the events of endgame, slighttt survivors guilt, mentions of suicide/committing (in the void), angst but it turns into found family, honestly pretty long fic (3k+ words)

summary: being the youngest ex-avenger was weird, it's even weirder being grouped up with a bunch of misfits to save new york and take down the director of the cia

a/n: just watched thunderbolts and gawdddd, because the timeline in the mcu no longer matches our timeline, i imagine reader is in their late teens, early 20's, but no age is mentioned, so go wild. this is a very heavy topic to write and i'm not taking it lightly, the only mention of any type of self harm is when reader is in the void so please take that into account, love you all (this is cross posted on my ao3, Maaaak95, my only acc ty)

New York was never peaceful, maybe that's why it was called the city that never sleeps.

Leaving New York was something you'd considered for a while, it was crime ridden, constantly under attack by aliens, in need of every hero it could get. That's actually why you chose to stay.

Somewhere in that brain of yours, it was engraved, by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, everyone you'd once fought with to save the world. It was engraved in you, that if you had the means, you had to fight, because who will protect the little guy?

So, there you stayed, but moments like this made you, slightly, regret your choice.

"How did you even get this number?!" Your expression was exasperated, to say the least. Bucky Barnes- pardon, Congressman, Bucky Barnes, was on the other end of the line.

Somehow he'd gotten your number, most likely from Sam at some point, and was telling you to suit up.

As if you haven't already been suited up daily, protecting New York from minor threats. Which was strange, considering only four years ago, you'd gone against Thanos.

It was weird, going from fighting against a God-like being, to stopping a petty thief from holding a gun against your favorite corner store clerk.

A grumble came from the other end of the phone, Bucky sounded tired, then again he always sounded tired, at least you assumed so from the brief meetings the two of you have had.

"Doesn't matter, listen," He paused, you swore you could hear some weird chattering in the back, "I'm going to be in New York in a few hours, be ready to fight."

"You?"

"No," That was disappointing, it would've been fun to fight him.

"Aw."

"Don't 'aw' me, this is serious, I know you patrol the area. I need, help, with a problem." He slightly hesitated when he asked for help. Bucky was a capable man, that much you knew, if he needed help then this must've been important.

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "Okay.. just text me when you arrive, I'll be ready."

With that you hung up, quickly changing the new number that was in your phone to 'Bucky Barnes'. Welp, now you had the number of another person from your unpleasant past.

It wasn't that you hated being an Avenger, hell, you technically never became one. You were just destined to become one. But that day never came.

Gifted, blessed, abnormal, savior. Words needlessly passed around during your childhood, all because of the strange power you possessed. A form of light manipulation. It wasn't overpowered, it was cool though.

Being able to create forms of light, alter it, change the trajectory, even make beams that harnessed the heat of the light. Something better than nothing, something that caught the eye of the infamous Tony Stark.

You never exactly got time to bond with them all, well, you were a kid when you accidentally demonstrated your powers in a public setting. The ol' parents weren't fond of that, so when Tony decided to help, seeing you as a future Avenger, they didn't pass up the opportunity to essentially hand you off.

You trained a bit, met some cool people, had a family for a short while, then they split, then they lost half the population, brought it back, half died, half survived. And for a while, you were alone again.

Some of the remaining Avengers checked in, hardly, but maybe it was the effort that counted?

An hour or so had passed before you got your next text, Bucky was finally in the city. He asked you to meet him by.. the old Avengers tower? You lived there only for a brief time. Hardly a few months, because after what happened between Stark and Rogers, Tony couldn't bear to continue to keep the tower.

You don't remember it very well, you were young and still getting used to being trained by hero's.

Shaking your head, you left, making the quick trip to the old tower.

There seemed to be soldiers inside, so you waited. Not for long of course, when suddenly a truck crashed right through the doors of the building.

Pushing yourself off the wall you quickly entered, seeing the man of the hour himself.

"Bucky?" Your voice cut through the commotion, the older man turned. His body now facing you.

He gave a curt nod, "Hey there, kid, no time no see."

You couldn't help but let out a snort at his words, even if you were never close to him, God it felt good to talk to someone with some kind of connection to who you used to be.

"Time hasn't been kind to you, Barnes, you look tired,"

He smirked, through all the stress it was nice to see the kid he once fought next to, grown, still seemingly protecting the people. Before he could respond a voice cut through the speaker of the lobby, a woman who you didn't know spoke.

Something about her having left the door unlocked for them. Whatever, the doors were broken now anyway.

With that, the group headed to the elevator, Bucky ushered everyone in.

You stepped in, looking at the group.

The elevator started its awkward ascent, "Hello there," A woman with a Russian accent spoke, "You must be the person Barnes was calling earlier." She stated, looking you up and down.

"Oh yea, that was me." You gave a small nod, leaning against the railing, offering your name.

"Ahh," The Russian woman said with a nod, "Yelena," She pointed to herself, then the man next to Bucky, "John Walker, Ava Starr, Alexei."

Just as she finished, Alexei interrupted, "You are quite young!" It sounded more like a statement than a question, "Why does the Soldier bring you along, little one?"

"He's not wrong, you look pretty young." Ava chimes before you can answer.

You sigh, not really wanting to divulge into the details, "I'm someone from his past,"

"That's not vague at all," John rolls his eyes, gripping his shield tightly.

Bucky gives him a small glare, you're unsure if it's on your behalf or there is some unsolved beef between the two, "It's almost like that was the idea!" You said with a sarcastic tone, "I'm just someone with certain capabilities, let's leave it there."

"Ah ah! Now I remember where I've heard of you!" Yelena smiles, not a real smile, more of a know it all grin, "You were one of those heroes who fought against Thanos, no?" She asks, causing everyone else to look either at Bucky or you.

You internally groaned at that, "Yea.. yea I fought against Thanos." Geez, was it just you or was this the longest elevator ride you've ever been on. Curse Tony for making his old building so tall.

"We both did, she's an old friend, and she's here to help, so don't antagonize her." Bucky told everyone, but it looked like he was looking mostly at Alexei and John.

Of course, Alexei didn't pay attention to Bucky, instead he put a hand on his belly while he laughed. He kinda looked like Santa, in a weird Russian way.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist into the air, "Now, we are a real team! The Thunderbolts will be unstoppable!" He exclaimed proudly, Yelena lowered her face into her hands in slight embarrassment.

"Oh my god, do not get started on this again."

You raised a confused brow, "What's the Thunderbolts?" You asked.

"Yelena's old soccer team! The West Chesapeake Bay Thunderbolts!"

Yelena just groaned loudly, "Okay, dad, we get it."

A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was nice, the dynamic at least. You'd been alone ever since the events with Thanos ended, so being able to be part of a team, even if for a fleeting moment was, homey.

All moments end though, and this one would end sooner than later, because once those elevator doors opened, everything became a quick blur.

It all went wrong pretty quick.

There was a moment that Yelena paused, as a man named Bob, -well apparently Sentry- descended the staircase. He had blonde hair and a strange yellow suit.

Ava commented on his hair, and he seemed more self aware after that. In the blink of an eye, everyone attacked. Or, at least tried.

He was so strong, for a moment you felt scared. Not because of the fact this guy could probably kill you with a flick of the wrist, but because he reminded you of that damn purple giant, the one who took away the future you could've had.

It felt like Thanos all over again, as dumb as it sounded. You saw Tony's body, you remember hearing what happened to Nat, remember the feeling of standing there as Steve explained on that bench that he lived a full life in the past.

You couldn't hesitate though, quickly using your powers to try and blind Sentry giving Bucky an opening to attack.

It was pointless.

He made quick work of you six, tossing you aside like a rag doll. Not even your powers, which were the only thing you had left worked. No matter how many beams you used, the deflected, in fact, they hit you. Pushing you back against the wall.

You spit out some blood, trying to get up, but Ava put her hand on your shoulder, shaking her head.

Both of you looked at the rest of the group, each one beaten and bruised. John's shield was bent in half, this guy means business.

Bucky was the last one standing, he tried to land a punch but Sentry discarded him with ease. He ripped off his arm, knocking him out with it and tossing, along with Bucky next to you.

Your eyes widened as Ava grabbed your shoulder, along with Bucky's arm, pulling you with her towards the elevator.

Alexei and John quickly grabbed Bucky, Yelena scurried up as well, joining you and everyone else.

The ride down was tense, your breathing felt heavy, your hands clutched to your chest. You've dealt with terrible things, maybe worse? You couldn't tell at the moment, it all felt like it was crashing down on you.

Turning to the side, you saw everyone else. Everyone was utterly defeated, John was trying to fix his shield. Alexei was quiet, for once. Ava still had a small reassuring hand on your shoulder. Yelena stared at the elevator door and Bucky was leaning against the wall with the assistance of Yelena.

There was a clear contrast from how you entered to how you left.

The elevator, that was filled with noise no longer than ten minutes ago, was now eerily still.

The ding let everyone know they'd reached the bottom, slowly making their way to the front of the building.

Ava finally let go of your shoulder, handing Bucky his arm.

There was talking but you weren't listening, the last time you felt defeated, a stupid purple man with a gauntlet had blipped half the universe away.

This wasn't the same, that was something you had to remind yourself of. You were not going to lose anyone else anymore. No, no, this was a corrupt CIA director using a man as a human experiment. Not the end of the world.

The feeling of someone's hand tapping your arm snapped you out of your daze.

Glancing towards the person, you saw Bucky, his arms crossed over his chest, a brow raised, "Kid, you okay?" Bucky was no idiot, he knew the signs of PTSD, the fear, anxiety. It was so plainly rolling off of you in waves.

You wanted to run away, scream, go back to that warm place you called home. But home wasn't a place, it was a fleeting memory. One that grew more blurred as the days passed by.

When you first met the Avengers, Tony brought you in, showed you around, then you met them all. Tony told you to 'put on a lightshow', honestly, it was stupid. A lightshow? Really? But you listened, because you were a kid who didn't know better.

It was a fun first day, you felt like you belonged somewhere.

"No," You shook your head as you responded to Bucky. He didn't push though, he could see in your eyes.

Instead he offered you a nod, patting your shoulder, "Okay." Bucky didn't know how to comfort people, at least not anymore. Maybe before the war, before his Winter Soldier days.

It was enough though, even if for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly you both noticed the way everyone had paused, looking up at the sky.

A shadowy figure floated above New York, you saw the helicopters closing in on it. But they began to spiral out of control, crashing into nearby buildings, causing debris to fall.

Neither Bucky, nor you wasted time, jumping into action. And it seemed you two weren't the only ones thinking that you saw them. The rest of the Thunderbolts jumped into action, helping protect people.

You saw a father running with his son in his arms, when a piece of cement made its way down, it was going to kill them.

Quickly you ran, raising your arms. Hands trained on the failing debris, a faint glow emitted, when suddenly it blasted, hitting the cemented building. It shattered, only smaller rubble fell, the bigger chunks luckily pushed to the side.

The man didn't stop running, but you could hear his grateful sobs as he held his son tightly against his chest.

You returned to the group, making sure everything was okay, when suddenly everyone clapped. Alexei looked ecstatic at that, his grin was proud.

It fell pretty quickly, as he saw a little girl standing right below another piece of the falling building, he rushed over to her. Using his body as a shield he saved the girls life.

At least he thought he did.

The girl became a shadow before your eyes. New York wasn't saved yet, as quickly as it became a rescue mission, it turned into an evacuation order.

You all ushered everyone inside nearby buildings, everyone but Yelena. Who stood before the void.

No one noticed before it was too late. Alexei yelled, both Bucky and John held him back. It wasn't two men holding back a Russian super soldier, no, it was two super soldiers holding back a father.

God, it was hard to watch, the remaining group rushed into an alleyway.

Ava proposed the idea of entering the void, to you, it sounded like a death wish. No one knew what was on the other side.

Actually, that was a lie.

Apparently John Walker knew. Of course he knew, he mentioned what happened when he first met Bob, the interaction that happened when he grabbed his hand.

It gave a vague idea that the void was a place where you relived your worst memories.

And if you wanted to save Yelena, and Bob. Then, dammit, you'd have to.

You all looked at each other, nodding, ready to let the void take you all.

Bucky gave you a quick glance, his expression held guilt, in the midst of trying to take down Valentina, he'd forgotten that he'd dragged you into this mess. To him, you were just a kid, no matter how old you were.

A kid who was raised with the idea that they had to be a hero, it was noble. Stupid, that's also what he thought it was.

He couldn't think about it for long though, because within a matter of seconds, the void had swallowed you all whole.

The Void either wanted to start off strong or you had a pristine line up of terrible memories to choose from.

The first thing you saw was you, standing next to an overflowing bathtub.

You could feel the wince you let out at the sight. This wasn't long after the battle with Thanos, when things were getting harder to deal with.

When the thoughts of how Tony should still be alive with his family, how Nat should've been at the Barton's annual Christmas party.

You tried to grab onto the past version that stood in front of the tub, but you couldn’t.

That person turned around, grabbing at your wrists and threw you against the wall with a hard crack.

Looking up you saw the same image again, it was repeating. This time you didn’t intervene. Instead you watched.

You knew you wouldn’t do anything, you were still here.

This past version of you fell to their knees. The tile floor was cold, and wet.

Instead of getting in, you only dunked in your head, screaming into the water.

A glimpse in the mirror caught your attention, it looked like, Yelena?

You quickly punched the bathroom mirror, shattering it and feeling how it sucked you into another memory.

One where you couldn’t save everyone.

This was a fairly recent memory, that’s why it felt more vivid, at least in your opinion.

New York was a big place, and even if you knew there were other heroes who could help, they also couldn’t be everywhere.

You had stopped a mugging, but not fast enough, not carefully enough. Someone had been shot.

You were careless and stupid and slow. Everything you thought you were taught not to be.

The paramedics were on the scene, your arms had blood, the woman’s blood.

She looked old enough to possible be a mother, maybe she had a partner at home, she was someone’s daughter, aunt, neighbor. And you let her die.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you took the bullet, because at least you wouldn’t have anyone truly worried about you.

The memory replayed, this time, you stepped in front of the gun, trying to save her.

But the trigger never went off, instead, she pushed you away, her face was sad, her frown killed you. Then she was killed.

The memory kept going on over and over, and for a moment, you were somewhere terrible.

You were in front of Tony Starks body, his side was burnt and he looked weak. There was a body in front of him.

You didn’t recognize him though, his face was almost blurred. He spoke the words over and over again , ‘Mr Stark, we did it,’ it was painful to hear.

Then, there she was again, Yelena, being strangled with Bob beside her.

You gritted your teeth. Forget these memories. They hurt like hell, but you had somehow prevailed, each time growing stronger because for some reason, you felt that this was your purpose.

You were still alive because you needed to help people, help them, help Yelena.

Within the blink of an eye you were in the same room as her, along with the rest of the Thunderbolts.

Each one looked confused, and slightly worried for the entire group.

You saw Bucky again, “You look like shit, Barnes,” You let out a shaky, relieved exhale.

“Well, you know my life was pretty good so no bad memories.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t the best joke to make, but you smiled at the effort.

Ava also seemed to notice you, she had seemingly taken a liking to the youngest ex-Avenger, maybe because she knew the burdens of having powers growing up. Even if her experience was different.

With everyone back together, you all needed a plan of escape. Thankfully, Bob seemed more than ready to try and fight back against The Void.

Everyone began to rush through Bob’s memories, most were sad to see. Just from the small snippets, you could gather that his father was abusive, he was an addict, and he had some mental health issues.

Although it was funny to see Bucky punch a giant chicken.

Finally you all arrived at the last room, “I’ve been here before,” Yelena spoke, her eyes darting around.

In the middle of the room stood Void. His eyes held a faint glow and it was making you more nervous by the second.

Just as everyone got ready to charge, he lifted his hand, and pieces of metal had bound everyone against the walls.

John got it worst of all, his shoulder was impaled, he was stuck against the wall like that.

You tried to kick, get out of the metal bounds, but if three super soldiers couldn’t get out, you doubted you’d be able to.

Then they fought, Bob and his darker half.

The Void was taunting him,

“You thought you were gonna be some great man?” Void had kicked Bob to the ground, he stood tall. He paused before he continued again, “Some savior? You can’t even save yourself,”

Bob got up this time, but Void quickly put him down again, “We will always be alone.”

His words were painful, but Bob stood, and charged at him. Tackling him to the ground.

Yelena was struggling to breath a bit, Void had tied something around her neck, trying to egg Bob on, make him angry, accept the dark part of him.

He kept punching, over, and over.

Beating Void, but that was what he wanted. The shadows began to consume Bob, “Stop, Bob, stop it!” Yelena yelled, trying to get free.

Alexei used all his strength, lifting the metal off them enough to get Yelena out of the binds.

She ran as fast as she could to Bob, hugging him, “You’re not alone” she whispered.

And his punches slowed, but not enough, not yet.

Quickly the rest of you were able to get free, running over as well, all of you wrapped around Bob. As the Void lost.

You returned, all of you.

The shadow that engulfed New York began to retract itself.

Unfortunately Valentina was able to use this to her advantage. Debuting you six as the New Avengers.

Alexei actually thought AvengerZ was better.

It didn’t matter though, because at least this way you could keep that evil woman in check, and you kinda got a new family out of it.

For once in a long time, everything felt okay, you were going to be okay.

14 months had passed since then, you all lived in a new Compound together as a family. You still wonder what the old Avengers would’ve thought of you now.

Maybe they’d be proud, that you continued on, despite the pain. Or would’ve hated the idea of a new team of Avengers.

“Sam’s suing us for use of the Avengers name,” Bucky let out a low sigh, sitting down on the couch beside you.

A small laugh left you, before you stopped and realized his serious expression, “Wait, he can do that?”

Alexei laughed, as he still tried to sell Yelena and John on his new, ‘AvengerZ’ team sweaters.

Bucky walked over to Yelena, getting more info on the supposed unidentified ship nearing Earth.

Alexei gave you one of the sweaters as he argued with John about supposedly using Bob as some kind of rocket to launch them all into space. Safe to say Bob wasn’t amused.

“That sweater looks dumb,” Ava smiles at you, taking Bucky’s empty seat beside you.

“Really? I think it’s growing on me.”

She just rolled her eyes at your words, “Don’t let Alexei hear, it’ll get to his head.”

With that, Ava gave you a light pat on the head.

This was nice, you were happy, even if your team was going through legal issues and was a weird set of characters. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Life with the New Avengers(Z) wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[freakattack]

Favorite obscure Mario characters?

GLOM

The light of my fucking life. As a lifelong koopalinghead and specifically iggyhead i slurped up the Nintendo Adventure Books like a slug slurps slime and obviously a connoisseur of my caliber would immediately latch onto this thing. It's a cloning machine Iggy made that turns sand into clones but more importantly it is a 15 ft tall clanking clunking contraption with googly eyes (to see what it's cloning, natch), a stack of CRT monitors that each display a different horror B-movie at all times, and a constant trail of slime oozing from its tank treads. If this is not your favorite Mario character of all time then you're an idiot.

2. DOUGHNUTEER

I might be the only person who cares about doughnuteer and I couldn't tell you why. Actually I can, it's because he reminds me of a little shrew

And I like doughnuts.

3. PIRANHA SUE

In addition to the Nintendo Adventure Books i also lapped up the corresponding Nintendo Comics System, which followed a similar continuity in the absence of more official sources of mario lore. I never appreciated piranha sue as much as I should have in my youth but after revisiting these comics a couple years ago i can safely say that she is the greatest bootleg piranha plant I have ever met and it is an honor to witness her evil human teeth. I want her in mario baseball.

4. HERMAN SMIRCH

Herman smirch is a terrible person and character but I am transfixed by his awfulness and so he is here. Growing up the Game Boy Comic was like the evil counterpart to the Nintendo Comics System, but now that I'm grown up and evil myself I can truly appreciate the depths of its depravity. The gist of Herman Smirch is that he is a shitty loser republican from new jersey who obtains a game boy that, through the will of Tatanga (who lives in the game boy), manipulates him into committing increasingly violent crimes until he has embroiled himself in an international military conflict. The game boy comic was supposed to make people want to buy the game boy but in practice placed it center stage in a slow burn of this already terrible man's spiral into insanity. What a yarn. I have shown a highlights reel of herman's wacky antics here but if you're too lazy to click that link then I at least want you to see this:

5. FRACKTAIL

Fracktail is comparatively not obscure at all but I don't care it's my list I'll cry if I want to. If I put fracktail here then I would technically be justified in also putting other mario rpg all-stars like Bowyer and TEC-XX and Valentina but I won't go that far, Fracktail can be here on their behalf. Anyway, the first time I saw this thing I screamed, because I thought I was going to have to fight it, and then it was friendly and then I loved it forever. And then a stupid bastardly clown came and destroyed everything and ruined my life but this isn't about him. I love you Fracktail and I wish you were still here. You didn't deserve that

6. HAL 9001

Moving on

7. WOOSTER

Before Toadsworth, there was Wooster. The original long-suffering butler to the Toadstools, Wooster was a Nintendo Comics System Special who presumably passed alongside the Mushroom King he served. There isn't much to say about his character beyond the typical trappings of Beleagured Butler, but there is one thing that makes him interesting to think about and that is the comic called "Wooster Quit". In "Wooster Quit", every Mario character is FLABBERGASTED because Wooster Quit, and they can't imagine a life without Wooster. So the whole comic is about everybody trying to get Wooster back and of course Wooster comes back and the status quo is restored. But the premise of casting this mario OC as an essential player in these characters' lives is funny to me in a meta sense because we very much do live a life without Wooster. We are living in a post-Wooster world. It just goes to show that no matter how obscure you are, you are important to someone. Even if that someone is me.

8. ROACHIE

Roachie is the cockroach living in Wario's brain. One morning, she crawled up his nose, which Wario was horrified by but not for the reason you might think: "Is little roachie gone for good?!?!!?" As a devout cockroach appreciator, I was touched by Wario's genuine concern for God's most darling creature. Fortunately, little roachie was not indeed gone for good, because that very night, Wario heard her walking around inside his skull. Yippie! Hooray! We can only hope that she is living a nice life up there to this day. Hope is all we have.

9. BRAWL DOLL

This will come as no surprise to those who know me, but if you don't know me: fellas, I fucking love ventriloquist dolls. Charlie mccarthy was my idol growing up. I'll never be half the dummy he was. So a wario-branded wooden doll is basically my ant bait. Brawl Doll is what Geno could have been if Square wasn't full of squares.

10. THE BEETLES 'R' US SNIFIT

They put me in a mario game

[casscainmainly]

Cass, Names, and the Black Bat Era

With a Black Bat mention in 2025 (read Batgirl (2024) #4!!), it seems as good a time as any to look back on one of Cass' most fleeting identities. We all know why Cass took up Batgirl and Orphan, but we don't get to see the thought process behind Black Bat. I'm going to consider why Cass might have chosen Black Bat as her name, and what it means for her relationship to Bruce and the Bat symbol.

This analysis will purely consider events from the characters' perspectives, ignoring authorial intent. There is like a negative percent chance any of the connections I make here were intended, and Black Bat probably was just a name they randomly picked. This is essentially me trying to make sense of the little Cass bits we get during the Batman Reborn era.

Background: Batgirl and Orphan

Growing up nameless, Cass associates names with personhood and autonomy. Batgirl was the first (and the most important), and a large part of Batgirl (2000) showed how Cass only thinks of herself as Batgirl.

Batgirl (2000) #7

"You need to relax, Cass--sorry--Batgirl." Barbara's 'sorry' indicates that Cass' identity is purely Batgirl, disliking any other name. (For a more in-depth exploration of this moment, see renaroo's meta!). This shows how it's not just the mantle, but the name - the actual word - that matters to Cass.

A very similar thing happens in Batman & Robin Eternal #26:

Once again, Cass is extremely particular about what people call her. And once again she rejects one identity in favour of another - she struggles with being more than one thing. Whatever identity she adopts, it contains her whole self.

Which is why when she loses herself, she becomes nameless:

Batgirl (2000) #73 / Red Robin #17

In the first panel, Cass has just 'killed' Shiva and forsaken Batgirl. "She thought she was a bat. But she came to find she wasn't that either." Without the bat, she becomes a girl "named Cain." While not technically nameless, Cain is just her father's last name - she has no first name of her own. This namelessness occurs again in Red Robin. After Bruce tells Cass to give Steph Batgirl, Cass is left without the bat again - and, again, she becomes nameless. Tim gives her a bat costume, asks her what she needs, and she says "to... just... be...".

If she takes up another name, she will become something - a name is not only identification, but transformation. When she has no idea who she is or who she wants to be (as seen in the end of Batgirl (2000) and Red Robin), she chooses namelessness.

The Gift

Cass remaining nameless not only shows her lack of identity, but her rejection of Bruce and the Batfamily.

Red Robin #17

Here, Tim says it doesn't matter what Cass calls herself, they'll always be family. Cass' answer is cryptic: "But family is not always home..." If we look at Cass' history, the only times she leaves her family is when their relationship becomes unbearable. She runs from David Cain because he makes her kill; she leaves Babs because she calls her stupid; she leaves Gotham the first time because of Steph's death; she goes to Hong Kong because Bruce makes her give away Batgirl. Family isn't home for Cass only when something awful happens.

For Cass, family and names have always been linked. In my gift post, I talked about how Batgirl was presented as a gift, and how Babs says gifts are things that make you "feel[...] not alone" (Azrael: Agent of the Bat #61). Batgirl, a gift, makes Cass feel "not alone." The mantle represents her connection to the Batfamily.

In fact, Red Robin parallels the original gifting of the Batgirl suit:

Legends of the Dark Knight #120 / Red Robin #17

Tim explicitly links the gift of the Bat symbol to family: "the...family... has settled down. I thought maybe... it was time to make it all official." (This also somewhat parallels Bruce's adoption of Cass, which Tim was also there for). But Cass doesn't accept the gift this time, telling Tim that Steph is already Batgirl, and that 'family isn't always home'. She keeps the suit, but the ambivalence in her response shows her ambivalence to her family.

Batgirl and Orphan are both familial names, one linked to the Bats, one linked to David Cain. Names to Cass represent both her own identity and her relationship to other people. When Batman took Batgirl away, he was essentially revoking her place in the family (Batman R.I.P happens right after her adoption too). Though we never explicitly get Cass' feelings, her hesitance at Tim's gift says a lot.

What Was Tim's Gift Anyway?

When Tim first sees Cass, he thinks to himself:

Red Robin #17

This is a great insight into what Tim was actually offering. The first thought reveals that Tim wasn't suggesting Cass be Batgirl again, which Cass assumed. He knows Cass doesn't want to be "who she was" - he thinks she's being true to what "she wanted to become."

What does he think Cass wants to become?

Batgirl (2000) #59

In Robin/Batgirl: Fresh Blood, Cass tells Tim the "the only thing" she's ever wanted was to be Batman. This is the only thing she wants - when Tim says she's being 'true to what she wanted to become', it's likely he's thinking of this conversation. So when Tim offers the batsuit, he's offering the bat mantle. He's offering what she always wanted to be: Batman.

But Cass' conception of Batman is clearly tied to Bruce ("take over for him when he's... done"), which in turn ties the concept of Batman to Gotham. Cass does become the Bat of Hong Kong, but she doesn't take the Batman name (which she totally could, since Bruce and Dick are sharing the name; or she could be 'the bat' or whatever).

Instead, she chooses Black Bat. Both Batgirl and Orphan are taken from other people, so this is strikingly the only name Cass invented (even Kasumi was probably not her invention? It was a disguise anyway). But was Black Bat actually Cass' invention?

Tai'Darshan All Along

Batgirl (2000) #40

Black Bat is also taken from someone - from Cass' first canon love interest, the one and only Tai'Darshan. I seriously don't think DC knew they were taking the name from him, but they did and that means Tai is extremely important to understanding Cass' Black Bat era.

Because Tai doesn't just represent teenage hormones. Like Lady Shiva, Tai'Darshan was a foil to Batman, someone who opposed him in almost every aspect. He is Cass' first proper rebellion, kickstarting the downfall of Cass and Bruce's relationship in Horrocks' run; he also died because of Bruce's interference, something that Bruce himself thinks is the reason Cass doesn't trust him anymore.

Batgirl (2000) #47

Though Bruce and Cass make up in #50, there is something permanently secretive about Black Wind and Cass' relationship. Bruce says "she won't tell me what" happened, and Tai's last conversation with Cass is about secrets:

Batgirl (2000) #44

Tai'Darshan represents Cass' secret side, a side "buried" from everyone (particularly Bruce). Tai's reference to Cass' "real name" is poignant - in a way, he was the first person who liked Cass for Cass, who asked her to take off her mask and admired her face underneath. He never knew who she really was, but he loved her anyway. The 'bat' in Black Bat doesn't refer to Bruce, but to Cass. It makes sense that at a time of complete identity loss - after giving up Batgirl at Bruce's orders - Cass would turn to a nickname from someone who caused her falling out with Bruce, who represents secrets, rebellion, and a self defined outside of Batman.

Black Bat

Gates of Gotham #4

I wrote elsewhere about how Gates of Gotham, and this conversation with Dick in particular, is Cass rebelling against Bruce's (and DC's) decision to boot her from Gotham. In GoG #5, she tells Tim she's staying. Black Bat as a mantle is not really Cass becoming 'the Bat' of any place - it's something different, something new. It's a reconfiguration of the Bat symbol as something that's hers.

I think Tim bookending this Black Bat experience is important, too. He gives her the Bat symbol in Hong Kong - she comes back to Gotham to tell him she's returning permanently. Black Bat and Red Robin are syntactically similar, and Black Bat is very similar to one of Tim's name suggestions ("Black Robin"). For Tim, Red Robin was punishment made into redemption; he took the name from Jason and made it his own. Black Bat, in its own way, is Cass doing the same. By taking a nickname from Tai'Darshan, she is using the bat name/symbol without attaching it to Bruce; in fact, the memory of Tai is against Bruce. She's taking back the symbol that means so much to her and making it her own.

Conclusion

This was honestly a big excuse to remind people that Black Bat comes from Tai'Darshan. As one of 4 Tai fans on this website, I just think his role in Cass' life is really interesting and underappreciated! His storyline may be awful in every way, but I'll always have a soft spot for him as a character.

Also I was writing this before Batgirl (2024) #4 came out and it does somewhat complicate this reading. Shiva is implying that Black Bat, like Orphan (and Kasumi) are identities that Cass affects, that she's "aspiring to be somebody else". I don't think Shiva is being quite fair - Orphan, for instance, is as much in defiance of David Cain as it is an homage to him. But it's interesting that even when Cass is constructing her own identity, she consistently defaults to using other people's names. In that way Shiva is right - for Cass, names are gifts, so she never tries to name herself. She also, even in this reading, clings to the image of the bat. I'm highly interested where Brombal's investigation into Cass' identity will take her, especially in regards to superhero and legacy mantles.

[crowleysgirl56]

Ok, so I wanted to do a deeper dive into this particular passage of Good Omens:

For context, this is at the climax of the book, they’re at Tadfield airbase, the horsemen have been dispensed with, Aziraphale has his body back, and Satan is about to claw his way out of the pit.

In most of the proceeding chapters involving Crowley it talks a lot about how scared Crowley is. He is very scared of Hell.

One could perhaps say maybe he is scared of them due to The Arrangement, but that is never explicitly stated. I think it has more to do with Hell is bad, and Crowley has spent the majority of the book being yelled at by some entity through the radio or TV telling him how he’s going to be in super amounts of trouble when they get their hands on him. He is just scared of what will happen. When he comes across the book shop burning he doesn’t cry for his lost friend. He curses Aziraphale, and I think it’s because the one person who may have been able to keep him safe and protected from Hell is now gone.

So when he thinks to himself (as shown in the above screen shot) that there is now nothing left for him to lose, this is why I never thought (upon reading the book the first time that is) there were any romantic feelings between him and Aziraphale. I know that technically he had already lost Aziraphale. But by this point he was back again, and back in his body. If there truly were romantic thoughts between them surely the idea of losing him again would come up.

I have read so much fanfiction, some old, some new, and what they all have in common is the detailed inner monologue of Crowley’s turmoil over his feelings for Aziraphale and how he doesn’t feel like he can act on them. In the book we get nothing of the sort, from either character. Even when they’re separated there is hardly ever any description of them thinking of the other except occasionally to frame a short reference to something. Reading the book I never got the impression that there was anything more than two ethereal beings spending time and proximity to each other and doing work for each other for no other reason than they’re essentially a bit lazy.

I think they’re only queer coded for the fact that there’s the line about Aziraphale appearing “gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitric oxide”, and Crowley is, well, very Freddie Mercury coded. Them being seen as gay together and all the gay slurs in the awful racist scenes of Aziraphale body hopping about in culturally indigenous people after the bookshop fire has more to do with the very typical 80’s/90’s trope of “being gay = comedy gold”, than them actually being together romantically.

I think the reason why they were shipped so much after the publication however is for the same reason we ship so many male couples (or female couple) in modern media, why we’ve always shipped them: because of the complete and horrid lack there of, of proper queer representation.

If you’ve ever seen the magnificent Russel T Davies TV series It’s a Sin, there is a wonderful scene where the character Ash starts a job in a school library and the headmaster asks him to go through all the books and find any book that has queer love scenes so they can be removed. Ash then gives a most beautiful and impassioned speech (albeit it turns out the speech is just in his head) of how there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is nothing to the point where they are nonexistent. They are invisible. They are not seen. (Or like, something to that effect. I tell you though, it’s bloody brilliant).

So I think that’s rather the point really. You have two iconic characters, albeit supporting bit characters practically, and I think a lot of our minds automatically get drawn to wanting to put them together because of the sheer lack of queer couples. People have been doing it for years from Frodo and Sam, to Harry Potter and Draco (or Ron I guess), to Sherlock and Watson (even before the Benedict Cumberbatch show. Also as an aside let’s not get into how obsessed people got about Sherlock Holmes back in the day when those books were first published. The obsession was the reason Doyle killed the character off the in first place, then after getting letters from people telling him they were literally going to kill themselves, the reasons why he resurrected him again. Don’t tell us that modern day nerds are weird and obsessive. We’ve ALWAYS been like this).

It’s for this reason why queer representation is so god damn important. Why I still support the idea of Good Omens season 3. Because regardless of how the characters were originally intending to be represented in the book, it’s very clear now that they are so much more than “Just friends”. And we NEED that! Whether you subscribe to the idea that they will be physically intimate with each other, the fact remains is they love each other. They love each other immensely. And that comes from years of Terry Pratchett (and the other guy) accepting that canon and telling fans that it’s true. Because Michael Sheen made a choice and held a belief about how he saw his character and then David Tennant followed suit. That literally tens of thousands of fanfiction writers have decided the same.

So that’s my take. I don’t think loving each other was ever intended that way in the book, but in the last 35 years their story has morphed into the ineffable husbands that we now know.

What are your thoughts? Have I rambled on long enough to make any sense? Do you agree? Have I missed something completely obvious and gotten it all wrong? Keen to hear thoughts.

[despazito]

"this will help artists with their animations and comics!" ok but once you get into the technicalities of tweaking and inputs down to the specific controls you want to have over stuff such as linework and consistency and whatnot you've essentially reinvented tweening and autofill functions that were invented decades ago. "we blocked in this animation using models in blender to create an animatic then made the ai animate it" congrats you remade tweening software except its dogshit with awful timing

[mi-co-uk]

𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱

loner!reader x needy!chris

plot: after the party, the sexual tension becomes too much to bear..

WARNINGS: SMUTTT, lots of neck kissing, chris is a munch, mentions of intoxication, getting caught - embarrassment. use of y/n , I think that's it but let me know if I've missed anythinggg . the series itself will contain smut fluff and angst ⋆𐙚 NOT PROOFREAD ! 2.5 k words

( this can technically be read on its own but it's a part of a seriesss )

pls enjoy <3

NAVIGATION

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4 || pushing it down and praying

the state chris woke up in became increasingly confusing as he tried to remember the night before. he remembers turning up at the party, he remembers feeling pissed off. what he doesn't remember, is how he ended up with his boxers discared and his dick carelessly abandoned with his bedroom door was wide open. immediately humiliated, he resorted to comfier clothes before heading to the main room, hoping to fill the missing gaps of his memory.

the sun was peering in from the kitchen window, shining on matt who was eating while mindlessly scrolling on his phone.

"you looking for y/n?" matt asked without averting his eyes from the device.

"she was here?"

"you don't remember?" chris' eyes were finally met by his brother's as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "jesus kid, didn't realise you were that out of it."

chris began massaging his forehead, desperate to apply enough pressure to push away the growing migraine.

"just tell me what happened, matt."

chris had never felt so appalled at the idea of making out with someone. some random girl who's name was lost on him, matt had said. if anyone, chris had a memory of making out with y/n but his brother assured him that didn't happen - chris knew it would've been too good to be true.

"whys she not here then?"

"you tell me. last thing I knew was she was gonna stick with us today but she went back home this morning. barely said goodbye to me." chris knew it was wrong to feel warmth at the idea of you brushing off matt completely, especially considering his unease at the growing closeness between the two of you recently. he quickly pushed down these thoughts to focus on the situation at hand.

"what was she like then? after the party"

"pissed off, chris." again, the smugness he felt was probably morally wrong - but you were pissed off that chris had been with someone else, and that meant something new.

*

he knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to try anyway. he dialed your number, listening to the tone while he hoped to hear you answer. what the fuck was he gonna say? ' sorry that I made out with someone even though we aren't together? sorry that I'm glad I did since it meant you can't deny you have feelings for me? '. his mind was a whirlwind of apologies, all feeling incredibly fake while he still relished in the idea he could call you out. why doesn't he just do that instead?

the ringtone of your phone drilled through your head abruptly as it snapped you out of your disassociative state. you were relaxed on your bed, reflecting on the night before with a growing anger the more you thought of it all. you instinctively go to press a button on the screen - the sharp gesture messing with your focus as you accidentally accept the call.

"fuck." you exclaimed without thinking.

"hello to you too." chris' cocky voice came from your speaker phone, your eyes rolling in annoyance from the sound of it.

"I didn't mean to pick up."

"aw, I can feel the love from here."

you take a deep breath before responding, the microphone picking up on it. "I dont feel like doing anything today. if that's why you're calling."

"what's the matter, baby?" his teasing continued, fueling your irritation further.

"not your baby." you muttered quickly. "and maybe it's that fact you were all over some girl-"

"jealous?"

your breathing hitched, realising what you'd essentially admitted "what? no-"

"you seem it"

you dont want to give in to his game. how much did he remember from last night? especially if he knows about the girl from the party.

"I um- how much do you remember? as in after the party?"

"nothing."

"how-"

"matt told me. said you were real pissed off too"

the whole situation was exhausting. you felt far too exposed for comfort. and now you had to tell him everything matt didn't know about last night.

"chris, about last night." you took a deep sigh, almost expecting chris to interrupt - but he stayed quiet. "more stuff happened after the party."

you knew you should just get to the point but it felt impossible to do so.

"you kinda, um. you- fuck I can't say it."

"w-what happened?" chris' had was filled with various scenarios- terrified as he remembered the state he woke up in, and how it could relate to what you were about to tell him.

"you were just all touchy! and- I don't know I just ran out."

"shit, I'm so sorry y/n"

"it's whatever-"

"I'm still sorry-" "I didn't mind it."

you could hear him chuckling through the phone. "oh yeah?"

"goodbye chris."

"aw cmon-"

you hadn't meant to confess as much as you had - but there was a small sense of relief regardless. however, no matter that you hadn't minded what happened after the party, you were continously replaying the scene of him and that girl in your mind.

'drunk words are sober thoughts' - did that apply here? did he really not care enough about you to show some restraint? or was he just that drunk?

you'd worked together a plan. an extremely petty one. but right now, you couldn't see a scenario that didn't end in chris getting his act together - so you didn't really care.

- matt I'm at the door let me in

*

chris had decided to give you space. he was hoping it would piss you off enough that he wasn't trying to contact you as desperately as he would normally, for you to call him first this time. he felt like it was a lost cause after about 6 hours in.

it was his typical routine to bother matt about ordering food, hoping they'd want something similar enough that he would just end up paying for it.

his walk towards matt's closed door was interrupted abruptly when he heard a female voice - laughing, coming from matts room. he could've sworn it sounded like - and it happens again. the laugh chris always works desperately to hear, the laugh of his favourite person. but you were in matts room.

he hurriedly pushed open the door, the sight of you and matt laying together - clothed, thank god, laughing at trash tv. your eyes met his instantly, a glimmer of hope sparkling in them.

you'd explained matt what you wanted to happen. the best case scenario and the worst case scenario. endless conversing for hours, waiting for chris to turn up for whatever reason, and it worked out better than you imagined it.

*

he was angry. of course he was. but once again, laying eyes on you tugged down his guard. especially when you looked at him that way. you werent confused, or irritated at chris' intrusion. you were relieved - even excited.

he wipes his face in frustration, taking a minute to evaluate and make his next decision. he watched matts eyes dart between the two of you, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. he noticed barely, a slight twitch from the corner of your mouth, before you just couldn't give in as a small smile spread across your face.

"cmere." chris muttered in a sigh, his head gesturing towards the hallway he was stood in.

you eagerly got to from matts bed, turning your head as you got to the door frame to give matt a quick wave goodbye. your excitement starting to rub off on chris.

he was now leant against the kitchen table. a flat expression on his face despite the energy he was giving off.

"the fuck was that then, huh?"

"what's what?" you muttered, unconvincingly acting as if you had no idea of his problem.

"you tryna piss me off, pretty?" you edged closer timidly, chris' hands reaching for your waist to pull you against him. you completely avoid eye contact, staring at the floor, wall - anywhere but his expression. "that was the best you could do?"

the comment was not expected - you turn your head quickly to meet his gaze, a wide smirk greeting you.

"barely gave me a reason to be pissed off."

your smile is wiped completely, realising you'd overworked your revenge in your head when in reality, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. now it was just embarrassing.

"aw, it's okay, I know what you want," he leans down to start placing light kisses over your neck, light enough that you completely craved the needy, rough kisses he'd given you before.

"please" you let escape in a breath, chris' grip tightening to pull you impossibly closer.

"feel good, baby?"

you whine in response, tugging on his hair closer in desperation for more friction.

he gave in just a little - his kisses becoming a little more sloppy and relaxed, encouraged by the grip you had on his hair aswell as your small needy sounds. but he wanted to tease you a little more - he wanted you to earn it.

his kisses were light once more, placed just on your shoulder blade. "why didn't you get matt to do this, hm? that would've pissed me off real bad."

he pushed your lower half into his own, allowing you to feel his hardening bulge.

"words." he demanded, applying a quick squeeze to your ass making you squeal.

"I- didn't" a moan interrupts you as chris nibbles as your skin while you answer, "didn't want him to."

you could feel his smirk as he ran his lips across your skin. "just wanted me, huh? wanted my attention real bad?"

you nod eagerly, before chris gripped your hips and turned you both around, pushing you against the table as he towered over you. he pressed his lips firmly against yours, groaning in pleasure from the taste. his hand grips the back of your neck to deepen the contact as you pull him closer by his shirt. chris absentmindedly starts grinding his hips into yours, his desperation for you becoming even more evident. he picks you up by your thighs hurriedly, placing you onto the table surface.

he broke the kiss to concentrate on tugging up the end of your dress, gaining access to your core. he looked ahead at you for approval, as you lay across the surface propped up by your elbows. in response you opened your legs further with chris stood in front of the gap, admiring your clothed pussy.

without further questioning, he bent down to push his nose against the covered warmth, the pressure intending to tease more than pleasure. he wanted you to be needy, he wanted you to beg, to give in to the desire and mirror his own desperation.

his eyes meet yours once again, a wide smirk spread across his face as he reads the anticipation in your expression. eyes locked, he presses kisses to the tops of your thighs, beginning to trail around where you needed him the most. he listened intently to your small gasps and needy whines, chuckling to himself as he waited for you to speak up for what you want.

you reach down, gripping his locks to tug him closer to the damp spot forming on your panties.

"what did I say earlier, baby?"

you groaned in frustration before responding. "w-words?"

"mhm, so what'd you say?" he continues teasing with kisses, awaiting your response.

"please?" your breathing was the opposite of steady, sharp gasps escaping you as he nibbling on your thigh - just enough to increase your pent up sexual frustration.

"gonna need to do better than that, princess. be specific"

chris loves seeing you like this. whining for him, craving him.

you shake your head in humiliation, "can't say it."

he withdraws his face completely, leaning over your torso to press needy kisses to your lips, groaning in response when you moan into his mouth.

he breaks contact, gripping your jaw firmly but not harshly, forcing you to look at him.

"you listenin'?" you nod, hoping he'll just give you what you want without going through the process of specifying what you want. "im gonna be nice okay? all you gotta do is say yes when something feels good, yeah? you say no I stop. you're too quiet then I stop. got it?"

"y-yes"

"yes what?"

"yes please?"

"atta girl," he starts lowering towards your warmth again, "mind your manners 'n be nice 'n loud and you'll get what you want."

chris needed matt to hear. you were too dazed by desperation to realise the consequences of being as loud as he wanted - this fact making his cock strain somehow harder against his jeans.

he licked a flat strip on the top of your lacy panties. the rushed unexpected contact forcing a loud whine escape you.

you begin muttering praises, "yes-" moans interrupting you as he sloppily kisses your clit through the panties. "m-more please."

he grins, removing himself from you which earns him a whine, his fingers tuck under the waistband to pull the barrier down, allowing chris to admire your soaked pussy.

you analyse his expression - desperate for an indication that it was what he wanted.

he licked his lips, eyes full of hunger that flicker to yours - relentlessly waiting for you to beg.

"please.. need it so bad."

"you look so perfect for me," he mutters full of lust, "you're being so good, baby."

he urgently worked his tongue into your folds, closing his mouth around the warmth and pushing his face deeper into you - intensifying the pleasure. it rushed - as if he was terrified he'd never get the opportunity to be where he was ever again. he began pushing his finger into your cunt, pumping them in an out as you lost all control over your whining. his fingers curled with precision as his tongue worked rapidly. the pleasure began intensifying-

"are you fucking serious?!" nicks exclaimed panic shot through the pleasure , burying it back down as if nothing was happening previously. chris lifted his head from your pussy, the juices spread across his mouth with a dumbstruck expression. you heard nicks footsteps disappear in a trail back to his room, but you couldn't help but hold onto the embarrassment that came with being caught in such a vulnerable state. chris' eyes were still heavy, processing the whole moment - he'd had you exactly how he'd craved, and it had been perfect. until it wasn't.

you closed your legs in shame, sitting upright onto the surface trying to regain control.

regrettably, chris knew the moment had ended. he pressed quick kisses to your thighs before tugging your dress back down to cover you further.

you mutter an apology, guilt of disappointing two different people in the same 30 seconds hitting a nerve.

"'s okay .. 's okay" he pressed gentle kisses to your cheek and pulled you in for a tight hug - you instinctively reciprocating. it could be considered dramatic- sure. but it was more than that to you. you let your guard down considerably which resulting in humiliation. did nick think less of you? could matt hear? fuck he must've. did chris think less of you? was he mad? were you even good enough? what if he was relieved of the interruption so he didn't have to pretend-

"you're fucking perfect."

a/n , does anyone actually read these

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @faiyaz555 @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @baebadoobee4ever @fw-lee @afr8idofrats @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @chrxsprettygirl @franticroads @m4gz-png @sosasturns @clairomatt @allisonclairee @mattshorsenecklace @whor3ing @matts-girlfriend @obsessedwiththesturniolos @shadowthesim237 @xeneasworld @chrisslut04

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ - mi

[avelera]

To add onto your point about Viktor pushing people away I think this is shown a lot through his interactions with Sky. When they first meet as kids she clearly takes interest and wants to talk but he looks down to gesture to his boat when she is called away. He believes that it is his destiny to be lonely. Shortly after when meeting Singed, Singed asks “why aren’t you playing with the other kids,” and Viktor steps out from behind a rock to show him his leg. Singed’s response is a double edged sword because he says that “loneliness is often a byproduct of a gifted mind,” on one hand he is calling Viktor intelligent and implying that his disability isn’t what makes him lonely, however Singed still essentially reinforces the idea that Viktor is inherently going to be lonely because of his mind.

Later (in life, technically it’s earlier in the show) she flirts with him and he surprisingly refers to her by her last name only despite knowing each other for so long. This act pushes her away, especially at a time when he probably did need to ask for help as he had just coughed up blood earlier in the episode and passes out not long after she leaves. While I do not think he harbors any romantic feelings for Sky both the way she shows interest with him as a kid and as an adult proves Singed wrong. She doesn’t find his intelligence isolating, she admires him for it and wants to get closer but Viktor has put up a wall because he’s already internalized that loneliness is a byproduct of his existence.

She also does not even hesitate to try pull him off the hexcore when she has no idea what it is.

Viktor is often shown with themes of loneliness but it is contrasted with the fact that he is constantly around people that would move heaven and earth for him if he asked. This really shows that the internalized loneliness that makes him push people away and refuse to be selfish is also tragic because he and Singed are wrong. He does face a more difficult time being a disabled zaunite in Piltover for sure, but pushing out those who wish to be close is a fate he curated himself since he believes it’s how it has to be.

I think you said it very well!

One thing I love about having the full Arcane story with S2 is that we can really dig deep and analyze who these characters are now.

I'd argue Viktor came across as pretty... flaw-free in S1. He's still complex, but most of the problems he faces seem to come from issues outside his control, like his disability and his terminal illness.

I think S2 brought into focus what Viktor's flaws are, including his intellectual tunnel vision and, as you noted, his tendency to think himself lonely when he is the one constantly pushing people away, perhaps as a result of that awful line Singed fed him when he was a kid. (Silco and Singed are both great examples of damaged adults trying to help the children in their life, teaching them the lessons they learned, but in so doing scarring those children with their own issues and pain because their situations actually aren't parallels.)

So much of what Viktor does in S2 revolves around loneliness. Normally, I think such loneliness plots would be about someone finding love for the first time, or learning to love themselves despite it. But the strength and quality of Viktor's loneliness story, what I think brings it closer to a more realistic story, is that it takes two to tango. He's projecting rejection onto others like Jayce that isn't there. He's thinking he needs to isolate himself and even as a child to play alone, even though Sky was right there taking an interest. He was just too obsessed with his work (admittedly, work that would save him from a terminal illness so like, I feel him on this) to see that he was letting the life he had pass him by, or that there were people trying to help him, who were actively helping him if he just looked around.

He does it in 2.02 to Jayce too, by the way. Regardless of Hexcore influence, he chooses "the Mission" of securing a legacy over the friend who is right here beside him, offering help, who has come back to Viktor after Viktor chastised him for leaving his side. Jayce listened and he's back now, but Viktor is now so consumed by guilt of the other person he ignored that he's missing the loved one he's ignoring right now.

Viktor then builds this commune of people that sure as hell looks like a wall he's building against loneliness. He speaks with their voices, they are of one mind, they share their emotions, and yet Viktor still self-isolates there, spending his time with the hallucination of Sky, set apart from the other cultists in his giant bubble on the hill, making them look up to him like angels singing praises to God. And that too is lonely. It's not true connection. And by making everyone into One, it's still loneliness, it's still his old patterns. Combining everyone into one person with one will so they can never leave you (no one is ever shown leaving the commune, btw, all foot traffic flows inward) still ends up with him alone in the homogenous soup of everyone he turned into him.

Wizard Viktor is another example of this behavior, the ultimate conclusion of it, why he needs Jayce to get through to him. Only Jayce can show Viktor that his loneliness is in his own head, it's a product of his own behavior, he is pushing people away and ignoring them and then being upset when they're not there, and then when they come back he pushes them away again in favor of "the mission" in favor of "legacy", and even if it's in favor of finding a cure for himself, he pushes away people who are trying to help him with that. And he doesn't let Jayce in on the fact he's dying which is another example of not letting people who love him help him with his most important mission of saving his own life.

This is getting way too long lol but ok:

TL;DR One of Viktor's flaws is self-imposed loneliness that still makes him lash out at others and ultimately leads to some of his most heinous crimes like the assimilation of the cultists and attempt to make everyone into One Being, which is still the same behavior of self isolation, and that's why only Jayce can get through to him that he was loved the whole time and he's only lonely because he keeps ignoring his loved ones and pushing them away.

[hyddeplays]

Aw I really like the new FR update. I'm surprised there's so much negativity given that it's so optional and disable-able. Though I guess the userbase is kind of the dedicated complainers of the internet (I say that lovingly, I'm one of them).

I agree that essentially all of them are not quite my cup of tea, but I'm excited for them to introduce more subtle and simple effects in the future, like a soft white glitter or floating fireflies or animated birds or something. I guess most of the time I just don't want my dragon changed that much! I also hope they won't shy away from releasing variations of existing ones. The ghost one in particular comes to mind, I really love the smoke and fade at the bottom, but I hate that it makes your whole dragon green. Quite literally all effects except for the butterflies feel like they can use a more low key version rn.

Anyway, great job FR. Completely unexpected and technically very impressive, just needs some finessing is all :)

[dramaticallytotal]

I'm Just An Assistant Headcanons: Part One

Idea Post

• Chef finds it amusing while Chris doesn't, that the crew and interns listen to Noah more than they do, Chris. Noah has to ask for something once, and they immediately set out to do it, but when Chris asks, he has to ask multiple times, or it comes out wrong.

An intern made a mistake once when Noah asked for something....once. No one made a mistake again in the face of his anger. It was understandable given that the mistake could have gotten a lot of people hurt and destroyed a lot of weeks' worth of work.

He is understanding if someone is confused as long as they ask questions to clarify, but if they don't and they go on to make an avoidable mistake that person will get a very intimidating lecture and if they still make mistakes they are fired. He doesn't tolerate that kind of behavior, given they work on one of the most dangerous shows on reality television.

Plus, most of those who consistently make mistakes end up being spies sent by the network to make the show the way they want. Which is something Noah will not stand for.

The network/producers go about this way because they are way too intimidated by Noah to call or set up a meeting with him.

• No Noah and Cody cuddling in season one, so Sierra isn't antagonistic of him. She finds him fascinating due to the times he's been on screen and the number of fans it caused. It is oddly high, which Sierra hypothesized was because of SCVAMC Syndrome. (Side-Character-Viewed-As-Main-Character Syndrome) People see someone who is or essentially is a side character, and because they don't know much about them, they are intrigued and the little they find out becomes something special. It happens all the time in video games and anime. The more mystery or missing information, the more alluring.

That's essentially what Noah was, and she finds him interesting. She kept trying to find out more about him so she could really keep her status of being the top total drama blogger.

• Because of this, Noah tried to avoid her as much as possible.

• Almost immediately when the new season started, Heather and Duncan tried to intimidate or threaten Noah for information on the season, which he, of course, ignored or outright laughed at. They tried this all the time. At the beginning of the competition, a couple episodes after, the merge, and then more towards the finale if either made it that far. Duncan even accused Noah of helping Beth in season two, which he promptly shut down.

Noah was a lot of things, but he was not a cheater. He liked his job. Why would he jeopardize it by helping someone cheat? Yeah not likely.

If he was going to help anyone cheat, it would be Owen, Izzy, or Eva. But again, he would never do that.

• He's the reason Alejandro got cast as he picked him out from hundreds of applicants for the new season. Not Dirt Bags, though that is what Alejandro believed he was auditioning for. If Dirt Bags had been the real season, he most likely would have picked José but since it was a smoke screen for the real season, Noah chose Alejandro because he thought he would be the best fit. He didn't pick Sierra though.

Apparently, Blaineley had called in a hefty favor to put her assistant/informant on the show with the producers. Noah and Chris had said no, but the network offered Noah a pay raise, and they gave Chris more freedom with the season and the next two ones that were in the planning stages. They couldn't refuse the offer.

Technically, Noah could have, but he didn't want to. Not until he met Sierra. It wasn't until then that he was thinking he should have refused.

• Alejandro first saw Noah during the break between the Pyramid Over/Underline challenge and The Amazing Camel Race challenge since the crew and interns were setting up for the next challenge. They were directed to go to the white tent and get away from the heat. Alejandro was surprised at this because all he had heard about Chris and the show was the awful conditions.

But they were provided a tent that had little fans attached to some poles that helped a little bit from the heat. They were given chairs to sit on, though they were organized by team, so Alejandro was going to take the opportunity to get to know his team. It was as Owen, the utter oaf, was spewing some story of accidentally entering and winning a hotdog eating contest that Alejandro was snapped out of his less than polite thoughts by a water bottle being shoved in his face.

"What the-?"

"Here. You guys need to hydrate. We can't have any of you keeling over because of dehydration or heat stroke." A somewhat nasally voice said in perfect monotone. It was when he finally took the water that he saw the person who the voice belonged to, and Alejandro found his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

The boy looked around their age with tan skin that was peppered with many moles and beauty marks (angel kisses his Nana called them). He had dark, oh so dark hooded brown eyes that were perpetually lidded that had bags that somehow did not diminish his beauty. He had a small wrinkle on his forehead that Alejandro found and fought the urge to run his fingers across so he could see it relaxed. Then he eyes traveled down to his lips, his pouty lips that were...oh shit...moving because he was still talking to Alejandro.

"Dude, you okay? Do you feel dizzy or anything? I can have medical in here stat." The angel said.

"Ah, no! No. No. I'm good. Just a little tired, I confess." Alejandro lied, you know, like a liar.

"Mm. Well, you did carry two girls over a pyramid. It would make sense that you're tired. Rest as much as you can before the next challenge."

"S-Si. I will. Thank you for the water amigo." He stuttered!? Since when did he stutter???

He watched as the angel walked away and continued handing out waters. He watched until the boy was in the far corner of the tent talking to some of the interns. That was when Alejandro decided he must know who his angel was! He absolutely did not want to interact with his team more, so he sought someone he thought would know the answer while not making him feel like his head would explode when they spoke. He settled on Courtney, and when he finally found out his angel's name, he knew he was a goner.

Noah~! How perfect!

• Alejandro flirts with Noah whenever he can, which is surprisingly a lot, but Noah doesn't believe he is being genuine until Noah made a self-deprecating joke about it and Alejandro snapped. He didn't mean to crowd into Noah's space, but he couldn't help him. He desperately wanted him to understand. His flirting on the show was in his contract because that was the kind of character the network wanted, and though Alejandro had no problem with casual flirting, it was getting to him because he only wanted to flirt with Noah.

He begged him to believe him, and when Noah found out that, yes, the flirting was in his contract, he started to open up a little to the flirting though he was still a little wary. Alejandro counted it as a win and promised that once the competition was over, he would still be very interested in Noah.

• Teams!!!

Team Victory: Leshawna, Bridgette, DJ, Harold, Ezekiel, Lindsay, Sadie

Team Amazon: Heather, Gwen, Courtney, Eva, Sierra, Katie, Beth

Team Chris: Alejandro, Owen, Izzy, Tyler, Trent, Justin, Duncan

• Ezekiel still has a contract with Chris to go feral, and Duncan still quits, which puts Team Amazon at a numbers advantage.

• If Noah isn't directly responsible for Harold's elimination, Alejandro or Izzy are the next options. And both are, in fact, responsible in this au! Izzy because there can only be one ginger! Jk, she does it because she overheard the guy lecturing her NoNo about how he could allow Chris and the show to be so culturally insensitive and that he was part of the problem. How dare he!?

Knowing her NoNo, he probably did the best he could! I mean, it definitely could have been worse than Chris dressing up like Rick O'Connell from The Mummy. Though she knew that was not what Harold was referring to, she just thought he ought to be grateful because she was fairly certain if Noah wasn't there, Chris would have worn a tacky Pharoah costume from Spirit Halloween.

Alejandro teams up with her once he catches on to what she's doing, and it's only because he heard Noah venting to some crew members, and he absolutely does not want his angel unnecessarily stressed. Harold is a cause of said stress, so he must go! (He truly is a professional simper)

• Yes! Chris's outfit is different! There will be a lot more differences in this au because Noah is working on the show instead of competing.

• There will also be more challenges! Some I made up and some inspired by RR! Since this is supposed to be a world tour, there will be two challenges conducted wherever they visit. One will be at a famous landmark and the other just somewhere well known or wherever they got permission to rent/film at.

• Courtney and Noah don't really like each other, so they have a small rivalry going on. Noah finds it entertaining while Courtney does not. He's the one who makes sure they can't be sued again. Courtney got lucky with her first and last lawsuit, but after that, Noah made sure to dot every 'i' and cross every 't' when it came to the rest of season two and the newest season.

Every time Courtney complained about something or threatened to sue for some imperceived injustice, Noah got to throw the book at her, so to say. His eidetic memory really came in handy there as he can recall and recite word for word her contract (plus everyone else's).

• Courtney and Alejandro do become friends, but Courtney is rethinking that decision when she realizes Alejandro has the biggest crush on Noah.

• Alejandro: "He wore his glasses today! Doesn't he look positively dashing!"

Courtney: "If I had a newspaper, I would smack you with it."

• Alejandro still doesn't like Owen, but he is willing to tolerate him because of all the Noah lore he drops!

Also, because his amor would be mad at him if he did anything to the buffoon.

• Noah presents a lot of the challenges with Chef, which means he has to dress up.

• Noah is actually pretty sure he's cursed because he always seems to get hurt in increasingly bizarre ways. Like the time one of the stupid apples for the New York challenge fell on him when he oversaw a small team while they were setting up for said challenge.

Or when he was bringing Chris another hot chocolate in the Yukon, and he got crushed by Trent. (Instead of Noah being launched off the chunk of ice by Owen, it was Trent.)

Before that, he had tried giving Bridgette her issued jacket when she shoved him away, yelling that she had a boyfriend. That felt like an overreaction, but he had no time to think on that because he stumbled back and slipped into a large pile of snow.

• The contestants watched as Chris worried and fretted over Noah and made him drink his original hot chocolate because he didn't want his emotionally adopted son to be cold! Think of his anemia!!! Noah was taken back to the plane to warm up before he was allowed back and decided to take Chris a replacement hot chocolate....his well intentions ended up with him being crushed under Trent and had Chef fretting over him in place of Chris.

He was grounded to the plane for the rest of the challenge.

Stupid father figures! He had work to do!!!

Next

[impishjesters]

If it’s not too much trouble, what about Caine or Jax (whoever you prefer!) with an s/o who is just. Tiny. Like, can-take-a-nap-inside-Jax’s-overalls-pocket small - like not even a foot tall!

Maybe they can change their size at will, maybe they’re just eternally itty bitty, your choice!

Thank you so much, and have a wonderful day/night!!

Caine

You’re so small that while Caine finds it adorable, it is also quite the pain when it comes to including you in activities, or just doing anything with him overall.

In the beginning, he’d offered to carry you when he was present, but because it’s Caine it’s not a very fun method of transportation. His whole head kinda makes sitting on it or his shoulders difficult or impossible. And being carried around like a doll isn’t very fun or comfortable—especially with Caine being the type who talks with his hands.

Jax once called you a mouse as an insult and Caine found the name to be cute and fitting—unaware that it was an insult—and took to calling you his little mouse.

It takes awhile but Caine offers to try making you bigger—though the two of you find out later on it’s not permanent. The upside is you can switch between little and big at the price of exhaustion.

He’s in utter awe the first time he gets to fully take you in, all the hard-to-make details finally pop, and wow you are cuter than he thought initially.

Caine likes to make it a fun little game for himself to play, which is essentially just hide and seek except you aren’t intentionally hiding. You aren’t even aware he’s really playing the one-sided game, he just likes to pop in randomly and see if he can find you. You are a slippery little thing able to bypass many of his all-seeing eyes.

When it comes to dates he prefers them with bigger you, not that he dislikes your smaller form but he realizes how impractical it would be to take you out and exhaust you on such a tiny walk when there’s so much more ground to cover. Or risk losing you—which he’s totally never done before by the way…

Being big means he can hold your hand, lead you around, and sit with you, he feels like you are equal this way, when you are tiny he feels like the bad guy with control over everything—even if it technically is.

Just for funsies, Caine has shrunk himself down to your side when it’s just the two of you, it’s a very trippy experience he’ll say that much. Everything really is massive holy heck.

Jax

Jax has without a doubt nearly stepped on you or kicked you too many times to count that he’s taken to shoving you in the pocket of his overalls for safekeeping.

Mind you it wasn’t intentional, you’re just so damn tiny and he’s definitely far from being the shortest in the circus. If anything he does feel genuinely bad, not only did you get the shit hand of being the size of a Barbie doll, but he’s not even the only person who’s nearly trampled you.

You’re basically a glorified purse dog in a sense, it’s easiest when he carries you around and does all the hard work and walking. You are his little purse dog s/o and he’s your glorified taxi driver, the two of you definitely joke about it though so there are no hard feelings.

Jax has found you more than once taking a cat nap when he checks inside his pocket, you’ve even got a little pillow and blanket—where the hell did you get those?

“I feel more like an apartment than a boyfriend.”

“Oo, free rent, great view, and a boyfriend. What a steal.”

You’ve experimented sitting on his shoulders and head before, Jax vetoed your rights to his head after you’d clung to his ear screaming—though to be fair there’s not much to hold on with him moving around. And after nearly wearing you like a necklace as you choked him out, the two of you settled that the pocket was best.

He just moves around too much sometimes for anything but the pocket to be safe, though when it’s just the two of you and things are chill he’ll give you necklace and earring rights again. (something he started calling you with the way you’d cling to him.)

Regardless of the appearance you’ve taken, Jax calls you a doll because well, you’re literally the size of one it’s self-explanatory. He even stopped calling Ragatha “doll face” to avoid any confusion when referring to you.

The whole permanent tiny thing gets on his nerves but he tries not to mention it, it sucks not being able to do stuff normally with you—or hold your hand or you—well in a manner that’s not his pocket. You get the gist.

[weebsinstash]

wait.

wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait

have you seen arcane?!??

if you haven’t yet you should because I could thirst for DAYS over the main characters!

you should’ve seen how victor is with jayce yes-like there is a scene where he is basically straddling him?!? (im mean technically ‘he ’ wasn’t doing it, but he was puppeting the body that was so it still counts)

and let’s not get started about jayce and Mel.

or vi and cait in episode 8.

I don’t know if you’ve seen it or not so I’m going to calm down so I don’t spoil more if you haven’t

just…almost everyone in the main cast is hot, like seriously.

I need you to understand that basically within 5 minutes of me realizing Viktor would be good yandere material at least for the kinds of things I like, a little voice in my brain was going, "yeah and if you wanted to, you could include his jock boyfriend as a 2 for 1 deal!"

Arcane is another one of those things where I haven't fully officially sat down to consume it BUT it became so huge that it was all over YouTube and yt shorts. Yt shorts are AGGRESSIVE when it decides it wants to start feeding you something. Apparently it's convinced I would really like Doctor Who and keeps showing me scenes from like three specific episodes?

But yeah my algorithm was feeding me tons of Arcane content, and then I started watching specific scenes and listening to the music, and I essentially have a pretty good vague overall grasp of the plot, like, in its full entirety from jinx and silco, to the tea party, Ekko leaping through time, Mel getting those Extremely Aesthetic gold stripes. I've wanted to watch it in its entirety, though? I can probably easily pirate it from somewhere

I admit I'm a fake bisexual on how extremely off and on and specific my tastes in women can be so I'm not sure if Vi or Cait are really growing on me from romantic/sexual standpoints, but 👀 Ambessa is definitely uh 👀 you know I have a type for the taller ones that make me feel small and helpless and she's definitely 👉👈 tough and scary and domineering 👉👈 her checking out that younger guy and then just smiling to her daughter "I'm off to sample the local cuisine" like.... queen shit fr

But yeah over the last year I've been recovering from a fall at work that kinda fucked up my knee and I've been having to do PT and I've gained a deeper soft spot for specific characters and plot lines involving disability, either a yandere caring for a disabled darling, or you both being disabled, or things along those lines. Viktor's own journey from a sickly young boy unable to chase after his toy to a young man curing himself and immediately sprinting for the first time in his life, it's all very, personal now. I mean I always apparently had a disability I was born with and didn't know about until my 20s, but especially now that my knee gets in the way of activities sometimes.

I can just picture like... oh you're just this poor mousy little thing from the Undercity who bumps into him for whatever reason and he sees you have a cane just like him, or maybe you're too poor for even a cane and have some sort of improvised walking stick, and he just immediately empathizes with your situation. Like i have several ideas but I can just picture, stereotypical "we were both lost in thought and collided and we went around the corner" and you get knocked over and Viktor recognizes the fear in your eyes as you look him over, from his clean clothes to maybe even his companion Jayce being there, fearing you're going to be punished or harmed, clearly accustomed to the violence of the slums. Viktor sees himself in you as you're clearly realizing your situation and how easily you could be hurt given that they have not just power but privilege over you

Both of them taking pity on you because, oh you poor thing, how awful it must be for you to have such little help for your condition. Are you hurt from the fall just now? Let them help you out as an apology for knocking you down. Do you need a cane that's fitted properly? What about a stabilizing brace for your leg. You have hip and back problems too? The two scientists are practically drafting up schematics for all sorts of proposed solutions within the hour--

On one hand I'm like "oh what if they encourage and help you get a better education because you show promise" and then im like "but what if they think it's cute how little you know as someone from the Undercity who didn't get a decent education and they like how much you have to rely on them and ask them for things"

Viktor being against ableism without realizing he's doing it to you by subconsciously infantalizing you over your vulnerable state with not just your physical disability but if you're also potentially neurodivergent as well, whereas Jayce infantalizes you for being this :) little cute. dumb. poor. low born little thing :)

They find out you live in some absolutely dingey shitty fucking place or somewhere straight up unsafe and they're immediately just, really kind of refusing to let you stay there anymore? Just strong-arming you, "b-but I live here--" "not anymore" "no" "absolutely not" "we can hire movers, it's fine" "but-" "you'll like being somewhere new, relax"

Some scenario where they, move you into a new place to live, suddenly you've got access to all these things you didn't before, bathing regularly, new clothes, full meals, safety, mental stimulation, purpose and labor but without the desperation and fear. You can exit your building and jog around the neighborhood without fear. But, the control over so much of that rests within THEIR hands. One or both of them pays for your housing. Perhaps you even share many of your meals in their direct company. Do you have new medications they helped you obtain? Do your new mobility aids need some tweaking every now and again? Do they help provide EVERYTHING for you 'just until you get on your feet' and then stand in your way every single time you try to do something that would bring you closer to that goal?

No no, don't worry about paying them back for everything they're paying for, they're doing it out of the goodness of their hearts :) no no, you don't need to get a job right away! Or, at all ever again maybe, like wouldn't that be so funny haha, just kidding lol, unless????? :) ha ha, oh my gosh that's just so silly, they told you to take advantage of living in this nice neighborhood they moved you into that's near them and told you to enjoy your life and it's just so wacky and silly and crazy but you did exactly just that and you've been doing fun stuff but with other people and not them haha that's so weird? :) don't worry if they keep acting like there's still stuff they need to help you look out for and help protect you from even after moving you into this little situation where they already hold all the power, I'm sure it's totally fine? :) oh wow they caught you out at a bar or something getting friendly with a guy and one of them just outright refers to you as disabled and accuses the guy of exploiting you somehow, wow isn't that so quirky, they're just having a boy-moment lol? :) honey they just want to make sure no one hurts you and that's why it's completely 300% justified they put a tracker in the special leg brace that they designed that helps you move around every day :)

whaaaaaaat, you think they're being creepy? Well, sweetheart, with the life you've lived in the Undercity, they can see how you might come to THINK you believe that, but that doesn't mean it's true :) you're just so used to living in the danger and the dirt and the grime that you're not used to being safe, and they can understand that, and they're here to help you through the adjustment process of, your new life :) permanantly :) never going back to the Undercity :) staying with your new male companions :) and maybe marrying one or even both of them :) they know best, so trust them! :)

[zorlok-if]

The new prologue it’s definitely AWESOME, I’ve played the game a few times to see different options, but I don’t know what determines the demon’s personality, because I got a friendlier? demon once but couldn’t figure out how to get it while I replay. 

Aw, thank you! Happy to answer your question but putting it below the cut since it's technically a spoiler, I guess :)

There are two different choices that Tommy makes which determine how the demon will present themself to him. They're always trying to charm and impress Tommy, and are just a charming person in general, but the demon chooses what side/version of themself to show to Tommy after looking into his mind and determining what they think will be most effective to make him sign a pact.

The first choice is how Tommy reacts to his friends when he says that the demon's name is Zorlok: Passive, Assertive, or Chill. The second choice (a little more indirect than the first one) is how Tommy leaves the conversation with Harlow. He can either leave the shop feeling Sure (believes in magic and knows that Harlow is a witch), Unsure (doubtful of Harlow), Grumpy (made Harlow mad and was assertive before), or Scared (made Harlow mad and was passive or chill).

Now there are 3.5 (technically 4) different ways the demon can act. Let's call them the Version 1, Version 2, Version 3, and Version 3.5:

VERSION 1 - A version of themself that plays up their sarcasm and seems to be more unbothered and chill. With this version they're trying to prove to Tommy that they can be the cool role model he's looking for. This version is apologetic, somewhat, for the mental invasion but will want Tommy to admit/see that he's in the wrong as well for intruding upon them. Tommy can ask for a proof of their power as long as they didn't leave Harlow's shop Sure that the ritual would work. (Probably the most common version players will encounter.)

To see this version choose either: Chill + Unsure, Chill + Sure, or Assertive + Unsure (there are slight differences in all three routes, but that's mostly flavor text)

VERSION 2 - A bombastic and unapologetic version of themself. This version of the demon is trying to appear like a classical demon, to impress Tommy with their prowess and power and be the exact kind of infernal force he needs to turn his life around. They will use more archaic words/phrasing and will want to demonstrate their power for Tommy.

To see this version choose either: Assertive + Sure or Assertive + Grumpy (there are differences between these two routes, in particular Assertive + Grumpy has one of my fav responses to the demon which is essentially "fuck you" but, you know Tommy, he doesn't swear)

VERSION 3 - With this version the demon will be deeply apologetic and really nice, getting Tommy back on their side after a rocky start. This persona's primary objective is to make Tommy think they can be the friend he's been looking for.

To see this version choose either: Passive + Sure or Passive + Unsure (slight differences between these two routes, maybe? I don't remember)

VERSION 3.5 - A variant of version 3 that's even more apologetic and flattering. This version's primary objective is to make Tommy think of them as human rather than demonic. When you encounter this version the game music also returns to Tommy's theme because they're trying to make Tommy think of the demon as the same as him. They want Tommy to feel completely safe with them after scaring him so much.

To see this version choose either: Passive + Scared or Chill + Scared (I don't think there's any difference between the two, but I could be wrong)

[venomousray]

Felt like finally sharing my little hatchetfield au I discussed with ash a while back. It’s my interpretation of ‘The lords’ favouritw townies get their powers’ and It’s very roughly written and surprise. Tinky has the most.

Essentially, after the book was opened in NPMD the lords never truly left. Rather they left part of themselves within the universe simply for fun!

Pokey left his abilities with Paul. They still have their own ways of thought, so Paul doesn’t really notice what’s different. That is until he sneezes at beanie’s and suddenly Zoey hates musicals. Rather than being spread through spit it’s like a cold, a cold spreading hatred for musicals! And once Paul clicks it quickly gets to his head. He won’t have to hear a musical again!

Blinky Leaves his abilities with Alice, why Alice and not bill? For fun! Blinky knew it would build conflict, especially because Alice can now see everything bill says about Deb creating a huge wedge. Alice, still being rather immature uses her abilities primarily for planning parties and how to sneak away from bill, though realistically she would feel guilt she sees everything, and she knows how to choose the best option for herself.

Tinky of course chooses ted, however with ted being.. Ted. The first thing he does it try to go back to give himself a better life. Unfortunately he’s terrible at it, being sent to the medieval times. And this becomes a theme. Ted cannot control his abilities at all, and the more he uses them the less he feels like ted. Whilst he does not become the homeless man here, he’s seen so many timelines that often his memory becomes a blur of All of the different Teds we have seen. He has also been rejected by a woman in every single era, felt that was important. He’s essentially an awful, selfish doctor who.

Nibbly chooses Roman. Why not Linda? Because Linda was never nibbly’s prophet! Just his sacrifice. Roman doesn’t change too much, however his hunger for power grew heavily. He holds cannibal banquets for the church of the starry children, offering them a taste of his power in return for their loyalty. Whilst Roman’s cravings are primarily for more power, he often gets the craving for meat, having a primarily carnivorous diet.

Wiggly chooses to give his abilities to Linda. Whilst I thought about Wilbur, Wilbur technically shares traits of all 5 lords, so I chose her instead. Linda’s motives are practically the same as her Black Friday motives, so I won’t get too into it, the only notable difference is she doesn’t have to have the doll to achieve it.

Due to the chaos. Webby also has to step in to attempt to fix the issues solved, and recruits Lex foster to help due to hannah being too young and Webby not wanting her to be put into danger, with lex taking on the persona of a knight with spider features.

So yeah that’s about it. I may draw them one day