#i feel like my words are absolutely not enough to share how serene i feel looking at these

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander

SUMMARY: In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility. 

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader 

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, protective Theseus, etc. 

A/N: Lowkey proud of this one, so comments and feedback are Super welcomed! This was based off this request, so thank you SO much anon, this was a blast that might have to be a series. Also Huge thanks to @kalllistos​ for all the help, couldn’t have been done without you!! Enjoy.

PART II, PART III, PART IV

You fit in so absolutely.

The rim of your glass was still lined with enough sugar to enjoy dwindling sips. Theseus knew it was gin. Your lipstick left a mark on everything you kissed, the pattern was found on your glass, and the cigarette holder balanced between your fingers. You made everything look so serene. Simple.

Scanning the room, you hadn’t seen Theseus yet. However, he, too, fit in—tie properly knotted to show his status and pocket-watch cleverly tucked in his waistcoat. Once he joined you at the secluded booth, he’d complete the idyllic image.  

Yet, Theseus lingered for a moment, taking you in. Your confidence was always envious. It worked silently, exuding from your presence alone. Your magnetism couldn’t be credited to magic but to how you evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.

Theseus was one of the only ones remaining to know it hadn’t begun that way. He remembered you, a few years below him, always sprinting to class, already late. The professors would scold you, and your confidence was read as insolence. You challenged everything and excelled in doing so, but it only lent itself to trouble. It created a barrier always present between the two of you.

“You’re late.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. Even late into the night, he was always so poised. Professional.  “I’m risking a lot showing my face here.”

“You look beautiful.” Theseus slid into the leather cushion. The charm always came with his supposed  professionalism. It came in waves and never crawled under your skin the way intended. “Relax…It’s fine.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket’s button, Theseus settled. It was bold of you to accept his invitation to meet so publicly, but he knew you couldn’t resist. You just needed to play your part smartly and get what you want.  

“Your promises are too shallow for me to trust.” You crossed your legs, making it easier to lean and be heard. Then, you clicked your tongue against your teeth with sarcasm, “I think I’d rather you arrest me.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve clocked out for the night.” Theseus was an intentional man, a clever man. He was protecting his image just as much as yours. “It’s just you and me.”

“That’s why you wanted to meet here…” You hummed with feigned realization. The muggle restaurant was a precarious cover but equally as rewarding in its purpose. “You know there are better ways to ask someone on a date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time…” Theseus matched your hum absentmindedly. The banter was a buffer, something to ease into an inevitable unwanted conversation. Reaching into his heavily charmed jacket, he pulled out a file.

It was always a fucking file. The folders were always pristine, never quite full of all the information, just enough of what Theseus was willing to share. It grew over the years of the unorthodox relationship, but you knew not to mistake that for trust.

The figures in the picture were blurry, moving incoherently as they entered a building. The stack of images moved in sequence, following rushedly an exchange that was meant to remain a secret. Without seeing their faces well, you knew who they were, and you held back from using your cigarette roach to burn it all away. Instead, the image repeat over and over before you, but your expression was trained with passivity.

“When did he get out?” You finally met Theseus’ eye. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.

“A month or so at this point...”

Your laugh was bitter. “So, I’ve been a sitting duck.”

“You’ve been avoiding me...” Theseus countered, his tone just barely teasing. There was truth in jest, as there were plenty of owls following you. You looked at him, knowing what came next. His compassion would get him killed. “...I can help you.”

“Careful.” You cocked your head, musing a buried thought. “You’re getting awful sentimental these days.”

“Don’t you want those off?” Theseus leaned in like you had, voice low. Although his fingers were threaded together, he pointed to the bracelets on your wrists.

You smirked, “And ruin my outfit?”

Rarely did you acknowledge them so explicitly. The bracelets—admonitors—dampened your magic by tracking your every spell. They made you feel like a child with a trace spell. Part of you wished you could say you grew accustomed to the constant surveillance, but you grew weary of lying.

The offer was too sweet, and you wanted more than just your magic untraced. “What’s the catch?”

“You help the Ministry find him.” Theseus was trying to protect you, but you were too filled with vindication to notice.

“You mean work for you.”

He frowned, correcting you, “With me.”

“There truly isn’t a difference in your world.” You spat. The ministry was the reason you were in this mess; they branded your cuffs as a daily reminder that your autonomy was shared. “You’d be using me as bait.”

The conversation would go in circles, as it always had. It was the reason more time was added between meetings. Every time you left, that bitter taste grew stronger, and it was difficult to put it aside to face Theseus again and again. This was different—more threatening, but your anger prevailed.

“I won’t do it.”

“Catching him will clear your name.” Theseus all but begged. He remained poised, but you knew it would only last for so long. Those around you looked your way; interest piqued in conversation they weren’t privy to.

“I’m not innocent.” You were blunt. You had been called cold because of it. But it was a trait that you favored, especially at times like this. You wanted to see Theseus break.

You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Theseus chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were children.

The table held your drink, forgotten and diluted. The air was tense and hushed. Theseus needed to move fast, knowing you were moments away from fleeing. But he knew he had just enough time as you lit another cigarette, this time not for vanity but to quell your nerves.

Your nails tapped on the base of your cocktail glass. Your fingertips twitched, begging to satisfy their itch for magic. You debated on if your actions would be worth it.  Theseus decided for you, hand flexing to replenish your drink.

Your lipstick remained fresh but still marked the glass. It was perfectly cold, calming the swarm of nerves that hit you. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” Theseus appreciated your teasing; it meant he was doing something right.

“This place is quite charming, you know,” You looked around before shifting forward even more. It may have been improper, but you leaned over the table, elbows resting comfortably. “Next time, we’ll have to venture and order food.”

“Sure.” Theseus agreed, body language mirroring yours. To anyone else, the pair of you would look smitten. “Anytime you’d like.”

“Anytime?” Your eyebrow ticked up as you tapped at the ashtray.  “Come on, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have.” Your knuckles crept forward, almost bumping his as they dragged to the middle of the linen cloth atop the table. “Truly—We haven’t—”

You stopped yourself with an uncharacteristic laugh. A tinge spread below Theseus’ freckles, assuming your humor was chastising him. But you were laughing at yourself, at how ridiculous you felt. You were enjoying yourself.

The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled. “Be practical, Theseus.”

Your worlds barely overlapped, and where it had highlighted the worst parts of each of you. Your world was dark and hidden; you stole and bribed. You were suitable for it and resisted morphing into the image Theseus expected of you.

He was as kind as any Hufflepuff, putting other needs first and blindly placing his kindness. He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by sitting across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Theseus’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“I need to know the full story.” His voice was commanding, betraying his desperation.

Theseus looked warm, contrasting the winter blizzarding outside. A bubble was created that was becoming suffocating, but with him across you, it seemed just marginally bearable. His hand flexed, skimming yours, hoping to regain your attention.

“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You thought to sink back, but you chased the small contact. “I want nothing to do with this. With him.”

“I’ll be there the entire time,” Theseus promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you weren’t willing to accept it wholly.

“And my interests?”

Theseus’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. It reminded him of his position, of his strained relation to you—what he was supposed to do but always found a reason to put off.

“It depends on where they lie.”

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

You wished his gaze would turn you to stone; that way, you could avoid everything else. Instead, it made you melt, it made you pliable in way you opposed with others. There was a suspicion he kept returning just because of that—despite your bluff and his willful ignorance, you weren’t made of stone, and deep down, he knew that. Probably not consciously, but he did.

You always came back. Or he did—another indistinguishable something. You could still feel his fingers reaching for yours. It almost made you cave. Yet, your back met the bench of the booth, and your hand drew away as you placed your cigarette on your lips.

Although you were still present, Theseus watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Theseus’ eyes were pleading, and you went to blame his naivety, but you found something distinct there. The reason you were here tonight was not for a favor.

It was an ultimatum, not a request.

“When was this decided?” You asked. You thought Theseus came alone, and now the naivety fell on you. There were too many eyes on you now to dismiss the crowd as solely muggles.  You fell so perfectly into the trap that all you could do was laugh.

“I wanted to keep you out of this,” Theseus admitted. It was the truth, but he knew what needed to be done. The greater good, you could already hear his defense. “This is the only way.”

“Your way.” You shook your head. Another laugh. “And what happens when he kills me? Hmm?”

“He won’t.” Another promise that made you sick. “I’ll be there the whole ti—

“Then you, Theseus—” Venom dripped from your every pointed word. From the corner of your eye, you saw how the undercover aurors were ready to respond to your agitation. If they wanted a spectacle, you were moments from providing it. “— are ill-prepared for what he’s willing to do.”

“You need to trust me.” Theseus attempted to regain the conversation but failed to recognize any mending he made was lost.

“And why should I trust the man that watches my every move?”

Theseus put you in this position; he was the wizard who held your wrist tightly all those years ago to secure the admonitors. For your own good, he told you. He believed it, and yet again, you found yourself at the hands of his so-called mercy.

“And if I decline?” You weren’t in such a position to, but Theseus understood your question only brought ruination. 

“The only way you're walking out of here is because of me.”

A threat, how original.  Your cigarette threatened to burn your lips. The ash tarnished the linen that fell over your lap. Apart of you hoped it would set the entire thing aflame. Maybe then you’d have a chance at a genuine escape. For now, though, you resolved to the final word.

“You think you are blessed with morality—” You finished your drink, the taste becoming sour. “—yet what sits before me is nothing but a boy that’s only purpose is to follow orders blindly.”

[noraigo]

some days ago, i started watching we are the series, since a friend of mine tried to convince me for a long time to tune in. we are isn’t exactly the type of series i would watch. not disregarding its charm, i must admit it’s even endearing, i’m just more keen on the angsty, adult queer love. however, there’s a certain couple that’s been running nonstop in my mind ever since i started the series and, of course, it’s no other than tan and fang.

tan is certainly unique as a whole, because if anything — i think it’s the first time i see such a loud but not annoying character, and that’s hard to portray. his excitement seems genuine all the time and i feel his happiness is shared through the screen. that doesn’t brush off his emotional intelligence and i think people underestimate this trait of his: just because he seems silly and party-loving doesn’t mean that he is insensible. he can be serious if it’s needed and he cares for the people around him. it’s safe to say that cheerful characters are often overlooked because of it and, as viewers, we shouldn’t take it for granted.

fang, on the other side, is the total opposite of him, yet it doesn’t make him less interesting. his background is implied to be unstable, which made both phum and fang be more closed off emotionally speaking. even so, fang is trying his best to be on the same page as tan, though tan adores him when he’s serene and quiet. most of the time, characters like fang are misunderstood and it’s a little saddening. he is kind and tough, but it’s not hard to love him. something tan understood from the very beginning.

their dynamics keep me pushing watching the series. now that fang has been softening more and more, their scenes became even lovelier to watch, if that was ever possible; their kisses, clear eyes of infatuation, playful banters and words of love show it. i’m not a fan of sex scenes, they underwhelm me a little (might be the acespec in me), but tanfang’s was just perfect. not too much, not too little. just enough to show that these two desire each other. possibly, it could be not their first time as a couple, which is refreshing and new in thai queer shows as far as i've seen. (aouboom definitely enjoyed kissing and touching each other a little too much but, didn't the same happen with hidden agenda? just saying.)

people like them could be too much for others, but for each other, they are an absolute match. fang knows tan loves him unconditionally and so does tan. tan tries to push him for the better without overstepping his boundaries whilst fang apologizes if his behavior might be irrational when he’s angry and accidentally lashes out on tan. that’s actual respect and patience in a relationship. none of them are trying to change the other to fit their own personality, they have already changed once they realized they were into each other back then when they were problematic teens. ain’t that sweet?

just look at these sweet two blorbos, just in their own world, happy and in love.

on another note, though, i’ve gotten to know aouboom since viceversa era and i could already smell the cute chemistry between both, yet it’s very sad to know they suffer from secondary couple syndrome. how many series have they starred in as a second or even third couple? very unfair, gmmtv, you better give them a nice series, regardless of its length. as long as they don’t keep acting in college settings, i would give my entire scholarship for a coffee shop or any other ordinary plot. they are just THAT good and i will never get tired of their chemistry. they have a kind of spark i see very rarely and if gmm doesn’t give them a shot, they’re losing a potential gem.

please, give us more tanfang content and especially, an aouboom series. thank you very much.

[chvoswxtch]

Hey there, I was wondering if at some point you could do a one shot of female reader who has PTSD from being trafficked and Frank comforts her during one of her nightmares or flashbacks?

I’m a survivor and just could really use some measure of comfort right now. That maybe there are people who care. That I’m not alone. That things will get better. That maybe one day I can actually have a man who will love me.

Thank you so much.

my darling nonnie,

I just want to say how proud of you I am. I cannot even begin to imagine the horror you went through, and I am so very sorry that happened to you. I am so grateful to know that you made it out and you are safe.

you are absolutely not alone, not here. I can assure you that one day, you will meet someone who will take the time to listen to your story, and will love you through it, and do everything they can to make you feel protected. you are worthy of love and happiness, and nothing that was ever done to you was ever your fault.

I want to apologize for taking so long to get this to you, but I hope it provides the solace that you need. I want to thank you for trusting me with this, for sharing your story with me, and for giving me the opportunity to gift you with some comfort. I hope this makes you feel supported, and I hope it makes you smile. I am sending you every ounce of love I possibly can. ❤️ 

warning: light swearing, angst, mentions of ptsd word count: 1.7k

right here.

The faintest disturbance to your otherwise peaceful slumber instantly made Frank’s eyes flutter open. He had always been a bit of a light sleeper, and during his time in the marines, he had to be ready to wake up at a moment’s notice and prepared to jump into action if need be. This made it particularly hard for him to be able to sleep in, even when he really wanted to, but it did grant him the ability to rescue you from the lingering monsters that came after you in your dreams.

Opening up to Frank about your traumatic past had been a task that terrified you, and you had put it off as long as you possibly could. It was difficult to talk about in general. You didn’t enjoy having to relive that nightmare all over again, but sometimes beneath the depths of sleep, your mind didn’t give you a choice. The first time you had a nightmare in Frank’s presence, it was terrible. 

You had been thrashing around in your unconscious state, warm salty tears staining your cheeks, and the feeling of strong hands holding your body down only sent your subconscious into a further state of panic, crying out for anyone to help. It was several minutes before Frank’s deep voice broke through your psyche, and your eyes suddenly snapped open to meet his horrified ones. Frank was straddling your hips, his large hands wrapped firmly but gently around your wrists, and he had them pinned against his own chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin through your fingertips, and his heartbeat pounding wildly in his chest. His face was twisted up in a concoction of pure concern and unmistakable fear, and that caused an onslaught of overwhelming emotions to crash into you like a merciless tide against an unsuspecting shore.

Fear. Guilt. Shame. Panic. Insecurity.

It all washed down your cheeks in wave after wave, and apologies spewed from your lips like glimmering sea foam. Frank didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what you needed from him at that moment, but he did his best to navigate you away from the storm in your own head to the safety of his serene embrace. 

He had swiftly pulled you up into his arms so that he could hold you in his lap, cradling the back of your head in his large palm against his chest, pressing his lips to your forehead in a permanent kiss. His arms were wrapped tightly enough around you that you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, but not so much that you felt suffocated. Frank rocked you gently in his arms, alternating between shushing you quietly and whispering sweet nothings into your ear to calm you. 

You couldn’t let go of him. Somewhere along the way, you had gone from being terrified of someone to touch you to needing Frank’s touch more than the oxygen in your own lungs. Even despite knowing about Frank’s past and what he had done, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. It was extremely hard for you to trust anyone like that after what had happened to you, but you trusted him. You knew his intentions were always pure. Frank was always gentle with you. He never pushed you to talk if you didn’t want to. He respected all of your boundaries, even the ones you didn’t voice, but he could see. When it came to intimacy, he followed your lead and always made sure you were comfortable before he did anything. 

But it wasn’t until that moment that you realized how safe you were with him. 

That moment of clarity was a huge breakthrough for you, because you finally realized that you had someone that would love you through anything, and would go above and beyond to protect you. 

That what had happened to you would never happen again.

Once you had finally calmed down enough to speak, you told Frank the truth about your traumatic past. Frank listened intently and without judgment, and held your hand the entire time, crafting the safe space you needed to get that weight off your chest. You could see the crestfallen shine coating his waterline as you spoke, and feel his rage for those who had hurt you in the way he tightened his hold on you. 

Everything seemed to click into place for him. He’d had his suspicions that there was something you weren’t telling him. You were just as hypervigilant in public as he was. Shades of discomfort and anxiety coated your face whenever people moved into your space too suddenly, especially men. You had been weary of him when he first met you, and took awhile to warm up to him, but he had just assumed you found him physically intimidating, or that you knew the truth about his past before he’d had a chance to explain himself. Intimacy was a slow process in your relationship, not that he really minded, and he had picked up on your sensitivity to being touched. 

Frank knew the signs of PTSD. He had seen it in several of his friends during his time in the marines. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror. And he saw it in you. 

Your confession only made your relationship stronger with Frank. It helped him understand you on a more intimate level, and helped him figure out what you needed from him when things got bad, or when the shadows of your past came to plague your dreams.

Like they were doing right now.

Frank turned over from his position on his stomach to mold himself against your back, reaching over your hips to grasp one of your hands, lacing his fingers through your own as he brushed his lips against your ear. The little distressed whimpers he heard coming from you broke his heart, and he hoped that he could pull you from the horror film playing in your head before the climax.

“Wake up, sweetheart. C’mon, wake up for me.”

He lightly brushed his thumb along your lower stomach soothingly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, caressing your jaw with featherlight kisses from his plump lips.

“Listen to my voice. Come back to me, baby. C’mon, m’right here.”

He listened intently for the sound of your breathing to become shallow, and a rush of relief flooded his senses when he felt you start to grip his hand for reassurance. 

“There ya go, attagirl. Come to me, baby.”

Frank could faintly see the reflection of the moonlight twinkling in your eyes as they shot open. The shuddering inhale that cut through the silence made his heart ache, but he fought through his own emotions to focus on you.

“Frank?”

The smallness of your voice coming out in shattered fragments hurt him more than any wound he’d ever had. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, pressing his lips to your neck in a tender kiss as he whispered delicately into your ear.

“M’here, sweetheart. Right here.”

For a moment he just held you, his thumb tracing invisible shapes against your skin, giving you a moment of space to figure out what you needed in that moment. Sometimes you knew that answer, and sometimes you needed him to find it.

“Need somethin’, honey?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“S’alright. This one wasn’t so bad, yeah? S’gettin’ better?”

The sound of your deep exhale was loud in his ears. He felt the stiffness of fright slowly melt away from your bones as you relaxed into his embrace, and Frank knew he had you back.

“Yeah.”

For a moment it was silent, nothing but the echo of your confirmation and the summertime breeze rustling through the trees lingering in the air.

“Thank you.”

“Never gotta thank me, sweetheart. I wanna help.”

“You do, a lot. Sometimes I feel like…like I ask too much of-”

“Hey, don’t start that.”

Frank heard your soft sigh of protest, and he held you against him that much tighter in his own silent response.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”

There was a twinge of guilt resonating in your soft confession. Frank glanced behind him to look at the clock on the nightstand, the lime green digital numbers reading three seventeen in the morning. 

“You hungry?”

“What?”

The tone of your voice was a mixture of perplexity and amusement, but he was just glad you sounded like you again.

“Lemme take ya to breakfast, c’mon.”

“Frank, it’s like-what, two in the morning?”

“Three actually.”

Frank was halfway out of bed, prepared to drag you with him, when you gripped onto his hand and your melodic laughter filled the room. God, he had missed that sound.

“Where are we going for breakfast at three in the morning?”

“That diner down the street ya like. They’re open twenty four hours, and they’re one of the only goddamn places in this city knows how to make fuckin’ hash browns right.”

The more Frank talked, the louder your infectious laughter got, and he found himself grinning from ear to ear with pride.

“What are you talking about? What is the right way to make hash browns?”

The incredulity was clear in your tone, even though you were laughing so hard you could hardly speak.

“Gotta cover ‘em and smother ‘em. Onions, cheese, ketchup, maybe a lil hot sauce. There’s a right way and a wrong way, alright? The fact you don’t know there’s a wrong way means you ain’t ever had ‘em right, and what kinda man would I be if I didn’t fix that, huh?”

Frank didn’t wait for your reply. He lifted you up by your waist and gently folded you over his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around the back of your thighs as his free hand came down against your ass in a light smack while he grinned widely.

“Now c’mon, baby. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” 

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[watermelonsugacry]

Writing Fine Line: Falling

A/N: Sorry that it's been forever since I updated with a new chapter but it's finally here! Also, please listen to this cover before or after reading! It's part of the story 😉

SUMMARY: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Falling was made. (4.2K)

GENRE: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn, 

WARNING: angsty, toxic relationship traits

side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary)

MASTERLIST Previous Song Here! ☎

If you asked what was one of YN’s favorite things about California, she’d say the heat. The weather always seems warm enough that even in the early hours of the morning it’s the perfect temperature for a swim. The sun is barely peeking its way through the clouds, stretching itself to come up to spread itself over the beach. 

When she resurfaces the water again, she welcomes the lack of waves. It’s quiet, serene. It’s a nice change from the constant noise of her thoughts running into each other at full speed. The sky's a soft orange and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was in a painting. One thing that YN will always admire and never get tired of is watching the sun rise. No matter what part of the world she's in, if there's a chance to wake up with the sun, she's all for it. 

It’s no secret that Harry likes to compare her to the sun: how she’s too bright for him, how she’s undeniably golden, lighting up his world and all that. For a long time, she never understood it. He’s full of flattery and she doesn’t recount a single day of knowing him that she wasn’t given a compliment from him in some way, shape or form.

You’re lucky you’re cute, lovie.

Oh, now what could I have possibly done to deserve that beautiful smile?

You look absolutely stunning. Y’blinding me, really.

It isn’t until now that she can see the similarities. Sure the sun’s golden and beautiful, but it's also a big ball of hot air. At first glance, someone can appear breath-taking, but when you take a deeper look, it’s a deception and full of exaggerated nonsense. 

After finishing up To Be So Lonely and with the added weight of Mitch’s word from the night before, sleep has gone out the window with a promise of no return. So after tossing and turning in her bed for a few hours, she finally gave into the fact that it was no use.

How can she relax, let alone fall asleep when she’s thinking about him? Worrying her head off about her feelings towards him. Wondering how he could sleeping right now. That he's probably peacefully in dreamland because he doesn't care. How she’s finally pushed him far away enough to keep his distance from her.

So to help clear her thoughts, before anyone else in the house even thinks about the day starting, she sought out to the salty waters of Southern California. 

...

YN finds herself sitting at the old piano in the rooms she’s been staying at in the Malibu home. It’s one of the bedrooms that has tall glass doors that lead directly towards the backyard-private beach area. She has them open constantly. It helps when she’s writing or needs a moment of fresh air.

She absentmindedly plays the piano, her fingers press down on the keys diligently as she tries to find a melody. She looks out into the space in front of her with a tilt of her head as she tries to get her thoughts together. It’s not long until her hands find one, repeating it over and over again until her hands linger for a moment, slowing down.

I'm on my bed, and you're not here.

She thinks back to that night at her house last week, not being able to sleep after sharing a quick kiss.

And there's no one to blame 

But the drink in your wandering hands. 

His bloodshot eyes and hiccups. It’s hard to distinguish if they were from him being drunk or from him crying in her arms.

Forget what I said

It's not what I meant

Please call me your baby again.

And I can't take it back

You can't unpack the baggage I left.

The two have such a long history already filled with confused, untimely emotions that how can she even think to unload her own history onto him?

What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

YN trails off, mindlessly pressing down the keys to the same melody. Isn't it the same with them? The same melody over and over again. Together, then not, then together again. An endless cycle of love and what ifs.

"That sounds beautiful."

YN sucks in a harsh breath, her hands immediately coming to her chest. “Bloody h—”

Harry playfully puts up his hands in defense. "Sorry, petal. Didn't mean to scare yeh."

“S’alright.” YN leans over and taps her phone screen to end her voice memo recording and lets the room grow quiet. The past two days have been off for the both of them. Ever since he wrote To Be So Lonely, the two have been unconsciously putting more and more space between them. After the haze of staying up so late to finish the song had worn off, it has now occurred to them what was written.

It isn’t she finally looks from her lap to her best friends that she notices that his hair is wet, clinging to his forehead and his torso is bare.

“You’re in a towel.” She mutters out dumbly.

“Yeah, just had a shower. Went out for a swim earlier.”

“I did, too.” She says, unconsciously twisting one of the rings of her fingers. “S’nice outside.”

“It is, yeah.” 

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. The awkward silence is suffocating the both of them, each mentally reaching for their necks to find some relief for this new, unwelcomed feeling.

Have they learned nothing? That these silences are overrated and clique and utterly not them.

“What was that?” Harry breaks the silence, carding a hand through his wet hair.

“What was what?”

Harry wordlessly nods over to the piano. A wave of panic washes over her. Did he hear what she was singing? Of course he would, she’s playing a piano in a relatively quiet house in the middle of the afternoon. 

“Just messing around s’all.” There’s a twinge in the back of his neck in knowing that she’s kept her answer short and to the point.

Shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, he breathes out a, “Well I should eh, I should go get dressed.”

She just gives him a curt nod, not saying anything more as she sees him round the corner. She doesn’t turn back to face the piano and continues to write right away like she thought she would. Instead she just stares at the doorway he just walked through.

What happened to them? When did they ever run out of things to say? She's lost count of the times where they've stayed up to the late hours of the night—whether it be over call, text, facetime, or laying next to one another—literally talking about everything and anything they could possibly think of.

She misses the boy she met when she was 16, when things were relatively simple in the band, before ever pursuing each other. There was a sense of comfortability not being able to explore each other in their earlier years of knowing each other. The forced separation their management had on them made it easy to put the blame of their confused, suppressed feeling onto someone else.

But now there’s no one else to blame. They’re adults trying to navigate life with only themselves to cling onto. 

 Who was she without him in her life? Who was she? She doesn't even recognize herself anymore.

She can point the finger at Harry for not fighting hard enough for them to stay together, for his fear of commitment and bailing when things start to get too serious. For not sitting down at talking to her about where their relationship is headed. But she might as well look in a mirror and point the finger right back to herself.

Despite their flaws in their contributions to their romantic relationship, she can't help her heart straining, stretching and pulling every which way to be with him again.

She feels betrayed by her body as her vision begins to go blurry as the tears build up in her eyes. 

Even though there's no one else in the room, she's embarrassed to be seen this way and hides her face in her hands. Her shoulders shaking with a pathetic, muffled sob escaping past her lips.

Harry’s heart breaks into a million pieces right then and there as he leans back against the wall in the hallway. He wants to go in there, pull her into his arms and whisper in her ear that everything will be okay. But how can he say that when he doesn't even know that himself? 

“I had started to feel myself becoming someone I didn’t want to be, and that was really hard.” YN looks down at her lap and starts to fidget with her rings. She looks up for a bit to quickly blink back a few tears. “I was quite frightened as I started to think about how differently my life would be without certain people, without music or being with someone. And when I took those aspects away, I didn’t really know who I was...Sorry.” YN lets out a breathy chuckle as she wipes away a rogue tear rolling down her cheek. 

“Um, I guess this is my current ‘pathetic’ song in that it’s me kind of questioning myself of who I am without this person and just feeling...uncharacteristically desperate? Ugh, gross.” YN visually shudders her shoulders like a chill ran down her spine and chuckles in hopes to make light of her situation.

After spending the rest of the day in the studio recording and finishing up final details on To Be So Lonely, YN finds herself in one of the hammocks in the backyard that looks out to the ocean. She welcomes the silence again, focusing on the salty smell and breeze from the water.

Every now and then she’ll take sips of her tea in her favorite mug that she brought from home. It’s one Harry made when he took her to a little pottery shop where you can make your own mugs a couple years back. They wanted to make one themselves without the other looking and trade them at the end.

While she was determined to make the tallest and widest mug she could make (her edges and handle came out all wonky but he loved it all the same) her jaw was literally on the floor at his pink (and perfect) heart shaped mug.

It became her go-to mug for all of her hot beverages and she can’t shake off the comfort it brings her. So much so that she wakes up wondering where the sun went. The soft yellow lights in the backyard are on and when she rubs the sleep from her eyes, she notices the empty mug hugged close to her chest.

She walks into the kitchen and finds the production team all huddled around the kitchen island table.

“Woman of the hour!” Jeff smiles, making all the men join in the commotion. YN lets out a wolf whistle at how the men are dressed for a night out on the town.

“Don’t you all look tasty. What’s the occasion?” YN says as she puts her mug in the dishwasher. She almost feels guilty for being so underdressed standing next to them in a simple pair of high-waisted jean shorts, a white tank top and matching cardigan.

“We were thinking about going to check out a bar that Kid’s been telling us about." Tyler nods to the other producer. "Join us?”

It isn't until now that she notices a tall bottle of alcohol in the center of the table, a shot glass in everyone's hands as they pregame for the night. It's hard not to notice that her person isn't there. It's unlike him to not be amongst the group on a night like this. He's usually the one to be the talk of the group, refilling everyone's drink and easing the atmosphere like no one else can.

"Where's H?" 

There’s a beat of silence among the group, giving each other subtle glances which only makes YN raise an eyebrow. 

"Still in the studio.” Jeff reluctantly lets out. "He hasn't left in a while.” 

When Kid sees the way her shoulders tense up, he lets out a chuckle and adds, “He’s one of the hardest working artists I’ve ever worked with, I’ll tell you that. Such a perfectionist.”

YN doesn't suggest coaxing him out of the studio room or to just leave him be. Instead, she gives them her best soft smile—she's grateful for some things from her media training—and shakes her head.

“Y’guys go ahead. Think m’going to head off to bed now. Enjoy the night, yeah?” 

She internally lets out a sigh of relief as the men nod, not seeming to find anything suspicious, before giving her a hug. They all wish her a good night before filing out the door.

"Doesn't seem like he wants company right now." Mitch whispers when his arms are around her. 

"I didn't say anything about going to see him." YN defends herself but she knows she's caught when he lets out a deep sigh, not in frustration but in knowing her better.

"Y'so stubborn.” When he pulls back, his next words ring through her mind even after he’s gone out the door. 

“But we all know that if anyone is to get him, it’s you."

Walking into the kitchen, she fixes him a plate of the watermelon they cut yesterday without a second thought, knowing he must have not eaten since the morning. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous going to see him. He's her best friend and they’re just going through a rough patch. A confused, frayed patch over an even more confusing relationship.

She finds Harry in the recording room slouched over the piano, pressing down the keys with a furrow of his eyebrows. When she walks in a bit closer, she hears the familiar melody she came up with earlier today.

“Wha’re doing?” 

Harry looks up a little startled, too enraptured by the music he didn’t even notice she came to stand in front of the piano. 

He rubs a hand over his face, scratching the stubble on his jaw before sighing as he tries to think of something, anything to say other than the pathetic truth.

“Erm, just messing around. Trying some stuff out. S’nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” YN sets down the plate on top of the piano. He slides over a bit to make room for her as she plops down the bench with him. As much as he tries to resist, he can’t take his eyes off of her profile. 

He watches the cream cardigan slip from her shoulder and catches a glimpse at the hummingbird tattoo on her shoulder blade. When she got it, she told him, “It's supposed to serve as a reminder to enjoy the simple pleasures in life and all tha’...Guess I did a shitty job at the placement because how the fook am I supposed to remember if I can’t see it.”

She shrugs her shoulders, matching his sigh. “Guess m’just gonna have to sue you for copyright then.”

Harry lets out a small chuckle, her voice unknowingly smoothing out the pinch and strain from his back. He tries not to focus too much on how their thighs are pressed together, taking everything in him not to reach out and take the hand in her lap to thread it with his. So he keep his occupied by grabbing a cube of fruit she brought him.

“What I hadn’t really experienced before during the making of this record,” Harry moves his hand out in front of him as he speaks, the infamous crease between his eyebrows makes its inevitable appearance. “The times when I felt good and happy were the happiest I’ve ever felt in my life. And the times when I felt sad were the lowest that I’ve ever felt in my life.

“S’just, your song kind of stuck with me earlier. Couldn’t get the melody out of my head.”

She tries not to show the panic rising in her face again. She instead looks down as her index finger presses down random keys in front of her. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I um, I hope you don’t mind but I kind of wrote a verse of my own.” Harry rubs the underside of this nose before lazily pointing to the lineless pieces of paper sitting at the little ledge above the keys, his scribbled out writing scattered all along the page. "Didn't get very far cause I'm shit at piano."

She smiles at his nervous chuckle. All day he's been missing his smile, the ones where his dimples dig into his cheeks and she gets to see his two front teeth bite down on his bottom lip.

YN wrings her hands out before placing them on the keys. It’s not long before the familiar melody sounds throughout the room. She keeps her eyes on her hands when she sings her lyrics, too nervous and hyper-aware that he’s burning holes at the side of her head.

She doesn’t dare breathe in his direction when she vents through her music. Other than being physically wrapped up in one another in the bedroom, this is her being her most intimate self. How can she look him in the eyes while she sings about his drinking incident earlier in the year? About what their most recent shared kiss did to her? About how much she wants him back?

What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

Keeping her eyes on the keys in front of her, she takes in a shaky breath before continuing. 

Are you falling out of love with me?

I'm afraid to ask what do you mean

I'm falling into you

I'm falling into you

Harry takes over as she continues to play, “You said you cared.”

“And I still care,” She echoes, finding the strength to look to her love.

“And you missed me too.” 

“I miss you,” She sighs and he watches his love’s eyes turn glossy.

“And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you,” YN finds it in her to let out a small, breathy laugh at his words. A small, sad smile softly tugs on the corners of his lips as well.

And the coffees out 

At the Beachwood Cafe

And it kills me cause I know we’ve run out of things could say

As they sing the chorus together, she’s finding that her feelings aren’t one sided, the good and the bad. It seems dumb to her now to think that he hadn't picked up on their lack of comfortable conversation or physical platonic touches. 

That he shares her same fears.

And I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again

They repeat the chorus together and there’s that familiar sense of having each other close again that just makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay again.

YN fingers slow down as she lets the last notes linger making the song come to its end. Their eyes flick back and forth from one another’s, eventually falling to their lips. They're close enough to feel their breath on one another’s skin and it makes them both dizzy, intoxicated, and overwhelmed. 

"I can't." Harry sees the way the tears escape her eyes, her nose and cheeks pink, and eyebrows utterly distraught. “I...I have to leave.”

In a blink of an eye, YN is up and out of her seat, making her way out of the recording room.

It takes a second for him to snap himself out of his thoughts and realize what she's doing. His panic and confusion rises up even further when he follows her down the hall and sees her grabbing her purse, the jingle of her keys in hand makes a chill run down his spine.

He tries to think of something, anything to get her from leaving. The words get stuck in his throat, mentally screaming himself to do something. He doesn’t think when he quickly puts himself between her and the door. “YN, please—”

“What do you want from me?” Her eyes search his with a fury behind them, her chest rising up and down at a fast pace. He has to admit that the volume in her voice made him shudder a bit. He understands why she would, all of this pent up frustration and whiplash was all going to inevitably lead to this.

“If I could take it back, I would.” Harry thinks that there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to take away her pain, their shared hurt and confusion. His drunken mistakes, ever making her less than what she's worth. For ever making the tears escape her eyes.

“No, you wouldn’t.” YN snaps back. “Then you wouldn’t have a song to write about then, huh? To put on your album.” 

Harry takes a step back like she pushed him. “That’s real low."

“Is it? So y’going to tell me that not every single song that we’ve made so far hasn’t been about me? Like we didn’t just sing yet another song about us?” He doesn’t say anything, he can’t because he knows she’s right.  “How is this any different from Jamaica? 

“It's not. I knew I loved you then and—"

"And now?" She interrupts him, her eyes wide and searching for the answer she hopes for.

"And now...I..." I still love you, now more than ever before. "It’s complicated."

At least that’s one thing that’s been consistent throughout their relationship together, romantic or otherwise.

“Yeah, it is inn’t.” YN says, nodding her head and pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek in hopes to sustain any more tears yet failing to keep them from spilling out. “Y’know what? S’fine.” 

She lifts her hands beside her head like she’s surrendering herself from the conversation. When she drops her hands to her side with a soft pat, he almost finds relief that they don’t have to argue anymore.

Almost. 

“I quit.”

And that has his heart dropping right down to the bottom of his stomach.

“Quit? W-what do you mean quit?”

“I can’t work for you. I can’t do this with you anymore, Harry. I really thought I could. I thought I could keep whatever’s between us professional but I was only kidding m’self."

"Please, please don’t go. I-I can't be alone—"

"Don't. Harry, do you not realize how suffocating this is?” YN waves her hands between them. “It-it feels like m’drowning. I can't keep going in this endless circle with you. First you want to be with me, but you get scared and pull yourself from the relationship. You say you’re my best friend but you treat me like we’re more. You have me sitting in that damn studio and listening to you sing songs about how much you adore me. S’like you’re taking advantage of me.”

“Don’t turn this all round on me!” She’s seen him angry a couple of times in the history of knowing him, but never has he ever been this cross with her, never has he raised his voice this loud at her. "You know damn well you do the exact same thing to me! Just admit it, you can't be without me just as I can't be without you."

"I, it's..." 

"Complicated?" She knows he's right, but it's times like now where she doesn't see how much in common the two have. Her massive ego doesn't want to agree with him but she has to...but not without her stubborn little attitude.

“Fine! You’re right, Harry. It is complicated, are you happy now? We’re fine, we’ll be alright. Just move.” YN makes headway towards the front door again since he’s moved out of her way. As she’s about to have her hand on the handle when he speaks up again.

“Yeah, we always are.” His tone is steady and low, almost calm but she knows he's anything but. It's dismissive and passive aggressive and it gets right under her skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

 “Don’t leave.” Harry finally huffs out. “Talk to me, yell at me. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” He decides to push her further. Her silence is more deafening than her yelling and it’s eating him alive. "I know you still care about me. And that, and that you miss me. And maybe...you still have deeper feelings for me.” His voice almost goes into a whisper at the last part.

She wants to tell him a million things, but her head-strong self is nowhere to be found. She’s truly weak for him, truly a fool for the man in front of her.

When he’s met with her silence, he can't help but let out a dry laugh, raking his fingers through his hair. "You know I'll give you anything, do anything at the drop of a hat when you ask but, man, I can't stand you sometimes either."

"I shouldn't have come here." YN says so quietly that he might have missed it if he wasn't listening carefully.

"Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't have."

YN looks up at him with the most hurt expression he’s ever seen on her, clearly not expecting him to agree. She doesn't say anything more. 

She quickly and harshly wipes her wet checks before turning around and swinging the door open. The sound of the door slamming shut makes Harry jump and crumb every ounce of his self being. The weight of her leaving is heavy, crushing, that it has him falling to his knees and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Next song here! 🎺

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolkloreore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel

[nottodaymin]

A Promise Fulfilled

Warning: MCD, grief, mourning, slight dissociating

Soap keeps his promise, but it happens in a way no one would’ve thought. They were both sitting outside smoking. Ghost had forgotten his own lighter. Soap graciously gave his own to the Bit, joking and poking at Ghost all the while. Ghost couldn’t hide behind the mask now, not that he minded it much. Soap was safe. Soap acted like each time Ghost showed any part of his face was a religious experience, like meeting his own personal angel. Like what he’s seeing are some things precious and worthy of being treasured. He calls the Scot and idiot with a faint smile each time. Soap just gives him a crooked grin in response. This night they are mostly silent, tired from missions upon missions. Neither are sleeping well, nightmares keeping them awake. Soap decided to break the silent serenity. “I’ll show ya the highlands, L.t! Then you’ll know true beauty!” They both looked up at the stars simultaneously. “Sure.” “I promise you. Pinky promise!” Ghost snorted and bumps his elbow into Soap’s side. “I’ll hold you to it, Sergeant.” They continued this small ritual, when they can’t sleep they meet up outside and share a cigarette. They end up learning a lot about the other, Soap is the one who shares most stories. Most of them are of his earlier days in the military or right before. Ghost shared very little about himself but Soap seems more than satisfied to listen to it, no matter how little. Ghost then decided to share his music taste. Soap perked up. Music was something they both were interested in, they shared their favourite bands and albums, and gave each other recommendations.

—

When he arrived back on base his whole team was there. Gaz and Soap were grinning. Price was beside them, one hand on Gaz’s shoulder, more neutral but still happy to see Ghost again. He smiled underneath the mask, happy to see his team again. They all greeted him with bumps and claps on his shoulders joined by welcoming words. Gaz slipped a cheeky comment. Ghost gave him a light playful shove. He was happy to be back with them. Soap gave his vest a fistbump with a cheeky, “missed us, L.t?” “No, I really enjoyed my little vacation.” Soap rolled his eyes at him. “You want to go back on a new one?” “I would rather kill myself.” “Awww, so you did miss us!”

—

Soap’s head is lying on his lap while Ghost plays with his hair. “If we get out, what life do you want?” Ghost takes a few seconds to think. The immediate reaction is ‘I’ll never leave this hell, it’s all I know’ but now he has Soap. Someone he cares for so dearly. “A calm one. Not completely cut off from the city but still far enough to have peace. Maybe a dog and a cat.” Soap smiles up at him. “That sounds nice. I want that with you.” Soap closes his eyes, sleepy from having his hair played with. “I want it with you too.” He whispers, smiling softly.

—

He has a bad feeling. Something will happen and he wants to stop it. They need to hurry. He can’t. It happened too quickly. No one was able to stop him. He should’ve been there earlier. His heart hurts, so does his head. Suddenly his body feels empty like a hole opened and swallowed everything. His fingers are ice-cold even though he’s wearing gloves. He rushes up to him. Soap’s body laying lifeless on the ground. Blood pooling around his head. He’s dead yet Ghost takes off a glove and checks for a pulse. Nothing. There’s no pulse. Absolutely nothing. He’s gone. He’s really gone. The lifeless eyes stare up at him. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts so bad. Starting deep in his chest and spreading out. He can’t leave him. He can’t leave Johnny. It can’t be real. He takes Soap’s head and places it on his lap. So light. It makes him sick, but he can’t move away. His clothes get soaked with the blood of his now dead lover. There’s commotion around him, but it’s all muffled. He can’t bring himself to look away from his Johnny. His poor Johnny. Now gone. No one will ever hear his laugh. No one will make him smile so wide his eyes crinkle. Ghost can’t make him roll his eyes from his terrible dad jokes. No more of anything with his Johnny. He just stares down. It all feels so unreal. He must be dreaming. But he can feel the cooling blood. Someone puts their hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t react. His vision gets blurry. He doesn’t react. It’s all white noise.

—

“You were right, Johnny,” he looks down at the urne in his hand, “it’s beautiful.” The winds blows gently around him, making the planes around him sing along. Price and Gaz had already left, probably back at the car already and waiting for him but Ghost couldn’t bring himself to turn back yet. He looked down. It was a huge drop from where he stood. His legs felt weak so he sat down. The ground was slightly damp but Ghost couldn’t bring it in him to care. He looked down at the cold urne again. “You kept your promise, you cunt. I kind of wish you never did. Are you laughing at me now?” He mused out loud. He could imagine Soap standing by his side cackling and making jokes at Ghost’s expense. But not physically having the man here was worse. His heart still aches. It’s so empty. They all miss him. Miss his energy, both high and calm. It’s all gone and all they have left is memories. “I miss you so fucking much, Johnny.” A tear falls down his face, mask taken off when Price and Gaz left. “I should be used to losing men, but you…. You just had to worm yourself into my heart, didn’t you?” His throat closes up and words gets harder to get out. “I wanted to make it official. After we got the bastard, we would leave this life and start a new one…. I will kill him. For you.” More tears fall. He can’t stop it.

[coralhoneyrose]

Alrighty, ask meme! I'll have 4, 7, 14, and 38, if you please!

Ahhh, thank you so much for the ask! :D

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Not a *whole* lot, honestly! The only idea I am truly ‘nurturing’ (as in actively helping it to grow) is Half Orange. If you broaden that to also include stuff I have taken the time to make some sort of slapdash outline for, then there are four others. One I don’t think I’ve talked about on here before is a humorous, family fluff one-shot from the POV of Morgan when he is in his late teens and struggling to come to terms with how cringe and mushy and embarrassing his parents are about their love for each other once Robin returns post-sacrifice LOL

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

A memory strikes him suddenly, illuminated as if by a stray sunbeam, of huddling midst the shelves with his sisters, Emmeryn reading him and Lissa some old Ylissean fairytale while a storm pounded down overhead and lightning flashes made a glowing tapestry of the colored glass.

He doubts that they were in this particular row of books back then, but the view is the same. Today, tiny dust particles swim in the late spring sunshine, but he can still hear how the thunder made the window shiver; Emmeryn’s bell-clear voice, serene and unafraid. Sometimes he wonders if grieving a person in the same space you lived with them isn’t more of a cruelty than a comfort…but he can’t imagine choosing to give it up either.

There’s this literary technique I have noticed some of my favorite writers use on occasion where a character’s wandering / idle thoughts while looking at something in the environment wind up being a means for insight into their characterization or mental state. I think it can be tricky to execute in a way that doesn’t feel disruptive, but I was reasonably happy with my attempt here. I also think grieving is a really complicated emotion, and it’s one I struggle a lot with capturing all the facets of while writing, but this was a rare instance where I felt like the words got across the feeling I wanted them to.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

If we are excluding the infamous old tumblr posts that convinced all of us you are never supposed to use the word ‘said’ and that you should invent as many epithets as possible to refer to characters, I would probably say “don’t use adverbs”. Obviously it’s very possible to overdo it, and I will admit my writing has a tendency towards clutter and that adverbs probably contribute. But some people really act like adverbs are the devil, and the idea that an entire part of speech has next to no place in writing is kind of absurd to me. I have also read books where clever and intentional use of adverbs was extremely effective in contributing to humor or tone setting and if those authors had followed that advice, I would have enjoyed their books a lot less.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

Oh man, very hard to choose just one when this is true of like…virtually every review I have ever been lucky enough to receive. One specific one that comes to mind, though, was a comment on the accidental engagement fic where the commenter compared Chrom to one of those tropical birds doing a mating dance, and Robin just Not Getting It despite his best efforts. It was such a hilarious and strikingly accurate description of their dynamic in that fic and I got such a kick out of it. I subsequently mentioned the comment to Bustle, and she wound up linking this video, and for the rest of the day, I would just periodically start smiling really big or burst out laughing every time I thought about Chrom and Robin as these two birds. The narration absolutely kills me too.

[espithewarlock]

Happy @1016week! Day 3 - Blasphemy!

This is Part 2 of my 4-part series, Part 4 was released yesterday!

╰(*°▽°*)╯

Organized religion was really more of a habit these days than anything else. There was something comforting about the idea of an omnipresent devine entity and a serene afterlife, but belief was a separate thing entirely.

Pierre believed in what he could see, hear, feel, experience with his own senses. He worshiped exclusively at the altar of Charles Leclerc.

He was aware, of course, of the warnings against worshiping false idols, but he also figured he would be given a pass for this one.

Charles was perfection. There was really no point in pretending otherwise.

His existence brought light into Pierre’s world and he would happily spend his days in devout worship as a congregation of one.

There was so much that Pierre loved about Charles. Laughter was a known constant when they were together, free and wonderful. His compassion, kindness, and selflessness off-track was admirable. His dedication and ruthlessness on-track even more so.

All of those things, though, were intangible. Pierre liked to feel when he worshiped.

He ran his finger lightly over Charles’ brow, just over eyelids that were closed in sleep. Pierre didn’t need those eyes to be open to admire them. The color was permanently burned into his brain. A brilliant green that filled his dreams.

There was a slight flicker as Pierre traced his finger across cheekbones and the spaces where dimples were currently invisible. Those were incredibly lovely and it was one of Pierre’s favorite things to make them appear in an unexpected bout of joy.

Charles’ mouth was incredible. Pierre was always enraptured with every word that spilled out of it. The plush, pink lips fit perfectly with his own and were absolutely flawless when wrapped around his fingers or his cock.

In fact, it was one of Pierre’s favorite fantasies to indulge in on a busy day. Just the idea of walking through the media pen, shoving his thumb into Charles’ mouth without preamble, and watching his eyes darken with lust in front of everyone was enough to send shivers down his spine.

(Of course, Pierre was just as likely to drop to his knees and worship Charles with his mouth in full view of everyone. The particulars didn’t matter in this fantasy.)

Pierre felt a strong exhalation as he ran his finger across Charles’ bottom lip and felt his face curl into a smile. His eyes began to sleepily flutter open as he came to wakefulness.

“What are you doing?” Charles asked, voice low, husky, and thick with sleep.

“Admiring how beautiful you are,” Pierre said softly, once again running his finger across Charles’ forehead, cheekbones, and down to his chin.

A little sigh, exasperated and fond, slipped out of Charles’ mouth. “Pierre…” he started to protest but was cut off.

“You are beautiful,” Pierre interjected, “and I’m going to show you exactly how beautiful I think you are.”

Another little sigh escaped from Charles, but he did not argue. Instead, he gave a tiny nod and let his eyes flutter closed as he surrendered himself to Pierre.

It was so easy to worship at the temple that was Charles Leclerc.

Pierre shifted so that he could brush the faintest of kisses across Charles’ mouth. As much as he loved spending time there, he did not linger long. He started kissing along Charles’ jawline, feeling him tilt his head up to grant Pierre better access.

The trail of kisses continued down Charles’ strong neck. They both had to work hard to maintain the muscles that were required to safely operate their cars, and Pierre loved Charles’ neck.

He longed to mark it up, to claim Charles with bruises and bites for the world to see, but Pierre held himself back. No visible marks was their tacit agreement.

Still, Pierre let his teeth scrape lightly against the soft skin. It was a promise that someday they would share that they belonged to each other. For now, Pierre contented himself with featherlight kisses across the entire expanse.

He continued his journey down the right side of Charles’ body. His neck gave way to the broad lines of his shoulder that Pierre loved to see shaking with laughter. The way he hunched his shoulders when laughing, as if he was embarrassed by the sound, was incredibly endearing.

After Charles’ shoulder, Pierre decided to continue down his arm. He worked his way over the bicep, kissing every bit of the muscle he could reach.

When they went to the gym together, Pierre loved to take a quick respite to watch Charles lift weights. His arms were so strong and the sight of them flexing while he concentrated always made Pierre want to feel those arms wrapped around him instead.

He planted a quick kiss to the crook of Charles’ elbow, then lifted his arm for better access to the top of his forearm. He reached the wrist and kissed the bones there. It was currently bare, but Pierre was very familiar with the multitude of bracelets and watches that were frequently found decorating him.

Pierre took Charles’ hand in his own hand and kissed the back of it, right in the center, as if he was a lucky knight kneeling before his prince. Well, Charles was his prince, and Pierre made sure to kiss every single knuckle in reverence before flipping his hand over.

More kisses were planted on the pads of Charles’ fingers and Pierre took the opportunity to rub them across his own lips. He adored Charles’ fingers in every situation. Holding a microphone, his water bottle, his steering wheel in the paddock. Curled around a hot mug of tea in their kitchen.

Shoved inside of his mouth. Tugging at his hair. Giving long and languid or quick and frantic strokes to his cock.

Anything involving Charles’ fingers was enough to make Pierre’s pulse quicken. He made sure to lavish the inside of every joint before he started back up Charles’ arm.

Pierre could feel Charles’ pulse as he kissed the inside of his wrist. It was strong but not frantic as he willingly accepted the attention Pierre was giving to his body. He smiled as he licked and kissed his way up Charles’ arm to arrive back at his chest.

Once he got there, he purposefully dragged his tongue in a straight line to Charles’ nipple. Pierre got his first gasp as he circled it with his tongue, then clamped his mouth over it to give it a strong suck.

Charles arched his back at the sensation while Pierre continued his ministrations. He teased it with his teeth, then brought his lips around it to add pressure while he pulled. Charles’ breath started to escape in short, quick pants while Pierre lavished the area with his mouth.

Eventually, he released the bud to continue peppering kisses across the flat plane of Charles’ stomach. He spent a minute kissing along Charles’ hipbones, again using his teeth to scrape along the outside.

The hips were one of the few places on Charles’ body that Pierre was allowed to leave marks. Those usually came in the form of bruises when Pierre grasped them too tightly, but he was also known to pinch them on occasion or brush his fingers across them even while they were in public.

He ignored the area between Charles’ hips for a moment while he continued down the outside of Charles’ leg. The powerful thighs were lax under his mouth and hands, but Pierre knew exactly how strong they were when wrapped around his body. He loved the feeling of Charles using his legs to pull them close and hold them together.

More kisses were planted in a line over Charles’ knee and on his calf until Pierre reached his ankle. He gave the outside bone one soft kiss before shifting so that he was between Charles’ legs.

Pierre wrapped his hand around Charles’ ankle and used the leverage to lift his leg, pushing until Charles’ thigh was flush with his chest. He took a moment to admire the view, the entire expanse of Charles' nude body, as he kept pushing Charles’ leg sideways until he was spread completely open for Pierre.

Charles was so pliant as he went with the motions and looked incredible. The sight of him, bare and exposed, slightly flushed and semi-hard, was more than enough to make Pierre’s blood boil.

He was so beautiful like this. A sight for Pierre’s eyes that nobody else would ever get to witness.

A privilege and an honor for his most devoted follower.

Just because he could, Pierre pulled and pushed Charles’ leg in another circle. He watched as an amused smile curled across Charles’ face as he once again laid himself open for Pierre.

“So beautiful,” Pierre murmured while he kissed the inside of Charles’ ankle. He slowly lowered the leg back down to the bed as he kissed along Charles’ calf until he returned to the thigh.

The inside of Charles’ thighs were a blank canvas, and Pierre was an artist. This was a place where he was truly able to mark up and he started painting.

Soft kisses covered the entire surface to start. Then, Pierre rubbed his beard until there was a healthy flushed tint to the skin. After that, he sank his teeth in. Hard.

Charles actually cried out at the first bite. It was in surprise, not in pain, and Pierre could feel Charles’ thigh trembling as he held it in place.

More bites followed that first one, scattered around and mixed with kisses as he sucked and marked up the skin. Charles squirmed as he tried to hold himself still.

This was the one place where Pierre could claim and mark Charles’ body as his own. It had been far too long since he had last indulged. He mentally promised to never again be so remiss in his worship.

Once he was satisfied with the markings, the blood pooling and bruising underneath the skin, Pierre leaned in close right between Charles’ legs. He flicked his tongue briefly against Charles’ hole and received a hitched gasp in response.

Pierre loved Charles’ hole. Adored it whenever he got the chance. He would happily spend hours languishing attention there with his mouth, his hands, or his cock.

But that was not his goal. At least, not his current goal at that very moment.

He repeated the attention he gave to Charles’ right thigh on his left thigh, knowing that the marks would last for days. Both of them would be able to see it when they were like this, bare with each other, and Pierre knew that Charles would be feeling it constantly.

The thought was thrilling and Pierre hoped that Charles would be willing to reciprocate soon. (He knew that he would, of course, but not today. Today was about Charles.)

Pierre mirrored his actions onto Charles’ left leg until he was biting once again at his hip. When he got there, he could see that Charles was fully turned on, hard and leaking, but he ignored his cock. He needed to save the best for last, after all.

He continued across the strong, flat abs and felt Charles suck in a breath as his beard brushed the sensitive skin. Pierre kept up the trail of light kisses until he returned to Charles’ chest.

His nipple was waiting for him, pebbled and prominent against his chest, and Pierre did not need an invitation. He attached his mouth to the nub and sucked, not relenting as Charles pushed his chest up to try and ease the pressure.

A smirk crossed his face as Pierre kept working the nipple with his teeth and lips, causing Charles to cry out incoherently with the sensations.

Pierre knew that they must be overwhelming from the way Charles was shaking, but he did nothing to try and stop Pierre. It was incredible that Pierre was allowed to play with Charles’ body in such a way. He was completely devoted to bringing Charles pleasure.

Eventually, he relented and Pierre trailed kisses along the inside of Charles’ arm. He stopped at the hand once again, pressing the pads of Charles’ fingers to his mouth before flipping it over to kiss every single knuckle with reverence.

The last knuckle on Charles’ fourth finger, his ring finger, got some extra attention. Someday soon, Pierre was going to put a ring there. He had one waiting in the back of one of his drawers and had a plan for how he was going to propose.

It wasn’t going to be today, but that didn’t mean that Pierre couldn’t tease. He ran his tongue completely around the base of the finger, forming a temporary ring out of his saliva.

Charles would know what he was hinting at. He knew that Pierre wanted to be the one to propose to him and this would tell him that day was coming soon.

As soon as he was done lavishing attention to Charles’ hand, Pierre slowly worked his way back up his arm, fighting the impulse to rush impatiently.

He eventually made it back to Charles’ shoulder and tucked his face into the crook of his neck. As much as he, again, wanted to mark the skin there, Pierre refrained and held himself to teasing instead of bruising sucks.

The trail of kisses continued across Charles’ jaw until Pierre finally reattached their lips together.

Unlike the first kiss of the day, barely more than a light brush of their lips, this one was deep. Pierre devoured Charles’ mouth and moved so he was completely covering his body.

He felt Charles’ hardness against his hip and broke their mouths apart so he could whisper directly into his ear.

“What do you want, mon amour,” Pierre said, voice low and suggestive, “my hands? My mouth? My hole? It’s all yours. Everything I am belongs to you.”

Pierre could feel Charles trembling beneath him but there was no immediate response from the other man. “Or maybe you want something else,” he continued, “do you want my tongue in your hole? My fingers? My cock? Do you want me to split you open until you see stars?”

The moan that Charles gave sounded so delicious that Pierre had to try and swallow it. Their lips glided together while Pierre circled his hips, showing Charles exactly what was available to him.

“Anything,” Charles gasped between breaths, “I want anything you’ll give me. Just…please Pierre, I–”

Pierre cut him off with a swift kiss that left him panting. Charles’ request was simple since there was no part of Pierre that would deny him anything.

He grinned as he slowly worked his way back down the center of Charles’ body. It was so easy to worship at the altar of Charles Leclerc.

[mywritingonlyfans]

okay I met a writer that I really like and I decided to write about

Yesterday, I had the privilege of meeting a writer whom I greatly admire – one of those authors whose words move us to tears and make us aspire to even a 1% fraction of their talent. I spent several hours in line at the event, eagerly anticipating the chance to attend her interview alongside another writer, whom I'd heard of but never read (a decision I now regret, as reading his work beforehand would have enhanced my appreciation of the interview and possibly earned me an autograph – however, I left the event with one of his books in hand!).

The first 100 people in line were granted passes for the autograph session, but unfortunately, I didn't make the cut. This session was scheduled after the interview, which, by the way, was worth every second and utterly enchanting. Following the interview, I took a stroll around the event venue and then returned to the autograph area. Along with a few others without passes, I lingered there, all of us hopeful that we might also receive autographs. To our surprise and delight, she graciously accommodated us, thanked us, posed for photos, and listened attentively. Her voice was remarkably serene, reflecting a person who was genuinely kind in every way – an absolute delight.

Next to her, the author I'd just met was also signing books. He too extended his generosity to those without passes. However, I didn't have his book yet and feared leaving the spot, possibly missing out on the autograph I desired. The man accompanying me, who had already received the writer's autograph I'd just met, offered his own recently purchased book, saying, "Go ahead, take my book. It's a unique opportunity." He was incredibly kind, and despite my concerns about him losing his book, he was entirely unconcerned and handed it to me from his bag. I didn't take him up on the offer, ultimately regretting my decision as I now realize there was enough time.

Later on, this same man kindly lent me his phone, along with another girl, so we could take photos with the writer since our own batteries were running dangerously low. Moreover, as I stepped out of the autograph area feeling somewhat dejected, four older women noticed and offered me their bracelets. They took their time removing them, being incredibly delicate and cautious not to damage the bracelets, and placed one on my wrist while wishing me good luck. (I later discovered that these bracelets were specifically for the other author, and once again, if the young man had appeared earlier with his book, I would have succeeded.)

It was an extraordinary day, and I left feeling so elated that I ended up purchasing more books than I had initially intended. I'm sharing this experience here because it holds immense significance for me and serves as a reminder of the incredible feeling of being surrounded by people who share the same passions. It underscores how we readily assist one another because we understand the importance of our shared interests. Undoubtedly, being a fan is one of the most profound and enjoyable emotions I've ever experienced.

[faithinlouisfuture]

I started to type all of this on the night of my show but literally passed out in the middle, cuz I had been up for 23 hours at that point! Today was my flight back home. It feels surreal that I saw him just day before yesterday (yesterday for me if you account for all the time zone differences) and now I’m back in my bed thousands of miles away 😭 Literally feels like a fever dream! To get to the point though (and you know this is about to get insanely long cuz who am I if not a rambler?)

First and foremost HE IS NEVER EVER BEATING THE SUN ALLEGATIONS!!! I had been in Istanbul for a week before the show day, and the weather had been cool and cloudy and it had even rained on and off, come concert day the SUN came out in full force!!! It was the sunniest it had been all week! He literally just carries the sunshine with him 😭

About the show itself; OMG!!! I have watched every single livestream from Dallas to Mexico City n3 but nothing could have prepared me for Louis in real life. Seeing him with my own two eyes makes him even more unreal if that’s possible. He’s literally impossibly beautiful. He radiates. He’s everything! HIS VOICE. It’s so pretty 😭 it’s wind chimes on a sea side resort, it’s hummingbirds in a serene jungle, it’s gritty when it needs to be and soft when it needs to be and I just… I’m speechless but I also want to write multiple essays on the topic! If only I was eloquent enough! Livestreams truly cannot capture the real quality of it, even though he sounds so beautiful on those too, but in person it’s just, there’s this quality to it, like dripping honey and so effortlessly cool.

God he was so happy and babie!!! Ngl I was hoping I’d get a slutty Louis show but OMG he was so so so happy and babie and cheeky! And he looked so good I can’t even explain. I absolutely loved the top he wore for the show! 😍 he had the most beautiful wispy hair situation going on, his skin looked so unreal and beautiful, his tattoos in real life 😭😭😭 His bone structure!!! How is that even possible?!? The royal peach?!? EXCUSE ME SIR! With that waist, and the way he holds himself! And moves his delicate hands and pops that hip sometimes. His smile!!! It lit up the entire place!!! HIS EYES!!! like they literally sparkle like actual gems 😭 I just could go on and on and on times infinity!

It took me about 4 songs to notice that Matt wasn’t even there cuz I couldn’t peel my eyes away from Louis. (I may have peeled them away for a few seconds to oggle at Michael though - GOOD GOD. That man is hot! I have some Michael content to post too!)

And I know that so many people have already mentioned this fact before but omg his stage presence. He owns the entire space. There were tens of thousands of people there, and the crowd was insanely rowdy but the second he hits that stage - he commands every iota of your attention. The way he prowls the entire stage, at times bunny hopping, and makes sure to go to every corner, and interact with every section! Mr. Pointy Fingers as always, pointing at signs, flipping people off, being his cheeky adorable self! It was an EXPERIENCE™ seeing it all live 😭 I will never forget, I want it all tattooed on the inside of eyelids! And I truly hope that every single louie gets to experience it for themselves!

Seems like he’s gonna stick to the San Juan set list for the Asian leg. (I tried to include my track by track rambling on the show in this post but tumblr said I dont think so cuz apparently I exceeded the word limit allowed for one post 🫣 so I guess I’ll make a separate post for that even if just for myself. Cuz I want to remember it all)!

TRULY AN EXPERIENCE OF A LIFETIME. And I’m so glad that I got to share it with other solos 🤍 So glad to have met both of you in person Max & Vee! @fearlesspuff @sunshinebinx and so so thankful to have had you there throughout the waiting line torture and the gate entrance madness and then the after show freaking out! Hope we can attend future Louis concerts together some day too! x

[drabbleface]

Some more cozy Ghouls! This time with everyone’s favorite gremlin, Dewdrop! SFW Dew x GN!Reader

Cozy. Warm. Soft. Lounging about was always the nicest part of a lazy, rainy day, as the scent of fresh dew and moist earth wafted its way through a partially cracked-open window. The soft pitter-patter of water droplets upon the roof and windows, frogs croaking and chirping their songs, the light drag and thump of spade-tipped tail, deep gray in color, contentedly patting the leathery couch arm in a slow rhythm; life was good. 

Not just any old life - it was yours. Your life, in the cozy Ghoul common room, sharing a spot on the couch with your (that could be argued, as he didn’t feel he belonged to anyone) hellspawned Dewdrop. Besides the sounds of the outside world and the occasional sighs between the two of you, everything was blissfully quiet; no words needed to be spoken to agree that it was perfectly peaceful. Stretched out with your heels resting on the other arm of the couch and the back of your head rested on the lithe-yet-solid thigh of the demon, you took a moment to appreciate the sight above you: the contrasting pale blue v-neck shirt against his dark gray skin, the column of his neck which led up to a sharp, angular jawline and a face with a defined nose and cheekbones, and long, straight, silvery hair that started at the widow’s peak and in-between two textured horns and was pushed back and over his left shoulder to expose his long, pointed ears. His eyes were closed and his lips were resting together with a half smile, and you swear that if you looked up ‘serene’ in the dictionary, this would be the exact image you saw. 

Be it his heightened senses, or maybe the deep sigh that escaped you, the demon opened his eyes and turned his attention down at your face, his eyes half-lidded and yet still glowing bright like a crackling fire - amber with speckles of yellow and rust - and his smile grew all the wider until his pearly fangs poked out against the darkness of his lips. “Take a nap,” he spoke, his voice not gravely deep but also not high, a nice in-between that you absolutely couldn’t say no to. Especially not when a hand descended down to the crown of your head, where sharp nails gingerly scratched along your scalp. 

You didn’t remember actually going to sleep, or how you shifted with one leg dangling precariously off of the couch, one arm across your chest with the other across the expanse of his lap, but it happened. You weren’t even sure how long you had been out, but it was long enough that what light you could see through the billowing curtains was fading fast in the horizon. An hour, maybe two? Longer? That thought was gone as fast as it came when you felt the claws lovingly drag along the arm across Dew’s lap, and his contented purr-like sound emanating from his throat. 

“You’re awake.” He was so nonchalant and soft-spoken, the haziness of sleep still lingering in his voice; at least you weren’t the only one. 

“How long…?” You could barely move your mouth, let alone any other part of your body, so you left your head resting upon his thigh and fought the urge to return to slumber. You didn’t, however, resist the temptation to close your eyes; his claws were back to their slow scratching of your scalp at the side of your head. 

“Were you asleep? Mmm,” he hummed as if in thought, tapping a sharp nail against your head by your ear in playful pondering. “Long enough that you drooled a puddle through my sweatpants.”

You froze up with instant, horrifying realization. As if moving in slow motion, you began to lift and turn your head - the demon lifted his hand to accommodate - while raising the arm across your chest to wipe whatever slobber was left on your cheek and chin, and look down at the drying, squiggly oval shape of saliva that was indeed quite evident on his lounge pants. “Oh my God, I didn’t even-“

“Well, you don’t have to bring God into this,” he interjected before you could finish your apology and it was filled with amusement. “He didn’t drool on me.” 

You looked up at his face and he had a big, cheeky grin plastered upon it and the tip of his forked tongue sticking between his teeth; at least not mad? “I can go get a pillow, or like a hand towel, or I can move…”

He gave an amused huff through his nose and shook his head, soft strands of silver hair falling loose from their place over his shoulder. His hand returns to your head, his scratching ministrations began again until he suddenly, albeit carefully, pushed your cheek back down onto his firm lap and into the drool puddle. “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.” 

You heard the thumping of his tail against the armrest again, back to a steady rhythm once more with the sound of a continued storm just outside your windows, and it’s enough to lull you right back into relaxation. If the cost for this was a dribble-encrusted corner lip, hell, you’d pay it any day. 

[andswarwrites]

Day 24

The month is almost over.  Only six days remain.  I'm going to continue posting my writing in May, but infrequently.  I want to go back to writing unrestrainedly, without worrying about an audience.  When I write fiction, I tell the story to a reader, of course.  But journaling is different.  Because I'm sharing my thoughts and emotions directly rather than indirectly, void of the filter fiction provides, I analyze every sentence, every word, every idea, to try to make it as clear as possible, not open to misinterpretation.

I used to overanalyze, and overthink.  And is there such a thing as over-feeling?  Because I did that too.  I felt and thought too intensely.  And I feared misunderstandings.  That's why I would explain and explain and explain.  You know what I've discovered?  It's impossible to express ourselves so that everyone catches our meaning perfectly in every exchange.  You may mean one thing, and the other person understands something completely different.

In the world we currently inhabit, offending someone else is almost inevitable.  You know what?  If you're being as kind and tactful as you can, and they get offended anyway, that's not your problem.  If you're honest, truthful, if you apologize when you do something wrong, you're already doing really well.  Maybe you made a passing remark or a joke that struck another person differently from how you intended it.  First of all, they should tell you, giving you a chance to make amends. 

The expression "Fight fire with fire" makes me grind my teeth.  Firefighters know that if you light another fire, that's not going to do anything to extinguish the one that is already causing harm.  We fight fire with water.  You can use words that ignite, and you can use words that cool and refresh.  And sometimes the best response is silence.  Move on.  Let go.  Fires die down when they are not being stoked.  That approach takes time and restraint. 

You know the "fight or flight response" we keep learning about, how we're either wired to fight off an attack or flee from it?  I've been trained from my experiences to choose a third option: simply stand your ground.  Don't engage, but don't back off either.  Calmly, quietly stand up for who you are as a person and your set of values.  I've been in enough arguments and conflict to have learned that this method really works.  And if the conflict is online, I just scroll on by.  I do not get involved.

A discussion, on the other hand, that is hard to pass up.  But I prefer having a discussion in a one-on-one, face-to-face setting, because that way eye contact is possible, and you can hear the other person's tone of voice.  I like to reserve texting and chatting for being upbuilding and encouraging.  I try to avoid texting while angry, because I might vent my feelings and go overboard.  It's better to text that you would like to talk in person, and arrange when and where.

It used to torment me when I would suspect I had angered or offended someone.  Now I think of it as part of life, and the best I can do is work to resolve the matter on my end.  And if I can't, at least I did my best.  Knowing you are doing your absolute best is the antidote to beating yourself up.  You can't give more than what you are equipped with.  If someone asks you for $100, but you only have $50, and you give them the $50, if they get mad at you for not giving what they asked for, that makes them a pretty crummy person, and it does not reflect upon you in any way.

The thing is personalities crash and collide with one another like chunks of ice and rock floating in close proximity in space.  Yet from a distance all that mess looks like beautiful, serene rings, at least the ones around Saturn do.  What I'm saying is that human interactions are often messy; maybe someone is having a bad day and they lash out.  It's not your fault, and it was unfair, but can't you just forgive and move on?  Would you want to be held accountable for every rash thing you've said and done while annoyed and stressed?

Can you tell I think about this topic a lot?  I like to keep the peace in my family, but that doesn't mean I want to be a doormat.  I realize some conflict is unavoidable in every relationship, because nobody agrees perfectly about everything.  If I want my own point of view to be respected, I also have to display respect for the person with whom I disagree, and not dismiss what they say before they're done speaking.  It won't physically hurt me to listen to a differing viewpoint, in fact, I may see the validity of it, and adjust how I think as well.

Being open and flexible, instead of harsh and rigid, has stood me in good stead during my adult life, and the more I work at communicating, the more I see that conflict can be resolved.  I was told once that I would make a good mediator.  Honestly, a lot of parents would; peacemaking is necessary in a happy home.  And it is invaluable when navigating life, from spending time with friends to spending time on social media.  At times I've had something said to me that was like a shard being stabbed through my heart.  But I've learned that if I give it time, the pain from those words dulls, and I can forgive the person without any confrontation.  Moving on and getting on with life seems to me to be the best policy, nine times out of ten. 

[starburstgalexies]

girlicule 37

kiss prompt 37: without a motive (963 words, canonverse/compliant for any universe)

Prompts are still open.

(girlycule is gina/susa/rei/maria if anyone's wondering)

Probably gonna put this on ao3 too, even though it didn't hit 4-digit word count.

---------

When Maria’s lips touch hers, Susato is oddly serene. She notes how cold her lips are - she vaguely remembers a discussion regarding anemia, and wonders if Maria ails from it, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it suits her; not in a manner which it’s disheartening or dreadful, but refreshing like swimming in the ocean perhaps a bit too early in the summer. 

Maria only presses against Susato for three seconds, and it only occurs to her to be surprised after catching Rei’s blushing cheeks and Gina’s dropped jaw. When she inhales, she realizes her heartbeat did quicken after all, but for the most part, it had felt right to have Maria kiss her, as sudden as it was. As though that was the only thing in that moment that was supposed to happen. 

“H- Oi!” Gina has to clear her throat to find her voice, and when she does, she hollers, nails digging into Maria’s arm through her lab coat. “Wot’d you do that for?”

“I wanted to see what it would feel like,” Maria says, absolutely devoid of any lilt that would suggest emotion. “I have conducted an experiment. I have found the findings satisfactory.” 

“Ya- Y’cannae jus’ grab any lass that you fancy and plant a big ol’ smooch on her face cuz y’wanted!”

“Why not?” 

“Cos- Because I-” 

Just like that, Maria is kissing Gina this time, pristine yet firm fingers holding her jaw, and Susato inhales sharply. It is a horrifyingly appetizing sight, like watching the moon devour the sun, and instead of mourning your world crumble around you, you find yourself desire it, to stand still and have the catastrophe engulf you. 

It is just too beautiful to not allow it to happen. 

As unceremoniously as before, Maria pulls back, and Gina is gasping, her cheeks dusted a wonderful pink that (somehow) makes her blond hair appear with a strawberry hue. “Y- Y-” She is wheezing, and instead of concern, Susato feels… satisfaction. She wishes Maria would do more, she wishes she could help unravel the young inspector further until she can’t form her next words. “Ya can’t- I oughtta arrest you for- for assault, for-” 

“Why not, detective?” Maria repeats. “You are yet to provide a reason why I cannot conduct a small, harmless experiment to satiate my curiosity.” 

A touch on her shoulder startles Susato - she hadn’t realized Rei was already by her side, hiding her expression behind a sleeve but Susato knows exactly what gets her eyes so shiny. “Are you alright?” Rei asks, because she is sweet enough to be concerned about her even in this situation. 

“I am. More than alright, in fact. I… might have shared the good doctor’s curiosity,” she confesses, because she can always be honest with Rei, her Rei. “I’m afraid I don’t have her sense of fulfillment quite yet, however.” 

Rei reveals her face then, her smile calculated and scheming, but before she can speak her mind, they are startled out of their conversation by Gina’s exclamation - “‘s not a toy, y’know!” There are tears in her eyes, and perhaps Susato can start to worry now - has this experience not been as fun for Gina? “Yer weird bottles, even those corpses ya play with - they don’nae feelings- Ya can’t do these things without even asking!”

Silence falls upon them for a moment, before Susato sighs, fond. “Oh, you silly girl.” 

Gina jumps in her spot. She meets Susato’s eyes, and her glare is indignant, suggesting anger is at least partially responsible for the color of her skin. “Wot’s silly about a girl defending her dignity?!” 

“I am confused,” Maria interrupts. “I was under the impression that we were all on the same page.” 

Exhaling slowly, Rei cradles Gina’s face in her palms. “So was I. Have we overestimated your capabilities, detective?” 

Her playful tone has Susato almost melting into the desk behind her. The detective in question isn’t unaffected, either, stammering, but she is not pushing Rei away. 

“We adore you,” Rei whispers into Gina’s lips. “Doctor Gorey is simply coming to terms with it in her own way. As for myself…” She leans in, slow and purposeful like she is sharing a secret. “I can’t say I don’t condone her methods.” 

Despite everything, Susato still has enough wits to acknowledge that they might have been wrong. “We apologize if we made you uncomfortable, Gina,” she says, as gently as she can muster over the desire. “I meant it when I said I always thought of you in Japan. I thought you shared the sentiment, and that you were hesitant because I am engaged to Rei.” 

Gina’s shoulders finally relax, and she puffs out a breath, her irritation irresistibly cute when her cheeks look like that. “Can’t just warn a girl can ya!” Susato watches Gina’s hand tentatively raise to Rei’s waist, and her heart stutters when it confidently holds Rei in place. “Just say how ya feel before divin’ in like-” Even Rei gasps with surprise when she is tugged forward, another hand catching her face just in time to meet Gina’s.

Susato could watch them kiss forever - that is, if she hadn’t noticed Maria through the corner of her eye, staring at the spectacle before them. Now, it wouldn’t do to exclude her, would it?

“This was not my intention,” she says when Susato approaches her. “I was only testing the sensation - if I can’t stand it, such a relationship could never work, could it?” 

Susato catches her wrist, her hold loose enough to allow Maria an out if she wished. “You said your findings were satisfactory. I hope you have not changed your mind?” 

Her answer is, once again, cold lips against hers, and this time, she feels warm enough to giggle against them. 

[starlazergazer]

Love, a year ago around this very month, my affinity for the Star Wars Universe and my ineffable affection for our (Dark) Lord and Savior Anakin Skywalker reached beyond (my) known limits. For a while, I relished the content provided by plenty of creators with that newfound fondness, before I slowed down and returned to reality. Nevertheless, the level of fondness remains despite the lowered indulgence and interaction — as with the rest of my interests revolving around fiction. I come on here every now and then mostly to check in on the creatives whom I’ve grown fond of if not close to throughout the years and to catch up on matters of interest. Though I rarely use this platform, let alone indulge its contents, you crossed my path and caught my attention.

I am yet to read the rest of your works, but from what I have consumed, I have been crushed. You write with such simplicity which makes the story so serene; the scenes, the scenarios, often times surreal — they feel so gloriously, gorily grounded to which I gravitate. The details given are just enough to grant context, the dialogue is distinct — and the unspoken — the parts where it shows even if it doesn’t tell — now when it comes to that . . . words evade me. Your work found its way to me like fucking fate. The timing was impeccable — I was just planning to dedicate some time to unwind by (finally) watching the most recent releases and when I checked in on here, your work came to me so suddenly — the force is strong with you, you shining fucking star. Thank you for sharing what you write with the rest of the world.

— Don’t think I’ll be disappearing. I have a liking for showing my love for writers and the works they so generously share.

X

You don’t understand I need to print this out and frame it on my wall it is gorgeous!! Like why is the better written than anything I have produced??? You have no idea how much hearing all of this did for me omg because the way I saw this this morning and just reread more times than I’m willing to admit throughout the day because I love it (and you!!!) so fucking much. 

I know you said my work came to you at the perfect time and I can confidently say this comment came to me at the perfect time as well. This time yesterday I was trying desperately to write and it was not going well. I couldn’t find the words, the ideas, the confidence, the anything. Then this message pops up in my inbox and I wrote half a story mere hours later.

I cannot express in words how much this means to me and how specific and personal the compliments were (the way I’m trying so hard to show not tell and to hear you appreciate it makes me absolutely swoon) this is just perfect. I feel so seen!

I haven’t been here for too long so unfortunately I don’t have much other works for you to peruse but I sincerely hope you enjoy what little there is and stick around for whatever else I can come up with. Messages like this mean the absolute world to me but especially after yesterday you have made me enjoy writing again and I seriously cannot thank you enough for that.

[kalims]

hugs and moments of heartfelt.

fluff, physical intimacy, established relationship, unspecified gender. I hope you get what I'm implying in zhongli's part. ayato written before release

I love this post so much wtf, my inner poet came out fr. maybe I'll make a part two for my wives but my fingers hurt and I need to sleep asap. 😭🥱

⁀ ✦ diluc

he embraces you as though he is hesitant to indulge in the activities considered 'normal' in a relationship. what will be the cost of your warmth and love? will it be like this forever? even as those thoughts cloud his mind like a plague, he can't help but bury and press himself a little closer. hoping to gratify further, and perhaps. a little more longer.

⁀ ✦ kaeya

such an activity isn't exactly welcomed, and instead considered unprofessional in the eyes of the favonious. but there won't be trouble if you don't get found out, will there? kaeya allows himself to enjoy a quiet, peaceful moment of serenity (perhaps paired with an occasional teasing) but there are so much things left unsaid in a silence that he knows of, just how he likes it.

⁀ ✦ tartaglia / ajax

in the ever willing, cold mercy at the god of love. will he really show her majesty just exactly what she refused to acknowledge? many had been inflicted to a punishment for showing just the slightest amount of affection in the icy terrain of the queen. but there's something very thrilling that he enjoys about hiding exchanges of love and a warm embrace two lovers would share amidst a winter.

⁀ ✦ zhongli

in the arms of a god, what exactly has he cradled? a freind fading away in dust by a sacrifice for a victory? (was it though?) zhongli is a god, so so far away in the perspective of a mere mortal like you. but you can't help but wonder what exactly he'd sacrificed to be able to comfort you, below him with having such of high caliber. without being cast shocked looks or scandalized whispers.

⁀ ✦ xiao

xiao has personally seen what kind of horrors and the extent of his karmic debt making it absolutely sure that he will forever suffer alone, bound to be punished his crimes until a day he yearns for finally arrives where he'd be cut free from all his karma. so for your very own well being, he only spares you a seconds worth of physical intimacy before vanishing in a flurry of anemo energy. (are you aware of the eyes staring at you longingly?)

⁀ ✦ venti

how unreachable is he? it has been scientifically proven that the wind itself cannot be held, grabbed, or touched. he has been deprived of the essence of true and genuine love. though he attains a physical form, venti still prefers to let you feel the wind blowing over you in a flurry of chaos, akin to bursts of energy but it seems to caress your face? you could swear you could feel the ghost of a kiss over your cheek.. (he giggles at your confused look)

⁀ ✦ albedo

life, what a truly wondrous thing. albedo wonders that if he is, one day. deprived of anything new to learn, research, and even recreate. but for now he prefers to awe at the way your heartbeat echoes all around his body. (If focused on enough, he'd concluded he could possibly hear the beat) don't you see now? It's as if your heart is his, and his are yours.

⁀ ✦ scaramouche / kunikuzushi

oh how he wishes to rip out your heart out jealousy. scaramouche yearns for a body like yours, but wants to keep his clear superiority. (why can't he have a heart? why is his head empty?) he claims he wishes to take your life but still wrap his cold, stiff arms around you and say that he wishes to make you uncomfortable. but how could you say that he feels so warm when he doesn't even have a heart that keeps him alive?

⁀ ✦ kaedehara kazuha

the solider, the poet. kazuha is like the average fish, what a weird comparison you say? well he's constantly on the move, you see. washing up to the shore, blessing you with his beautiful words and body. leaving a few moments after. but he comes back, he always does. "you smell like home." he says, you call him sappy but hide your growing smile.

⁀ ✦ thoma

thoma really is the one that smells like home, he smells like those scented laundry detergent, and the fresh, refreshing whiff of air you'd smell entering the woods after a long time. (weird reference again) when you tell him so in a moment of intimacy, he laughs and tells you that he feels the same with you. (he thinks about it for the whole day and permanently has a grin etched on his face, his fellow retainers don't say a word when he hums and even taps his foot on the wood when he's sweeping the floor)

⁀ ✦ itto

ever on the run, you'd be having a sort of romance that's kind of dangerous. almost getting caught red-handed with his loud, clingy and whiny nature a handful of times. needing to come up with different lies to avoid getting arrested and used as bait for itto. (you know he'd come for you even at the cost of his own freedom and life) so at his abnormally large figure, he easily hauls you into his arms and speeds away laughing at the dumb-founded looks of the tenryou commission soliders tasked to secure you. (how will kujou sara react about him once again escaping?)

⁀ ✦ gorou

back when the war was still going on, you remember having an emotional, tearful moment when you bid gorou goodbye as he ascends to the frontline once more. he grins at your worried look and keeps a confident persona. assuring you that he will come back unharmed. (when he came back with a couple of injuries, safe to say you lectured him to the point where his ears drooped as he listened to you) and now, you're free of worries, free to embrace gorou without worrying about death taking him into its hands so soon.

⁀ ✦ kamisato ayato

there always seems to be a business that requires ayato's attention, occupying his time each and everyday, barely catching a moment with you with how intent the universe was to keep you away. but he still held on, enjoying the quiet moment where you'd lay in bed and huddle close to each other, sometimes staring at each other's eyes and seeing the way he / you look at him / you.

⁀ ✦ baizhu

there's so much baizhu knows, too much, about everything, including you. and you fear that your knowledge will soon contrast duller compared to his. but he's so cheeky, and sly. just like his pet snake, changsheng. she seems to dislike the way you both act so 'lovey dovey'. you quickly catch on her hinting that he's possibly doing something considered "romantic" in her eyes. you do not know yet again. but was he purposely letting you catch him slide his eyes over to you amidst a conversation with a client? lowering his eyes in a teasing look and looking forward once more. (he is aware, as always)

[tinydestinybear]

could you write a blurb where military!harry writes y/n letters and she keeps them in a box to remind her that harry loves her so much. maybe she gets a letter on her birthday and harry surprises her too? i’m sure whatever you make of this will be perfect :)

I was hoping this trope gets more love so thank you for requesting this! i’m glad to see that you trust me with this concept and i hope you enjoy reading 🤍 also the letters are numbered 1-3 but they did send letters in between these!

—

Harry’s letters begin to make an appearance ever since the very first week of his departure.

#1

My love,

It is my fourth day here and it already feels like an age since I have come here - we hang in the vastness of the land and nothing seems to stop. Everything scares me and I am alone, I feel like I’m being strangled. 

I never knew how cold it would be here. It is so unlike our home and I just want to be back home with you. I suppose as the days pass, I will feel better. But enough about my anxieties, I hope this letters find you well.

The area is so small, one can cross travel in less than a day yet it is such a prime space for our country. I hope you were here, I hope you would be proud of me. I wish to show you a place I found nearby - there are cherries which I know you love. I can picture us enjoying the serene sight and I would love sharing that quiet kind of love with you.

All the love,

Harry

#2

My love,

I’m writing to you now thinking back to the days we spent together, when we stayed in our bed all day with our arms wrapped tightly around each other.

You were all around me, and with every breath, I inhaled you. 

Sometimes when I’m all alone, I recall those moments, remembering your face and how your eyelashes would quiver with every little breath you took. I recall reaching out and poking your cheek, I recall stifling a giggle when you twitched a little at my touch.

Yet everyday when there are new tasks and methods to practice, how is it that in between all those activities I can still smell you sometimes and it makes absolutely no sense for me to suddenly be able to faintly smell you but I do and a cosy, warm feeling fills my heart.

Y/N, you have always been the poet after all and all I’ve ever known how to do is speak simply, which I will now do. I miss you. I miss holding you, I miss looking at you, perhaps most of all I miss the sound of your voice calling my name.

All the love,

Harry

Y/N still has his letters. They’d bring her an unsigned comfort and she’d reread them when she missed him. She’d also snuggle in his jackets during the night, enjoying the warmth and left over cologne that was in the fabric. For all that Harry claims not to be a poet, his words managed to stir Y/N’s heart like no florid verse ever has. Regardless, their bond still remained intact which spurred their brushes across the paper every single time to write to each other. 

#3

My love, 

Your birthday is right around the corner and I keep remembering our trip together for your 27th birthday. That week holds one of the best memories for you and I. We had no idea what we were gonna do and we also didn’t have a lot of money. But those days? They were so much fun because we were so determined to just enjoy ourselves.

Do you remember when we ran miles on the beach at night laughing? We were such a mess and when we finally laid down, you said, “H I’m gonna miss you.” It was like… I can’t even fully describe how it felt, how I felt that moment. All I could was promise to you that I am gonna return to you, the love of my life. 

You know how I always asked you what you wanted for your birthday and you said I should just gift you with anything but from a loving heart? My angel, I hope you like your gift this year. 

Harry

Walking out from the bookstore after a long day at work, Y/N wanted nothing more than to go home and rest after having been out of it the whole day despite it being her birthday. Letting the sun shine hit down on her face, she let out a yawn and started heading back home. 

As she reached home, the sound of someone’s cough made her turn back. Holding a bouquet of a range of white flowers in his one hand and a cake in the other, the person wears a big smile. A smile that took her breath away. No way. 

For the first time Harry felt like crying, still dressed in his uniform. For many nights, since the day he left, both of them had dreamed of this day. No words were said, they didn’t need them. 

Seeing Harry there, in front of her after such a long time, all Y/N wanted to do was hug him and never let go of him, all she cared about was to feel his skin against hers which is what she did as she felt the flowers and cake touch her back.

“My love, I’ve missed you so much. Gonna stay here with you for long,” he said, leaving a few sloppy kisses on her forehead - trying to manage with his hands full. 

Sobbing into his chest, Y/N didn’t wish to separate as she gripped his uniform tight, not wanting him to escape any second.

“Lovie, I’m here and not leaving you, hold this for me,” Harry said as he tried soothing her and handed her the cake and flowers.

Once they’re in her arms, Harry wastes no time - lifting his hand and wiping the tears off her face as he leaves a peck on her nose. Truth be told, he was dying to see her, her face, her smile so to see her red nose made him chuckle a little.

Oh, how he died to see her ever since. 

The night ends up in them relaxing in each other’s embrace at their home. And when Harry wakes up next morning, there’s a small letter by his nightstand.

H,

I loved you yesterday, I love you today, I’ll keep on loving you tomorrow

Yours Y/N

please let me know if you guys liked this! reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.