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sorcerersandskillusers · 3 days

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Fyodor and the Devil: Analysis of Fyodor's motives and role in the narrative

Asagiri has stated that he based Fyodor not on Dostoyevsky the author but on a specific scene from one of his books The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan Karamazov confronts “the devil” in his room.

(It's a really good book, you should read it if you have time. Also. fun fact, Fyodor and the devil wear the same hat, “His soft fluffy white hat was out of keeping with the season.”)

Having read the book and gone over this scene, I realized that this could be used to find out a lot more about Fyodor as a character than we see in the story, including a potential glimpse at his real motivations.

A bit of context for the scene. Ivan Kramazov is a clever but deeply trouble man who has struggling with the concept of God and rationalising him with the cruelty of humanity, at one point while very sick, Ivan starts seeing a man in his room who claims to be “the devil”. Their conversation is a fascinating look at morality and why evil exists in the world, and if you look at it closely it reveals a lot about the role of a “villain” in a story.

This line from “the devil” is really interesting to me, and seems to explain a lot about Fyodor’s character, as well as align perfectly with how Asagiri has described Fyodor in interviews:

Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I

was predestined 'to deny' and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation.

'No, you must go and deny, without denial there's no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism?'

Without criticism it would be nothing but one 'hosannah.' But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I don't meddle in that, I didn't create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, they've chosen their scapegoat, they've made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible.

Basically the devil is saying that he was created because without evil then good means nothing, if everything was perfect then nothing would happen or change, life couldn’t exist, so he was forced to be that evil even though he never wanted to be.

This is so similar to how Fyodor is described in the BSD exposition 2020:

Fyodor is the antagonist, he is the villain of the story, that is the role he plays. This explains why he chooses to commit so many atrocities in the name of “following God's plan”. It even connects to his line in The Dead Apple, and his ability name. He is both crime and punishment, as “crime” or sin originates with the devil, but it's also the devil who punishes sinners.

(I mean the title of the episode he is introduced in is literally “My Ill Deeds Are the Work of God” by committing evil acts he is fulfilling God's purpose for him.)

And if Fyodor is really based on “the devil” it's very likely he also either does or used to wish for release from this role that was assigned to him, but he knows that he cannot stray from his path or the story will cease to exist. My evidence for Fyodor wanting to be free of his mission is just one interaction, when he kills Karma.

Look at Fyodor's expression here, this is the only time in the entire series where we see him look truly sad. This isn't an act, there is no one there for him to trick, he simply says a quiet prayer for the life of a boy who's only purpose was to suffer and die.

This next part of “the devils” speech actually seems to fit very well for Dazai, it's interesting since he is the narrative foil to Fyodor and clearly is a very similar character.

We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for there'd be nothing without you.

If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. There would be no events without you, and there must be events. So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to.

For all their indisputable intelligence,men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious. But what about me? I suffer, but still, I don't live. I am x in an indeterminate equation. I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name.

This ties perfectly into Dazai and Fyodor’s debate on the nature of God in the sky casino arc.

Dazai here points out that it's not perfection and harmony that make the world move, it's the irrational, it's the foolishness and stupidity of humans who charges into life making a million mistakes but always finding ways to fight on through it. Here Dazai and Fyodor represent the conflicting sides of “the devil” with Fyodor embodying his mission to drive the world and Dazai embodying his secret love for, and wish to join, humanity.

“I love men genuinely, I've been greatly calumniated! Here when I stay withyou from time to time, my life gains a kind of reality and that's what I like most of all. Yousee, like you, I suffer from the fantastic and so I love the realism of earth. Here, with you, everything is circumscribed, here all is formulated and geometrical, while we have nothing but indeterminate equations! I wander about here dreaming. I like dreaming. Besides, on earth I become superstitious. Please don't laugh, that's just what I like, to become superstitious. I adopt all your habits here: I've grown fond of going to the public baths, would you believe it?

And I go and steam myself with merchants and priests. What I dream of is becoming incarnate once for all and irrevocably in the form of some merchant's wife weighing eighteen stone, and of believing all she believes. My ideal is to go to church and offer a candle in simple-hearted faith, upon my word it is. Then there would be an end to my sufferings.”

“"Why not, if I sometimes put on fleshly form? I put on fleshly form and I take the consequences. Satan sum et nihil humanum a me alienum puto."*

* I am Satan, and deem nothing human alien to me.”

This piece from the devil feels like it could be a description of Dazai’s character, his wish above all else to find happiness and love as a human despite believing he is a demon. Both Dazai and Fyodor have strong ties to the Devil, both of them are often described as demonic or inhuman, with emphasis placed on the darkness of their souls and the isolation they feel due to their minds.

But the difference between them is how they dealt with it, Fyodor chose to embrace it and fully commit to his role in the story as the ultimate evil for the greater good, but Dazai has always shown a fasciation with humans and has spent his life trying to connect to them and find meaning in his existence.

Finally, let's look at what we can learn about Fyodor’s motivation. Fyodor is the villain, he is the final obstacle the protagonist has to overcome, he is the driving force behind so much of Atsushi’s life and the reason so much of the series has played out at all. He sent Shibusawa to torture Atsushi as a child, he was an informant to the guild who put the bounty on Atsushi making the mafia turn on him, he was involved in the guild invasion, and obviously he was the master mind behind cannibalism and Decay of Angles.

If he is aware of his position as the antagonist, then he also is probably aware Atsushi is the protagonist, he knew he was the “envy of all ability users” after all, so he knows Atsushi has some significance to the world as a whole.

Atsushi is also the “guide to the book” which is seemingly Fyodor’s end goal, so even though Fyodor doesn’t seem to be focused on Atsushi, he has been indirectly influencing his whole journey up to this point. This also explains why Fyodor is only moving actively now, because the protagonist has appeared and his role as the villain can finally be fulfilled and he, like “the devil” can finally get the “annihilation” he asked for. Hence, Fyodor’s true goal is to erase himself from the narrative.

There is actually quite a lot of evidence for this. The obvious part is that Fyodor wants to rid the world of ability users while he himself is an ability user, he cannot exist in his perfect world.

Then there’s the fact that in the Dead Apple, Fyodor calls himself “crime” if Fyodor is “crime” or “sin” then a world free of sin would not contain him at all

Even when Fyodor talks about sin, he says how humans are easily manipulated into killing each other, while he constantly manipulates characters into killing each other, he is the cause of the sin he fights.

A really strong bit of evidence is this interview with Asagiri and Harukawa

Not only does Asagiri reiterate Fyodors role as the person who moves the story, Harukawa specifically mentions that Fyodor might be trying to create a world without ability users because he thought it was a “bad thing to do” aka the action a villain would take that would lead to a hero stopping them.

“Dos-san is the biggest villain in the story so far, but I have continued to draw him with spaced out eyes that are neither righteous nor evil for a long time. The only time I drew his eyes completely white was when he said he would create a world without skill users. It was because, in reality, we would decide what is evil or not by our own scales, but I wasn't sure if he himself was doing it because he thought that was a bad thing to do.”

This also connects to how Fyodor was able to understand Gogol when no one else could, Gogol is chooses to fight against the way the world is to prove to himself that he truly is free. Fyodor, who is bound to play a part in a narrative, would understand that feeling and that longing to be truly free.

To be clear, I don’t think that Fyodor is really a good person whose just been trapped in an awful position against his will, we see many times that Fyodor revels in his cruelty and enjoys killing and torturing others. Its the same with “the devil” in the book, although he hates the job he was given, he tells Ivan stories of the people he’s corrupted and seems very proud of himself for it.

My personal interpretation is that the sadistic zelot personality Fyodor displays is a mixture of a mask and a coping mechanism, kind of similar to Yosano developing a sadistic side to help her deal with the guilt of half killing people in order to heal them. I think it makes sense that after centuries of cruelty and manipulation a person would become detached and stop really caring about the lives he destroys.

This analysis is partially unfinshed but I wanted to post it now and see what other people think of it.

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anghraine · 1 day

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Hi! I was wondering, sorry for the dumb question, but are Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy hairstyles accurate for the time in the 2005's adaptation of P&P? I always associated 18th century (even the late part) with log hair for men or just wigs, so I'm curious. I associate them more with the 19th century, but I'm sure I'm completely wrong.

Hello! It's not dumb at all, and I only delayed answering because I was busy, but I'm taking a brief break. Disclaimer, though, that I'm not a historian and especially not a fashion historian.

The 2005 adaptation is not aiming for accurate representation of a particular year, but seems to be inspired by the fashions of the late 1790s, perhaps as late as 1800 or so for very fashionable characters. One of the aesthetic concepts behind the costuming IIRC was that it would reflect the era of P&P's original composition by Austen (1796-1797), but also reflect the attitudes of the characters to both fashion and life generally. Older characters wear the styles of their youths (whatever those may be), while even younger ones vary among themselves.

The idea, again going by memory, was that Jane's costumes would be more up-to-date than Elizabeth's and lean towards more early Regency-like hairstyles and delicate pastels, where Elizabeth often wears earth tones and is slower to adopt modern styles (I do not personally see Elizabeth this way, but it's the concept behind her costuming). Darcy starts out as nicely-dressed, but extremely buttoned up (literally), but wears his coat open and in a fashionable vibrant blue when he comes back to Hertfordshire, his hair in more disarray etc.

With regard to hair specifically, the question of accuracy wrt length/powder depends on the character. The hair powder tax that contributed to the change in men's fashion was passed in May of 1795, if I'm remembering correctly. I think the abandonment of hair powder was initially fairly politicized as a form of opposition to Pitt's government, but IMO the Darcys and Fitzwilliams are pretty strongly coded as people who would be in opposition to Pitt, so it's entirely possible that Darcy would have abandoned hair powder and cut his hair off well before the story begins. I have a post about this in relation to book Darcy here, actually.

Would the shorter hair have looked like Matthew Macfadyen's in P&P? Probably not exactly, but it's not so different from hairstyles that can be seen in paintings at the turn of the (19th) century, and Bingley's odd hairstyle also seems to deliberately refer to the oddities of this transitional era of fashion. Bingley could have still been wearing powdered, longer hair at the time, but I can easily envision him imitating Darcy even if he doesn't care about the politics of it. So late 1790s versus early 1790s does make a difference!

The novel, incidentally, does reference Mr Bennet still using a powdering gown, as I mention in the linked post. This doesn't have to mean he's still powdering his hair, and I think he would be exempt from the tax anyway if he still wished to, but it's entirely possible for P&P to take place at a time where some men would powder their hair and others wouldn't.

#i do think darcy is fully capable of getting passive-aggressive haircuts tbh #anon replies #respuestas #austen blogging #pride and prejudice 2005 #anghraine's meta #fitzwilliam darcy #lady anne blogging #fashion #eighteenth century blogging #austen fanwank

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leafdragon16 · 1 day

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I'm yet another person from AO3 but I do have a question lol-

Was the design and stuff for Wheeljack based on the IDW comic sparkeaters? Because I've been thinking abt this for ages and it seems so-

It's also made me think abt another character- Soundwave- like he has a visor (that's possibly over his face) and he has tentacles- like it could be very easy for him to be one as well-

I mean I'm not saying to include this in the story- just smth I thought I'd point out lol

Ok so I just went to the IDW TFWiki page for sparkeaters and

WHAT? WHAT. WHAT?? WHAT???

So I have never read IDW and the only information I have about it is what I’ve absorbed from my TF mutuals. I knew sparkeaters were some kind of monster BUT I NEVER KNEW WHAT THEY LOOKED LIKE?? WHAT?

First of all that’s really creepy looking and secondly THEY LOOK ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE HOW I IMAGINE EX!WHEELJACK DOES. DOWN TO THE KNIFE TENTACLES AND EVERYTHING. HOW?? I’VE NEVER SEEN THESE THINGS IN MY LIFE I’VE ONLY VAGUELY HEARD OF THEM

So to properly answer your question, no, Ex!Wheeljack’s design is not based on sparkeaters, it’s just a really weird coincidence (and frankly I kinda wish I had because these things look cool lmao). His design was actually based off the first plotline I had for Horror Show before I scrapped it. Shockwave was originally going to try to create synthetic energon but since he has even less information than Ratchet does in canon, it doesn’t go well. Naturally he decides to go big or go home, mixes it with Dark Energon, and injects it into Wheeljack. But that felt too much like copying canon and a virus seemed more like Shockwave’s style anyway so I changed it. You can still kinda see the original plot in his design because I just started by basing it off of the Terrorcons from Thirst and then I went “what if he had stabby tentacles too wouldn’t that be fucked up”

And YEAH. I think it was the Art of Prime that mentioned Soundwave was deliberately designed to seem alien even when compared to the other Cybertronians? I’m not sure when sparkeaters were introduced/if Prime was out by then but Soundwave’s design, especially when compared side by side with sparkeaters, is certainly a CHOICE. [eyes ideas folder contemplatively]

#THANK YOU FOR POINTING THIS OUT TO ME I AM FREAKING OUT RN #read through the wiki and they seem like a really cool monster concept too!#ex!jackie’s tentacles are a little thicker and shorter than a sparkeater’s and a little less spiky but like. THE RESEMBLANCE IS THERE #p sure I was at least vaguely inspired by Doc Ock lol #oh and also thanks for giving me an excuse to ramble about some of the origins of the AU lol #experiment!wheeljack au #experiment!wheeljack #exw au #Horror Show #tfp wheeljack #transformers prime #tfp #transformers #maccadam #leaf speaks #ough do I tag the IDW stuff?#why not #idw sparkeaters #sparkeater

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krystal-kade · 2 days

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You know,the worldbuilding for hazbin and helluva are interesting but at the same time,I feel a bit bored by it. Sorry,it's just it has potential and all of that but hell is just like a nighttown that you can go there and suffered no consequences. And I know helluva is a spinoff to hazbin hotel except it's just destroys the both meanings of it. Especially since hazbin is about redeeming sinners while helluva boss is just don't get mad at me but just soap opera between an elitist with a peasant. I thought helluva boss is gonna be us seeing the IMP doing their missions and encountered many different challenges on navigating a business not seeing a dramatic retelling yaoi festizhization love story of stolas and blitzo. And with hazbin,it's just I wanna see hazbin having different customers and guests and how they interact with the hotel not a literal fight with heaven of all things. What's next? Do I need to get into getting myself info a lore Livestream of Viv telling us? No,I want subtle storytelling not an Italian soap opera,ah man. Ah,now because of this I have to entertain myself with fans making fanmade comics of both helluva and hazbin hotel and I'm not complaining because let's face it,fans does it better than the creator Viv does.

Vivziepop so quickly strays from her original concepts, and it makes both shows difficult to watch. The last Helluva Boss episode that includes I.M.P. going to Earth on a mission to kill someone is episode 5, ‘Unhappy Campers,’ and that was only Millie and Moxxie. The last time the whole team went was episode 4 of season 1! Helluva Boss is now just a show about Viv’s twinks and kinks. I genuinely think I’ve seen enough of Stolas for a lifetime. There’s so much potential with a show like this, and I would have loved to see Helluva Boss explore both Hell and the Human World, but it does neither. There are so many ways this show could be executed to explore the worlds and character dynamics, but we barely even know anything about how these characters interact with each other.

Hazbin Hotel does the same thing. We have the possibility to explore Hell and Heaven, but we don’t. Hazbin Hotel is also supposed to be more about the women characters, but we know very little about Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, or any of the other women; we instead get episodes about Husk, Alastor, Lucifer, Angel, Vox, and Val. Hazbin was supposed to be about new people coming to the hotel to learn about redemption. The only person we actually get is Sir Pentious, who doesn’t even change or learn anything about virtue and redemption. We also kind of get Cherri, but she isn’t even part of the hotel. 8 whole episodes for two official people in the hotel. I’d rather we see people coming to the hotel and learning about redemption for an entire season instead of the drama we see go down with Adam and Heaven.

Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss just move WAY too quickly. I think it’s even difficult for fans to write fanfics and comics about these characters because they have nothing to go off of. Almost none of the characters have personalities, and we don’t know how they interact with each other. However, I do think that Viv’s Hell is an interesting world. I just wish it was explored more. We’ve only see a few of the rings, met a few of the sins, and seen very little of Hell at all. I have no hope that Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss will be better shows, the only hope I have is that in 30 years, someone reboots these shows, and actually makes them good.

#hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #anti helluva boss #anti vivziepop #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critique #helluva boss critique #vivziepop critique #answer

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goatcheesecak3 · 2 days

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How about Adam x reader who were dating before the trap, maybe got into a fight, but Adam lives because that’s definitely what happened and they find each other.

Also ur NSFW hcs were good so feel free to sprinkle some spice if you see fit :)

Lost and found

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Fic type: angst, fluff

Warnings: missing person, medically induced coma

A/n: hello!! Thank you for your request, it was such a cute idea!! There's no nsfw because I couldn't find a way for it to fit into this story, but while we're on the topic I just wanna give a message to anyone who saw my Adam nsfw hcs!! I originally posted the unfinished version by accident, but I've gone back and added more to them since! So make sure you're all caught up on those, in my very biased opinion they're extremely canon teehee :^) all can be found in my masterlist as usual

You and Adam had dated for two years before finally ending it about a month ago. The relationship was tumultuous to say the least, epic highs followed by epic lows. Being with Adam could be so wonderful at times, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world, the way he would have you folded in on yourself laughing. Your memory was filled with long nights spent talking and falling deeper and deeper in love. Adam was good with his words, which was a blessing and a curse- he could make your heart flutter just as easily as he could crush it. Arguments were frequent, and volatile, he always took things too far. Deciding that this was no way to live, with heavy hearts, the two of you called it quits.

You'd heard around from mutual acquaintances that he'd gotten into a pretty rough spot after the breakup, apparently he'd become some kind of stalker for hire? Like a private investigator but with absolutely no credentials or regard for his or anyone else's safety. It didn't exactly surprise you that he'd gone into a somewhat shady line of work, considering his lack of high school diploma there weren't really many options for him, you wished you could help, but you'd both agreed to keep your distance and move on.

One day however, you couldn't help but break the promise you'd made to yourself, and you asked about him. You'd run into his best friend, Scott at a video store, and despite all your restraint, the words tumbled out of your mouth:

"How's Adam been lately?"

"Pfft how should I know? I haven't spoken to that asshole since he totally bailed on my band photoshoot" Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes disinterestedly.

It wasn't like Adam to turn down paid work of any kind, so you decided to pry deeper,

"What do you mean? He just didn't show up?"

"Yeah, no call, no nothing. He hasn't spoken to anyone. Probably thinks he's too good for me and the guys now with his investigator bullshit, but lemme tell y-"

"Wait, he's actually doing that?! That's so dangerous, you don't think he's gotten himself into trouble do you?"

"I don't know, I got my own shit to worry about. Besides, no one bails on me and gets my sympathy. Scott Tibbs don't chase, baby." He said, all too loudly. You could practically see his ego bulging out of his head.

As you left the video store, the interaction played on your mind. After you and Adam had broken up, Scott was pretty much the only person in his life, and he didn't seem to give two hoots about Adam's wellbeing. Essentially, there wasn't a single person on earth who'd heard anything from Adam in the last week, and no one seemed to be trying to find him. You knew his family were estranged, and pretty much everyone else in his life were all acquaintances at best. If he was in trouble, it was up to you to help.

You headed to his apartment, just to see if he was home. Best case scenario he was, and you got some of your cds back, worst case.. well, you didn't wanna think about that.

You crept up the creaky mildewy staircase of his apartment complex until you reached his floor. Something in your gut felt wrong as you got closer to his door, something that you couldn't quite understand. It wasn't fear, it was overwhelming dread. You always thought there was a big difference between those two feelings; fear was wondering if something bad would happen, and dread was knowing in your heart that it would.

You knocked on his door and waited a beat. Nothing. For whatever reason, a voice in your head told you to try the door handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Adam's apartment looked frozen in time, a half eaten bowl of mouldy noodles sat on his coffee table, an empty beer bottle next to it. Everything looked untouched. That was until your eyes made their way to the floor next to his closet- his camera. Smashed to pieces, and left strewn all over the floor. Your eyes darted up toward his redroom, which appeared to have been ransacked.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Your first thought was that someone he'd been stalking had caught him, followed him home to destroy any damning evidence, then deal with Adam.

Panic set in at this moment, as you rushed through his apartment, desperately hoping he was just passed out somewhere.

"Adam?! Adam?!" You cried out, to no avail.

Of course, the second you had regained enough composure to remember to do so, you called the police and filed a missing person's report. The next few days were filled with police interviews, cutting out and sticking the few pictures of Adam you had onto missing person's posters and plastering them all over the city. You handed them out to anyone who would take them, you gave them to all the venues and corner shops that Adam often went to, and you hounded the police relentlessly.

Sure, Adam was your ex, but my god how you had loved him, how you still loved him. You were the only person in his life who loved him, and you refused to give up.

After 6 never ending days, your phone rang. It was a call from the police.

"We've found a young man fitting Adam's description on the outskirts of the city. He's currently in the hospital in a medically induced coma while the staff tend to his injuries. As he is unable to identify himself at this time, we would greatly appreciate it if you could come down and identify him for us" the voice from the phone said.

This was like music to your ears, you tried not to get your hopes up, but you just knew it was him. It had to be, you could feel it in your heart.

As you stood by the bed of the man, you fell to your knees and wept. He was far skinner, his skin pale and almost translucent, his hair tangled and dirty- but there was no doubt about it, that was your Adam.

"That's him! That's my baby! Oh my god, that's my Adam!" You sobbed, clutching into the police office for support. He looked happy for you.

...

After a few days, Adam woke up. He was by no means in good shape, but he was alert, he was safe, and he was asking for you. He'd had to speak to police before he could have any visitors, but they'd assured him that you had done a great deal to help them find him, and he was touched.

"I thought I was gonna die in that room.."

"You probably would have, if y/n hadn't tried to find you"

"No one else reported me?"

The cop shook his head solemnly.

"Damn... I gotta see her, i- I gotta thank her, i-"

He rambled like this for a while, until he was assured that you were able to come visit him.

...

"Hey, sugar" Adam smiled cockily, despite how weak he was.

You approached the chair next to his bed and reached down to stroke his face lovingly.

"That didn't sound very ex boyfriend of you" You teased.

"Aw come onnnn, I nearly die and you still don't want me back?" He whined, giving you a playful pout.

You chuckled and kissed his forehead,

"I basically saved your life, don't get greedy"

Adam's eyes narrowed, and he looked uncertain, "wait.. are you saying you actually don't wanna get back together?"

You rolled your eyes and pinched his cheek,

"Of course not dummy, I just like watching you squirm"

Adam mustered all of his strength to lift his arms and place his hands on your cheeks, pulling your face towards his.

"You're such a bitch" he mumbled against your lips with a smile

"You're a bitch" you giggled back.

The playful teasing went on for a while, until you were sat in a love filled silence, just holding eachother's hands. Adam was the first to break the silence.

"I'm a changed man, you know, y/n"

"Huh?"

"While I was in that room, you were all I could think about. I kept thinking about all the times I hurt you and I knew I needed to make it right. I made a vow to myself that i was gonna get out of there, and I was gonna get you back... and I was gonna love you the way you deserve to be loved. I'm gonna do that, y/n. I'm gonna prove I deserve to be with you, even if it takes a lifetime... which it probably will now that you basically saved my life"

"Yeah, it's gonna be pretty difficult to level that playing field" you smiled jokingly.

"I mean it, y/n," Adam said, his voice serious, "I promise I'm going to devote the rest of my life to loving you, it's the least I could do".

And several happy years later, he's kept that promise.

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lemoncrushh · 9 hours

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Seven Six Five - Part Two

Summary: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again.

Warnings: smut, body image issues, angst. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Enemies to Lovers. This was originally written and posted in 2020, right before the pandemic, so the story takes place then with flashbacks of 2013. Harry Styles x Plus Size OC, written in third person.

Part Two Word Count: 3.6k+

STORY PAGE

26 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

Releasing her hands from the keyboard, Bronwyn sat back in her chair with a sigh. She’d done it. The NPR review was completed; and after being edited and submitted for approval, it was now live. It had been a daunting task to write about someone she despised. But after a long, restless night, and heaps of caffeine, she’d managed to get something produced. Despite her inner voice wanting to express exactly what she thought of him, her article on Harry Styles was at the very least an unbiased one, if not a positive one.

Satisfied with her work, and glad to finally put it to rest, Bronwyn decided to get some rest of her own. Closing her laptop, she took a trip to the loo before settling under the piles of blankets on her bed. She’d barely closed her eyes, however, when she heard the all-familiar ringtone come from her cell on the nightstand. The screen announced it was Antonella calling, and had it been anyone else, she would have turned off the ringer and told whomever it was to piss off, albeit silently. But because it was her vivacious agent, she knew it was a pertinent call.

“Congratulations, darling!” Antonella declared as soon as Bronwyn pressed the speaker. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Thanks,” Bronwyn smirked as she shifted herself on her pillow.

“I assume your conflict of interest was sorted out?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“No? Well, I’m glad you put aside whatever differences you had, at least for the time being. I’m looking at the beautiful photos you took, and the fellow is...how do you say…”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Bronwyn interrupted.

“Didn’t what?”

“Say anything about how he looks.”

“Bronwyn!” Antonella tsked before lowering her voice to a hushed tone. “You had relations with this young man, no?”

“No. Not exactly,” Bronwyn muttered.

She could hear her agent breathing as she was obviously waiting for more juicy details. But Bronwyn wasn’t at liberty nor in the mood to give any.

“Fine then, I won’t press,” Antonella promised. “It’s over and done. Just called to tell you what a fabulous job you did.”

“Better than Dennis, huh?” Bronwyn chided.

Antonella snorted. “If I didn’t adore you so much, I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Bronwyn giggled. “The feeling’s mutual, love.”

Pressing the button to disconnect the call, Bronwyn noticed a notification for a missed one. It wasn’ a number she recognised, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. She was used to receiving calls about various jobs or from websites or magazines, so it was difficult to really screen her calls. The caller, however, didn’t leave a message, so she turned off her phone and situated herself into her own warm cocoon before drifting off to sleep.

The early afternoon sun shone through the flimsy curtains and awoke Bronwyn like an unwelcomed acquaintance. With a deep yawn and a stretch, she kicked off the blankets and reached for her phone, turning it back on. Before she could even check the time, the screen alerted her of two more missed calls from that same number that had rung earlier, but still had left no voicemail. Whomever they were, they were persistent but still wished to remain anonymous. Bronwyn considered just ringing them back, but first, nature called.

After a stop in the bathroom, she padded to her small kitchen with another yawn, prepared to make a pot of coffee. When she opened the cupboard, however, she was reminded that she’d used the rest of what she’d had the night before. With a groan, she settled for tea which wouldn’t quite satisfy, but would have to do. Just as she set the kettle on the stove, the phone that she’d left on her bed sounded its chime. Seeing the mystery caller’s number again, she decided to answer.

“‘Ello?”

“Bronwyn?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“Thank God,” he said, exasperated. “I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

“I’m sorry. Who is this?”

The mystery caller gave a deep chuckle, and before he could give his name, Bronwyn knew who it was.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s Harry Styles.”

“Harry.” That was it. Just his first name. No hi or hello. No good to hear from you or glad you called. Just Harry. A statement, even, not a question.

“Hi,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“I’m...okay. Uh...how’d you get my number?”

Harry chuckled again which made Bronwyn clench her teeth.

“I have my ways.”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“I got it through NPR. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I guess not,” she muttered.

“I suppose I should tell you why I’m calling. I saw your article online, and I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?” She wasn’t sure why she should’ve been surprised. It was about him. Of course he’d read it.

“Yeah, it was really well-done, and your photos were excellent.”

“Thanks,” said Bronwyn, nonchalantly as she traced the pattern on one of her blankets.

“Also, I’m…” Harry hesitated. “I’m also calling for another reason.”

“You are?”

“It was really good to see you again, and I hated that you had to leave in a rush.”

“Well, you know, those articles don’t write themselves,” Bronwyn remarked sarcastically.

Harry giggled then, making Bronwyn want to throw something. She looked around the bed, but only found a discarded empty tissue box. It made an insignificant thud as it hit the bathroom door frame.

“I’d like to thank you properly, Bronwyn,” said Harry. “I’m in New York now. I’ll be here for the rest of the week. Can we meet somewhere? For dinner or drinks?”

Nearly dropping her phone at his inquiry, Bronwyn jumped as the kettle began to whistle.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry,” Bronwyn replied in a rush as she reached for the stove. “I don’t-.”

“I know you’re probably busy, but I’d love to catch up. It’s been so long and...I’d hate to know we’re in the same city, and I can’t even say hello.”

Bronwyn gave a saucy laugh. “I thought that’s why you called.”

“I mean in person,” said Harry, still not catching on to her tone. “Doesn’t have to be dinner. Just coffee, if that suits.”

The warm kettle in her hand, Bronwyn remembered how badly she’d wanted coffee. She’d still have to get dressed to go fetch it, but at least she could go to her favourite cafe and have some company…

Wait. Am I really considering this?, she thought.

“Please?” she heard him ask.

Well, she was right about one thing. The mystery caller was persistent. That only added to the long list of other adjectives she had going for him like deceitful, fake, obnoxious and contemptuous, although admittedly that list also included charming, handsome and talented. With a sigh of surrender, she poured the hot water out into the sink.

“The Corner Cafe,” she said. “I’ll meet you there. Four o’clock okay with you?”

“It’s fine. What corner is it on?”

“Google it,” ordered Bronwyn. “That’s the name of the cafe.”

“Not a very original name.”

Managing to crack a smile, Bronwyn opened her bureau and pulled out a pair of jeans and a jumper.

“Four o’clock, Harry. See you then.”

Pressing the button to hang up before he could say anything else, Bronwyn dropped her phone on the bed next to the clothes she’d just picked out and turned for the bathroom.

“What the fuck are you doing, Bronwyn?” she asked herself aloud as she stepped into the shower. “You have gone and lost your mind.”

Despite the bright, cloudless day, there was still a brisk chill in the air. Bronwyn pulled the collar of her coat up, wishing she’d brought her hat and scarf. Fortunately, the walk to the Corner Cafe was short, and she arrived well before time to meet Harry. Ordering her favourite latte, she decided on a chicken salad sandwich as well, since she hadn’t anything to eat after her long nap. Choosing a table in the corner by the window, she shrugged out of her coat, placing it on the back of the chair. Biting into her sandwich, she saw a small crowd form just outside. She wondered what the commotion was about until a girl turned around with her hand over her mouth, her phone in her hand.

It was not uncommon for Bronwyn to see a celebrity or two on the street. Granted, it was not an everyday occurrence, but she’d walked by a few since living in New York. Just last week she saw Jimmy Fallon and his wife at a pizza joint she frequented. Even being somewhat in the business, she still got starstruck from time to time. What she did not do, however, was disturb a celebrity when they were having dinner or even stop them on the street to ask for a selfie. She adored her privacy, and tried to respect others’. She wondered how famous people handled it all. She reckoned she’d go mad.

Within minutes, by the time she’d just about finished the first half of her sandwich, the crowd dispersed and a tall figure in a black hoodie turned and made his way to the cafe door. When the bell jingled, Bronwyn looked up from her latte to see him pause and scan the room. Their eyes connecting, he smiled with a small wave of his hand before walking up to the counter to place his order. Bronwyn took in his appearance - a black hoodie, black sweats and black trainers. She wondered how on earth anyone had recognised him at all. Perhaps it was the large pink tote bag he was carrying on his shoulder. She snorted to herself, taking another bite from her sandwich. Grateful the cafe was somewhat empty except for a couple of people hastily typing away on their laptops, she waited as Harry received his beverage and strolled towards her.

“I promise I tried my best to be on time,” he declared, his free hand on his chest.

“You are,” remarked Bronwyn. “I was early.”

“Ah!” Harry nodded, placing his cup on the table across from her.

She caught the look on his face as he paused again, clearly waiting for her to rise for a hug or kiss on the cheek. When she didn’t, he bit his lip, removed the bag from his shoulder and sat down.

“You look lovely,” he said.

For a second, Bronwyn was about to look down at her rose coloured jumper when she remembered his comment was probably automatic, and not necessarily sincere. Still, she wasn’t one to ignore or dismiss a compliment.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“Sorry I look like a right slob. I was hoping to look inconspicuous.”

Bronwyn couldn’t help but smirk. “Didn’t work out for you, no?”

“Oh, you noticed?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I might’ve caught something through the window.”

Harry’s shoulders shook as she chuckled low. “Could’ve been worse. At least it was just a few.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” Bronwyn shook her head as she wiped her hands on the napkin. “I dunno how you do it.”

“You get used to it.”

“I doubt it. I value my privacy too much.”

Harry was quiet as Bronwyn pushed aside her nearly empty plate and took a sip from her latte. She eyed his ringed fingers as they picked up his own drink and brought it to his lips.

“So, how’ve you been?” he finally asked, setting down his cup.

“You asked me that already.”

“When?” Harry raised a brow.

“Yesterday. Unless you meant, how’ve I been since then.”

Harry smirked and shook his head. “No, I guess not. I reckon I’m just interested in what you’ve been doing since...I saw you last.”

“Are you really?” Bronwyn asked flatly.

“Of course. You live here in New York now,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“And you still take photos.”

“Yeah.”

“And you do freelance work.”

“Yep.”

“What else?”

Bronwyn pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s...pretty much it.”

“Oh, c’mon, there must be something else,” argued Harry as he leant forward. “Tell me more about you.”

Trying not to roll her eyes at him, Bronwyn sighed.

“I…” she began, holding her arms out at her sides, “still look the same.”

“Yeah, you do,” Harry grinned widely. “That’s why I recognised you so quickly. Your hair might be a wee bit shorter, maybe a little darker…”

“Hmm…” Bronwyn pondered.

“No cute, short dress or boots though,” Harry added, taking a peek under the table.

A laugh left Bronwyn’s throat before she could stop it, and one from Harry soon followed. She felt the blush in her cheeks and quickly cleared her throat.

“You still into the vintage stuff?” Harry asked.

“Of course. I just don’t regularly parade around in it at four o’clock on a Wednesday. In February.”

Harry giggled again, his eyes squinting.

Please stop doing that, Bronwyn thought. This is hard enough for me without you being so...ugh.

She didn’t want to admit that she still found him so incredibly attractive. Years may have separated their last encounter, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen his face since that night. Despite her persistence in trying to avoid having anything to do with One Direction, they had been a massively popular band. When she’d heard of their split, followed by the buzz of Harry’s rising solo career, she’d continued to keep her distance as much as possible. Sat across from him now in a quiet cafe, his green eyes trying their best to read hers, the memories of seven years ago came flooding back.

“That reminds me,” announced Harry, interrupting her thoughts. “I brought you something.”

Raising her brows in question, Bronwyn watched Harry pick up the tote bag by his feet and hand it to her.

“I remember how you prefer vinyl, so I thought you might like that,” he added.

Taking the bag from him, Bronwyn hesitantly opened it and pulled out an album, Harry’s pointing pose adorning the front cover.

“This is your album,” she frowned.

“You don’t have a copy already, do you?”

“No. I actually listened to it on Spotify.”

“Oh. Good, then,” Harry grinned.

“Thanks,” Bronwyn commented dryly. “Do you...um...want the tote bag back?”

“No, no. I brought that for you to carry it in. So you won’t be walking home with my face under your arm,” he laughed.

“How thoughtful.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she hung the tote on the back of her chair. Looking back at him, she caught the deep frown on his face before he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. No doubt she had hurt his feelings, or at least bruised his ego a bit. But she didn’t care. She found it utterly conceited of him to assume she’d want a copy of his record. But then...of course he did. That’s why he was there with her. It was all about the article she’d written about him. His music. His album. How stupid she was to even consider anything else.

“Well um...I’m glad you liked my article,” she said, trying to soften the blow a bit, and also hopefully end their meeting soon.

“I did,” Harry nodded, lowering his cup. “But that’s not really why I called you. I said that, right?”

“Why did you?”

A smile twitching at his lips, Harry leant forward again. “You think I call everyone who writes something about me?”

Oh fuck off, are you joking?

“You mean, you don’t?” Bronwyn asked, playing his game.

Harry laughed, resting his chin in his hand. “Bronwyn, love. What happened that night?”

“What night?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry scoffed. “What’dya mean, what night? The night. The film premiere. You and I.”

“It’s you and me,” Bronwyn corrected. “Why do people always get that wrong?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I had to leave,” she answered softly.

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Something came up.”

“What something?”

Her eyes involuntarily began to water, and she looked around the room. “Can we not talk about this now? It was a long time ago.”

Harry stared at her for what felt like minutes as she finished the last sips of her coffee. Finally resolving to the fact that she wasn’t going to give him a legitimate answer, he sat back with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

“Right,” Bronwyn agreed. “So, if we’re done, I do need to get home. I have some work to do.”

Harry didn’t bother to hide the disappointed look on his face this time. He rose from his chair as Bronwyn stood and grabbed the tote bag and her coat. He startled her when he took her coat from her and held it out for her to slip her arms inside.

“Thank you,” she barely whispered, looking at the ground. “And thanks for the...um...vinyl.”

“You’re welcome. I’d hoped to buy you coffee and perhaps something to eat, but you’d beat me to it.”

“Sorry,” she managed a shy grin. “I was hungry. I’d slept all day, what with being up all night writing. That’s why I came early. I wasn’t expecting you to...I mean, you didn’t have to buy me anything.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry grinned back. “Well...I hate to say goodbye, Bronwyn. But it really was good to see you. I hope it’s not another...seven years until we meet again.”

Giving a tight smile, Bronwyn nodded. “Well, goodbye, Harry. Take care.”

This time she allowed him a short embrace as he kissed her cheek. Then he held the door open as she slipped outside into the cold air. Harry said another goodbye before shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Bronwyn strode swifty down the sidewalk until coming to a stop, turning only to watch him pull his hood over his head and cross the street before wiping her wet eyes and walking the rest of the way home.

20 August, 2013 - London, England, UK

Nah, nah nah, nah nah nah nah!

Bronwyn giggled as she swayed against Harry’s body as he stood behind her, his arms wound around her while her own waved high in the air. The entire room had decided to join in a chorus of the Beatles’ “Hey Jude”, and in their overt intoxicated state, she and Harry were happy to include themselves in the mix.

Bronwyn felt like she was on cloud nine. She’d been having the best time with Harry all evening. Not only was he cute and charming, as well as a bit cheeky, but he was also a gentleman, continuously asking if she was okay, if she needed anything. After several drinks and a raiding of the buffet, she was surprised that he had stuck around, never leaving her side except to go to the toilet. They chatted with several people throughout the night, including a couple of his bandmates, but mostly they just enjoyed each other’s company and getting to know each other.

By the time the song was over, Harry had his face in the crook of her neck. His breath gave her goosebumps, but she hoped to God he wouldn’t release her just yet.

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice low in her ear.

“Where?” she asked, her hands on his arms that were still around her.

“Somewhere...away from here.”

Unsure if he was being literal or figurative, Bronwyn grabbed his hand, loosening his grip. Turning to face him, she smiled up at his heavily hooded eyes.

“C’mon,” she beckoned, pulling in towards the door.

They made it out into the hallway, a set of lifts in front of them, two more hallways on either side.

“Which way, darling?” she asked him. “Take your pick.”

Tugging her arm, Harry chose the hallway on the left, guiding her to where exactly, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. She was just so happy to be with him, she would have followed him anywhere.

When they reached a closed door on the right, Harry stopped and tried the knob. Locked. Then he tried another. Locked as well.

“Bugger,” he scowled.

Bronwyn giggled, finding his pout fetching.

“I reckon they don’t want any hanky panky going on here,” she commented.

Harry glared at her, feigning shock. “Who said anything about hanky panky?”

“Oh please!” she ribbed, playfully poking him in the side.

“Heyyyy,” he laughed before pulling her closer.

Bronwyn stared at him as he beamed at her, flipping her insides so much it felt like a gymnastics team doing somersaults.

“Let’s see what’s down this way,” he urged, pulling her with him once again.

At the end of the hall was a small alcove. It wasn’t much, but no one was in view, and it was probably the best privacy they were going to get. Guiding her inside, Harry pressed her against the wall, his hands on her hips.

“I do kinda fancy you,” he confessed, his eyes dancing while his lips were so close to hers they almost touched.

“I kinda figured that out,” Bronwyn nodded with a smirk.

Another glorious smile spread across Harry’s face as Bronwyn slid her hands up his arms. He continued to stare at her, like he was examining every feature of her face, piece by piece. She liked the way he looked at her, but the fire that had already ignited down below was now aflame.

“Only one thing I can’t figure out though, and it’s been driving me mad, Harry,” she added.

His eyebrows lifted in question as his perfect lips fell into a look of perplexity.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Why it’s taking you so bloody long to kiss me.”

What do you think of Harry and Bronwyn so far?? Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

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wyfy-meltdown · 22 days

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It's mentioned that in every timeline Sayaka contracts and becomes a magical girl, she becomes Oktavia.

I think this says a lot about Sayaka's mental state. Even if Hitomi doesn't confess to Kyousuke, even if Sayaka and Kyousuke were to date, Sayaka would still become Oktavia.

Maybe it's a case of regretting what she wished for, or falling out of love with Kyousuke, or that her relationship with Kyousuke didn't work out how she had wanted it to. Regardless, something always goes wrong when she makes her wish; and I find that very fascinating.

UPDATE: Sincerely unhappy with how this original post came out (too much focus on Kyousuke which reduces Sayaka's character in a way I don't like); please go to the reblog version.

#pmmm sayaka #sayaka miki #madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #mahou shoujo madoka magica #sayaka madoka magica #magical girl #pmmm #wyfy's meltdowns #I can't help but speculate on what exactly goes wrong to make Sayaka into Oktavia each time #theoretically if there are endless timelines then in some of those she must've confessed to Kyousuke or Hitomi didn't confess to Kyousuke #which would eliminate her original reason for becoming Oktavia #although I think Sayaka was going past the point of no return shortly after becoming a magical girl anyway #it's hard to describe the way I feel about Sayaka and her story #even with Homura's whole thing Sayaka's still in the running for the most mentally unstable character #like with Nagisa and Mami I really wish Sayaka and Kyoko could have met sooner #I think Kyoko is the only person who could really reel in Sayaka since Kyoko is more direct than the others while still being empathetic #shameless fishing pun #I also froth at the mouth over the fairytale accurate mermaid

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theflyingfeeling · 6 months

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💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia.

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him.

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him.

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet.

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself.

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #ollixallu #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #<- that's the tag i'll be using for these btw #everyone stop and look at the banner!! 🥺💖#it's not QUITE like the original one ju made first but maybe one day you'll get to see that masterpiece as well 😏#but ooff the way i've gone from having 'a plan' to having 'a better plan' to having 'no plan whatsoever' with this? 😂#so yeah idk what kinda fics/posts there'll be in this series... stay tuned and see for yourself! 🤭#some of them might be in the same universe/plot. others may not. who knows? not i 😌#(...but as you can see from this fic the door for a multiple-part story is definitely open 👀)#some of the fics may not even be based on a prompt though if i'm not feeling like it. honestly i'm curious to see how this will turn out!#(and if this ends up being the only post i ever make that's alright too! i refuse to bully myself with a hobby i'm doing for free <3)#however: i'm not taking requests per say BUT feel free to snoop on the prompts for each day and send me your ideas or hopeful wishes 👀#there are certain ones i'm more drawn to but i haven't really set anything in stone #one could say i'm just going with the flow. fuck around and find out if you will ✨#also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3 #probably i'll just see how many fics i manage to actually finish and dump them all at once on ao3 on christmas day lol #anyway! enjoy & let me hear from you <3

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