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taurgo · 2 years

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For those interested in the Sandman series (or getting others to try and read/watch it)

[Image 1 ID: A black and white power point presentation with the text “so you wanna read some “the sandman” (but you have no idea where to start and comic orders can be confusing)”. “A handy flowchart/ power point disaster for the curious, peer pressured and suffering waiting for the August 5th TV release date, from someone who cares a fuck-ton about this series and needs to yogurt starter about it. This is just a fan PowerPoint I spent way too much time on”. There are two green circular characters with smiling faces and limbs. One has a bowtie and a pointer for instruction./.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A flowchart that asks the reader if they are familiar with the story. There is the James Franco “first time?” image meme where there is a noose around his neck. A green path answering “yes” suggests “take a moment to reread anyways! (seriously it’s so good)”. A blue path answering “I am Jared, 19 (Don’t read) suggests “check out the Audiobooks (1&2). They cover volumes 1-6.” A circular green character with an open mouth says “James McAvoy voices the lead, what better reason is there?”. An Orange path answering “no” suggests “start with the original 10 volumes” and proceeds to the next page/.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A power point slide of the original ten sandman volumes with pictures of each cover and the reading order. The top of the page lists volumes 1-5; (1) Preludes and Nocturnes, (2) The Dolls House, (3) Dream Country, (4) Season of Mists, (5) A Game of You. The bottom of the page lists volumes 6-10; (6) Fables and Reflections, (7) Brief Lives, (8) Worlds End, (9) The Kindly Ones, (10) The Wake. To the left there are bullet points with the following information: “They cover the original run of 75 issues since the 80’s. Read in order there is an A plot and a B to Z plot they’re all relevant. If it’s a genre of story it is in this series”. An orange circular cartoon with a smiling face, a bowtie and a pointer says “Now that we’re familiar with the dreaming, let’s look at the bonus content where order doesn’t matter (too much)”. An orange arrow continues to the next slide. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A power point slide titled “additional stories and content”. A Flowchart prompt asks the reader “what’s your poison?”. A white arrow answers the prompt “give me more(pheus)”. The original poster suggests reading Sandman: Dream hunters, Sandman: Book of Dreams, Sandman: Midnight Theatre and Sandman: Overture. The original poster includes photos of the volume covers and two notes for Sandman: Overture. The cover of Sandman Overture is Morpheus standing in a flower field with his helm of power on. The first note says “WARNING: OVERTURE IS A PREQUEL FOR THE ORIGINAL SERIES” The second note says “THE ART IS ALSO INCREDIBLE LIKE IT’S NUTS Y’ALL they sell a gallery version I’d kill for”. A second white arrow answers “I want meta info on the development”. The original poster recommends the Sandman Companion and includes a picture of the cover which is yellow with a golden mask on the front. The original poster clarifies it was published in 2000, and says “this is a book and it is amazing (art, interviews, breakdowns)”. A third arrow answers the prompt, stating “I want more cosmic sibling drama and/or goth girls only please”. The original poster recommends Sandman: Endless Nights, Death: The High Cost of Living and Death: The Time of Your Life. The original poster provides images of each cover. Sandman Endless nights has two masks on the front cover one grey, one multicolored patchwork. Both Death comics have the image of a pale skinned, dark-haired woman on the front with a grainy picture overlay. An orange circular cartoon character with a smiling face says “wait that’s it right, I read everything now?” an orange arrow continues to the next page. /.End ID]

[Image 5 ID: This slide is titled “Oops Even More Content, Welcome to the New Age of The Sandman Universe”. The elmo on fire meme is visible on the right side of the slide. There is an orange smiling character with a bowtie and a pointer saying “Start with the Dreaming #1, It’s like a teaser chapter for a choose your own adventure in picking a story you want to read. This all happens after the original ten volumes (ish) YOU ARE WARNED”. The orange figure is pointing to the first edition cover where Dream and six individuals stand on the cover. An orange arrow points to the next flowchart prompt asking the reader “What did you enjoy most in the original series?” An authors note in the corner states “There is also a little crossover between characters in stories within the Sandman universe”. A Pink arrow continues to the next slide /.End ID]

[Image 6 ID: This slide has predetermined answers to the question of “What did you enjoy most in the original series?”. The first directional arrow answers with “LUCIFER!” The original poster recommends Lucifer (2000) that is 75 issues in one volume and Lucifer (2019) in four volumes. Both images of the covers are included with lucifer on the front bent over and then holding a sign. A purple circular character with their mouth open says “Yes this series inspired the Netflix tv show”. A blue arrow answers with “That one John Constantine Cameo”. The cover is included with John Constantine smoking on the front. The original poster recommends John Constantine: Hellblazer (2019) in two volumes. A Red arrow answers “Actually you know what? Give me a better Harry Potter that’s not written by a TERF”. A red circular cartoon character with a bowtie and a pointer recommends Books of Magic (2019). The lead protagonist, Timothy Hunter is on the cover holding a large open tome. The red character says “Based on the 1990 miniseries written by Gaiman of the same name.” A Green arrow and a purple arrow with the options “Gods and Mythos” and “The Dreaming Inhabitants” are included and continue on the next slide /.End ID]

[Image 7 ID: This is a PowerPoint slide that continues to answer the flowchart question of “What did you enjoy most in the original series?”. A Green arrow answers “Gods and Mythos”. The original poster recommends House of Whispers (2019) in three volumes. The cover of the first issue is included where a beautiful black woman stands in and holds up a mirror with a man inside it an a house in the background. The original poster provides a note saying “This one has divine feminine ™, family drama and some great queer representation. If you liked the Gaiman book Anansi boys, you’ll like this story”. A Purple arrow answers the question with “The dreaming inhabitants” which branches into three white arrows. The first arrow leads to the original poster recommending the Dreaming (2019) in three volumes. An image of the cover is visible with Dream and many inhabitants of the dreaming on the front cover spread around him. The author leaves a note saying this series includes “dream hopping. Giant moth baby. Absolute chaos”. A second white arrow leads to the recommendation of The Dreaming: Waking Hours (2021) with one volume. The cover is included and has Dream in the background with Lucien and Merv, and William Shakespeare in the foreground performing on a stage. The original poster leave a note saying that the story includes “Shakespeare, Shakespeare and Shakespeare walk into a bard… grad student pain. mages, nightmare and macbeth.” A third white arrow leads to the recommendation of Nightmare Country (2022) an ongoing series with four issues as of July 2022. The cover is included and shows the Corinthian in an American flag colored mask with his glasses partially removed. The author includes a note saying “The Corinthian gets a spin-off. So do other nightmares. Ongoing.” There is a purple circular character with a smiling face pointing at the Waking Hours cover, and a green circular character standing next to the House of Whispers cover. /.End ID]

[Image 8 ID: The slide is entitled “Congrats! You now have a good idea about where to start and what to read”. Next to this title is a teal circular cartoon that is smiling. The original poster includes a note that says “I could go into so much depth about why you should read it and why its great but its either do that or work on my master’s thesis and only one pays bills and its already 3 a.m. (frowny face).” A white arrow leads to a note that says “TLDR: THE ART IS GOOD, THE CHARCATERS ARE COMPLEX AND VOLUME TEN MADE ME OPENLY WEEP BECAUSE OF HOW GOOD IT WAS. IMACULATE ANTHOLOGY-esque STORY TELLING” a sub footnote says “I like this series so much I paid a guy for an advertisement of a sandman themed chess set that I have framed on my wall cause theres like no merch”. A green circular character that is smiling with a bowtie and pointer is standing next to the “preludes and nocturnes”, and “the dolls house” covers saying “season 1 of the tv show will be covering volumes 1-2 ish”. A picture of Morpheus in a panel with his hand outstretched from the comics is on the slide next to the “graphic design is my passion meme”. A large yellow crying emoji is on the slide with its hands in the air /.End ID]

#sandman #the sandman #sandman netflix #i spent an embarassing amount of time on this third grader presentation but my god i have feelings and i gotta share them #i dont care if this gets zero pickup i just remember when i was reading there was a lot of confusion about the order #morpheus #dream #sandman 2022

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nicolesainz · 4 months

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Under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow (MM7)

Mason Mount x f!reader

Summary: You and Mason have been ride or dies since day 1. Spent every holiday together and sometimes even being each others gifts when separated. This Christmas, Santa will gift Mason something dreamy but definitely something he had been wishing for ages.

Author's note: I haven't written about Mason in quite some time and something festive will definitely lighten up the spirts. Hope you enjoy!

"It's definitely more chilly up here than in London." Y/n says, hugging herself tighter around the warm jacket Mason gave her. It is the first Christmas that she and Mason will spent apart. His family will drive to Manchester and she will be in London with hers. No family meet ups like the old days.

"I told you so. Now let's go inside before you catch a cold and then I hate myself for making you sick during Christmas." He took her hand and led both of them inside his warm house.

Mason's entire front and back yard was decorated with beautiful multicolored lights and small fake gifts with golden ribbons inside many of Santa's sleighs. The inside though was even more majestic. He wanted to make this christmas feel more like the ones in London so he borrowed a few decorations from his mother's house. A classic Santa doll that wishes you 'merry christmas' every time one opens the door, many fairy lights around the ceiling, a sparkling tree full of small stars, red, white, blue and green ornaments.

"Winter Wonderland is nothing compared to this, Mase." Y/n sits and admires the beauty of his house, whilst Mason admires Y/n's beauty from afar.

"Always an ass kisser, Y/n. But thank you" Mason says teasingly, earning a light shove from an equally giggling Y/n.

"It's true, your house looks wonderful. Just like your mother's during this time of the year."

"I was feeling nostalgic, I am not gonna lie, so I asked Lewis to send me some of mum's stuff. I asked her first and she was pleased that I would eventually decorate."

"Why? Were you not planning on decorating?"

"Nah, not really. I was not very in the mood but I didn't want to be a Grinch either so I asked Marcus and Luke to help me out with the lights. The rest I did it by myself followed by some music."

Mason didn't want to admit that he hated being away from his family and her. One of the things he regretted with his transfer was having to move from London to Manchester. Leaving behind 24 years, full of memories and heartfelt moments.

Leaving Y/n behind hurt him even more than it hurt her. As he was driving to his new home back in August, he was crying the entire time. He wished things were better for him at Chelsea so he wouldn't have to turn upside down his entire life.

"I could have helped you. I am one call away Mase. I will always be available, whenever you need me." She goes close to him and pulls him into a tight hug. Mason lets out a deep sigh and kisses the top of her head softly, thankful that she is in his life since day one.

As he is caressing her head, he looks up, just to notice a mistletoe with a note hanging alongside it. Mason squeezes his eyes to look more clearly at what the note is saying.

'Kiss her for the love of god' - L & M

Marcus and Luke knew how Mason truly felt about Y/n, the moment she unexpectedly showed up at Mason's first game with Manchester United. Once he realised she was in the crowd, his eyes sparked with happiness and was more than thankful that Ten Hag put him in the starting squad.

Mason had blurted out that he loved her during warn up, catching both of his teammates off guard. He had always loved her, just not romantically. He had to lose her from his side to realise that she was the one that kept his heart steady every time.

Every time Mason was heartbroken she would be the first to rush to his side in order to console him. Take care of him. Remind him that no matter what, she would never give up on him. For her, he was simply Mason. The sweet boy next door who became her lifelong partner after he has just moved from Portsmouth.

He was a 20 year old boy who back in 2020 was called up to represent his country in the Euros and then would jump and scream around the house as if he was 5 year old being given candy for the first time. He wasn't Mason Mount, the handsome, skillful footballer, wealthy and arrogant as most of the media presented him.

"You are the best thing in my life, Y/n. I seriously don't know what I would do if it wasn't for you. I wouldn't trade you for anything." Mason said with such ease but those words were tightening Y/n's chest. She had been madly in love with him since forever. Even when he was covered in mud, or missing a tooth from football practice, he was still making her heart beat faster than anyone else on the planet.

"Don't tell your parents but I am thankful that they moved from Portsmouth to London next to my house. Ever since we met my life has been better. And I would risk everything for you." And that's what made Mason feel guilty.

The fact that she had risked relationships, jobs, friendships, just to keep Mason in her life. No matter the cost her choice was always him. It was too late when he noticed that most of his girlfriends were taking him away from her, but she wouldn't say anything so not to interfere in his love life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"If you seriously don't kiss her the next time, I will kidnap her and drag her all the way to Manchester and force you to do so. You're missing on a big chance, mate!" Declan threatened over the phone with Lauren screaming that she agrees from behind.

"What if she's not feeling the same? I will look like the biggest loser on the planet. She will laugh at my face."

"Did you seriously think that THE Y/n, would ever laugh in your face? That woman straight up rejected Conor's flirting and stood him up on a date just because you had a fight with Chloe and after two hours you made up again."

"Are you and Ben in sync? He told me the same thing!"

"Because we were all there when she turned Conor down. Whoever you ask, Luke, Phil, Ben, Jack, they will tell you the same thing. Why do you never listen?"

“She’s just been here my entire life and I would hate myself if I ruined the special bond we have just because I let my emotions get the better of me” Mason takes into his hands a picture with the three of them back when him and Declan were at the Chelsea academy and Y/n had attended their game, taking a picture with the winners.

Y/n may have had both her arms around the two boy’s necks but her looks were solely focused on a long haired, sweaty and full blown red Mason. She was shorter than the two of them and yet that didn’t stop her from looking up to the man she loved.

“Ugh, I really hate that I have to do this, and if she finds out she will kill me but, Y/n confessed to me that she’s been in love with you a long time ago.” Declan says and Mason goes silent.

What does he mean by “a long time ago”?

“How long ago? And why was it only you?”

“Don’t hate me, but back in high school, when you were about to be loaned at Vitesse, she came at my house crying rivers and confessed that she’s been in love with you forever but refuses to tell you or make a move because she’s afraid of interfering in your life and messing with your head.” Mason was shocked to hear this statement from Declan.

He was just told that the girl of his dreams, who was quietly sitting away from all his previous relationships, been forced to remove herself from his life because of insecure girlfriends, was in love with him.

“I’m such an idiot. I’ve been hurting her for such a long time and yet she remained beside me through thick and thin.” There was an intense tightening once again in Mason’s heart, with the realization that he wasted all those years in girls that only seemed to seek him for his fame, money and good looks, instead of being with a woman who loved him when he had ‘nothing’ and was a little boy from Portsmouth with a big dream.

“I think now it’s also time to tell you that you practically ‘married’ her back when we were 9, so you’re not totally missing out” that comment made both Mason and Declan laugh hysterically and after a few moments they hung up.

It was time for Mason to make things right. No matter the cost.

———————————————————————————

On Christmas Day the whole Mount family was gathered around a table, eating and enjoying their time, with the kids brightening up their day as always. Mason was sitting next to Summer who clearly wasn’t getting the entirety of her favorite uncle’s attention.

“Is everything okay uncle Masey?” The little girl asked whilst grabbing onto Mason’s hand, whilst the other was occupied by flinging with an envelope.

“Yes my darling. I’m sorry I haven’t asked you, how’s dinner? Enjoying my cooking skills?” He raised playfully an eyebrow, knowing that he wouldn’t be mad even if she answered negatively.

“I really like it! But maybe aunt’s Y/N a bit more” Summer said with a huge smile on her face. That kid was onto something, Mason said to himself.

“I’ll tell her you said that baby. I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to hear that.” Mason caressed her soft head and picked her up and placed her on his lap.

“Why isn’t she today with us? She’s usually eating here every time.”

He really didn’t that reminder today but how could’ve Summer known. She’s just a kid.

“She’s with her family back in London. She really wished she could make it but it’s very difficult.” Once more where he regretted the distance.

“So what’s that on your hand?” Summer was pointing at the envelope in between Mason’s fingers.

“It’s my letter to Santa. I was a nice boy this year so I think I deserve a gift, don’t you think?”

“I think that if Santa brought me a brand new dollhouse than he will bring what you want too!” She was clapping in confidence.

“I hope you’re right Summer. I’m counting on it!”

“What did you ask for?”

Mason sighed and replied “Your aunt Y/n. She’s been my only wish this year.”

“I’m sure Santa will bring her here with his sleigh before he goes back to Lapland.”

Mason giggled with Summer’s comment and before he could pick up the glass of wine, the doorbell rang.

That was quite unexpected.

“Are you waiting for anyone dear?” His mother Debbie asked.

“Uh, none that I think of” he walks up to the door, opens it and in front of his eyes, Y/n is revealed, carrying a bunch of bags with candy and gifts for everyone but most importantly a massive, beautiful smile plastered on her face.

Mason picked her up, despite the weight from everything she was carrying and held her firmly inside his arms, refusing to let go. He was over the moon.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here! How-uh,when, what?” He was at a loss of words. Very thankful she was in Manchester but questioning as to why she’s not in London with her family.

“Wait, first of all, Merry Christmas everyone. I couldn’t spend this holiday without seeing my favorite family or bringing any gifts.” She said to the entirety of the table, whilst everyone was coming to greet her.

Summer ran into her grasp and hugged her as tight as she could with her little arms. Y/n picked the young girl up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Did Santa bring you here with his sleigh?”

“Well in fact yes he did Summer. Hence why I’m carrying all those gifts!” She played along with the whole Santa act.

“Uncle Masey, your wish did come true. See? She’s here! You can be with auntie now!” The little girl screamed at her uncle and Mason’s face turned instantly red. He was caught red handed.

“What wish?” Y/n looks at the both of them confused and baffled.

“Uncle Masey said that his only wish this year was you. And Santa did grant it!”

Y/n couldn’t tell whether Summer had misinterpreted what Mason had probably said or was in fact saying 100% what he mentioned before.

“Baby, would you mind, leaving us alone for a couple of minutes? I need to speak to your auntie” Mason asked softly and Summer nodded.

“Of course. Go play with your toy.”

Mason took Y/n’s hand and led the both of them to the living room away from the noises of the Christmas table.

“There are a few things I need to say and please be patient but first, why are you here?” He needed to know why she drove all the way to Manchester. Why she was sacrificing time with her family?

“I am in love with you Mason. It took me 24 years to say it because that’s how long I’ve loved you. I never once experienced this feeling with any other man and no one could ever make me feel special or appreciated like you did. I was saving money to travel to the Netherlands just to see you play and then fly back to England the same day. I always lied when I said I was staying at a motel. It didn’t matter than you were in love with someone else, as long as you were, that was making me more than happy even though it pained me to see that I couldn’t be the one from who you were receiving the love.”

If Mason threw out there the whole ‘marriage’ thing Declan said to him, he would take the both of them away to a chapel and marry her in the blink of an eye. That’s how much he loved her. Instead of scaring her away by remembering something that happened all those years ago, he limited himself.

“I don’t know why it took this transfer to realize that the only person in my life that I truly want to be next to me, is you. In all my girlfriends I was looking for traits that only you had and yet I couldn’t find them. Because none of them could compare to you. You are unique and irreplaceable. That’s why I love you. It had always been you and yet I was too blind to realize and see for myself. Y/n it broke my heart to pieces when I was moving my stuff from London to Manchester and I was crying all the way up here. I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas because it would be the first that I wasn’t going to spend with you. You are all I need”

Mason felt a weight being lifted off of him after this confession. Now, not only was Y/n full blown red as well, but also crying with his statement. Her heart was beating so fast and was filled with excitement after what Mason had just confessed.

“Are you willing to fight all odds, beat the distance and be my girlfriend? I promise to take care of you no matter the cost. I promise to give you all the love that I should’ve given you years ago. I promise to appreciate you every second of the day. Only if you let me.” Mason took her hands into his, tangling them up, playing with the promise ring he gave her and was always wearing.

“I am more than willing! I was always ready and I want to love you unconditionally Mason. I want to give you all my love. Yes, I want to be your girlfriend!” She jumps into his arms and Mason closes entirely the gap between them by finally kissing her under the mistletoe. A kiss full of love and pure affection.

“I think by default, this is the best Christmas ever!” Mason says, laughing his heart out.

“You forget the Christmas back when we were 9, when we got ‘married’. Nothing tops that!” Y/n fired back and kisses Mason once more.

“Never say never baby.”

#mason mount x you #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount

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echotoyou · 9 months

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pizza and packing

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns/gendered language are used for the reader)

summary: you’re moving to a new city and packing up everything you own. It’s a little overwhelming to do by yourself, so thank goodness yoongi knocks on your door to remind you that you’re not alone (plus he brought a smoothie!).

wordcount: 2.4k

what’s inside: fluff, angsty reader quickly followed by comfort, yoongi’s hugs could solve the climate crisis, crying, some overthinking with a dash of spiraling

posted: august 2023 (also on ao3!)

beta read by @theharrowing!!! thank you for SO much i love you an incredible amount 🪿

note: wow this started off as me needing to process some things and then turned into an entire story lol. enjoy!! ALSO this is my first time writing fanfic so please please let me know what you think!!!!!

Moving sucks.

You knew this, theoretically. People always complain that moving is too expensive, too much work, simply too hard.

But no one warned you about the loneliness. How your home begins to echo as you pull mugs from cabinets and sweaters from drawers, stuffing it all unceremoniously into boxes. The uncomfortable chill that seeps into the newly empty spaces no longer taken up by your rug or TV. Not to forget the bare spots left by taking down the fairy lights circling the ceiling, your wall of photos and art prints, and the whiteboard calendar that still counts down the days to last month’s big celebration.

Just this morning you cried over a crumpled note found in the back corner of your desk. Rereading your best friend’s well wishes about your new home!, a new start!, a fun adventure! made you realize you couldn’t remember the last time you had deliberately picked up the phone to dial their number.

The doorbell startles you from your thoughts as a rogue tear slips down your cheek. You swipe at it and a quick glance at your phone tells you your fourth take out order of the week isn’t supposed to be here yet. You relax back onto your couch and settle beneath your multicolored crocheted blanket, willing the cheese on your future pizza to melt just a little faster.

Your stomach grumbles in protest at the thought and you join it, groaning when the doorbell rings a second time. Today’s packing-up-your-apartment uniform consisted of a set of well-loved pjs, with a few holes you are definitely ignoring, and tossing your unshowered hair into a top knot. In other words, you were not in the mood to chat up a solicitor.

“I’ve already found God! Thank you!” you yell at the door from your fortress of comfort.

A familiar low chuckle paired with a rhythmic knock greets you this time, and recognition makes you roll your eyes and grin. You untangle yourself from your cozy nest of blankets before sprinting over to the door. Flinging it open, you see a familiar sight: Min Yoongi, phone in one hand, thermos in the other, and gummy smirk plastered across his features.

“I thought you were the delivery guy,” you mumble. “Why didn’t you just knock first?”

Yoongi shrugs and holds out the thermos for you to take, “This one is banana peanut butter with kale and…” he stops for a moment, shakes his head and continues, “something else, too, I don’t know. I promise it tastes good though.”

With suspicion only just hiding the smile in your eyes, you open the thermos and take a long gulp, sighing after you swallow. Oof. Had you actually eaten anything today? Yoongi, still in the doorway, laughs out loud, his expression circling between amusement and chagrin as he catches your eye.

“Cherries. It’s got cherries in it. And now your lips are very red.” He chuckles again with a sparkle in his eye and gaze lingering on your mouth for maybe a moment too long.

“Mhm” you wink at him and take an extra swig from the thermos for good measure, turning around to walk into your apartment. You freeze, suddenly seeing the disembodiment of your living room through his eyes and feel him run into your back with a soft ‘oof.’

“Um okay so um this doesn’t normally look like this, I–”

“Y/N, you’re moving”

“Yes, I know, but um there’s nowhere to sit and I can’t make you tea or anything, because the pot is packed, and I don’t have any food or snacks to offer, and–”

Your word vomit dies down as you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, the slight pressure turning you around to face him. You’re sure he can see the panic in your eyes as he hums a short positive note.

“Do you want me to leave? I wanted to make sure you ate something with greens today and I think I’ve got that checked off the box,” he gestures toward your hands where you’re still clutching his thermos with a death grip.

With your brain still catapulting headfirst into all of the ways you are currently failing at your people-are-over-must-be-a-perfect-host duties, you purse your lips and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

You see something unfamiliar pass across his features, but it morphs so quickly into a sweet smile you can’t decipher it fast enough.

“Alrighty then.” He nods, “best of luck with the rest of your packing. Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll see you later.” He turns and walks out the door, down your front steps and disappears around the corner.

You push the door shut and rest your forehead on the cool wood for a moment, the slight chill relieving you of your hosting concerns when the next set of concerns sidle in.

Wait, did he want to stay? Better question, did you want company? Being alone for the past three days had been making you feel stir-crazy, but there was still so much to do, and it was exhausting directing other people. But he’s not your normal ‘other people.’ Did he drive away yet? Maybe you can still catch him. Ah shit, did you even thank him for the smoothie?

Your thoughts tumble and jumble with the force of a second spin cycle – UGH you also still have laundry to do. Pulling yourself from the door, you give up on trying to catch him and head back to the safety of your couch. You sip from his thermos and pull out your phone to text a quick thank you.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with the notification that your pizza has been delivered. You open the app to double check the photo the driver sent as your doorbell rings.

You break out into laughter as you pull open the door for a second time and show the grinning man on the other side the photo on your phone: Min fucking Yoongi outside your door holding two pizza boxes with a shit eating grin on his face and giving the camera a thumbs up.

“Someone order pizza?”

—

An hour later, you’re not sure who convinced who to stay, but you’ve both been fed and watered with cheesy nonsense and warm conversation.

Remarkably, he wasn’t bothered by the stacks of boxes and piles of items yet to be packed. The other half of your brain reminds you that he’s seen your apartment – and you – through all levels of disarray, some messes 100% yours, like when laundry day lasts a week and takes over your bedroom, the living room, and somehow the bathroom. Other messes were more of a group effort, when you would join forces to make the biggest mess in your kitchen possible while learning a new cooking technique from your subscription meal kit boxes.

Paper plates thrown into a garbage bag and half a pizza wrapped up for tomorrow’s breakfast later, you plop yourself on your carpet, back leaning against your couch, and sigh. You had been trying your darndest to separate the mountain of boxes in front of you into “give away” and “keep” before Yoongi had knocked on your door the first time, and they had now snuck from the ignorable periphery back into your sight.

All at once, the previously easy chatter catches in your throat and you feel yourself trail off, whatever you had just been laughing about suddenly dying on your lips.

“Hey,” a soft voice pierces through the bubble of your thoughts.

“Where did you go, just now?”

You turn to see Yoongi sitting cross legged next to you. He cocks his head at you, his voiced question clear in his soft eyes and slight frown. You avoid his eyes by looking down at your hands in your lap, and realize you are clutching your nearly empty water glass as if it was a life preserver. Raising the cup to your lips, you shrug and gesture loosely at the boxes, the white walls, the furniture marked for people who had messaged you on Facebook Marketplace.

This room would no longer be yours in less than a week, the items in it in even less time. It was more full than it had ever been and yet you felt the emptiness of each drawer and closet echoing with something akin to grief.

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, and immediately feel a warm hand touching yours, gently prying the cup from your clutches and setting it aside. He stands and ignores your protests as he tugs you to your feet. He wraps your arms around his waist and encircles your shoulders with his, pulling you into his chest and squeezing gently. You turn your head to the side so your cheek presses against the soft fabric of his shirt. The pressure of his chin sitting on top of your head feels overwhelming and wholly correct at the same time. Tears prick your eyes for the umpteenth time, and the comforting weight of Yoongi’s hug can’t keep them at bay.

“I just…” the words fade as you sniffle. “I just don’t know how to do this and I feel like I’m doing it all kinds of wrong.”

He hums, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter. Melting into the hug, you allow yourself to bury yourself face first in his soft tee and inhale deeply. His gentle scent of freshly laundered clothing with a hint of citrus is all it takes for your breath to turn into shorter, shuddering sobs, wracking your body.

You feel him gently rub the small of your back. Wave after wave of emotion floods your system, ping ponging between frustration and sadness and anger and fear. Each time you let yourself recognize and validate one thought, another sneaks in, bringing a new wave of tears.

One thought in particular stands as a concrete tower above the rest: you had been its architect for the past few months, placing stone after stone higher than the last until it was magnificent in its largess and painful in its stability. Ignoring it had become normal practice until now, when you looked up and realized you had built the tower around yourself.

You were choosing to leave. You chose to move thousands of miles from your family, and now you were choosing again to move hundreds of miles away from the family you had found here. There was no one to blame, no mystical forces of nature to shift the attention to. It was all just you.

A small noise breaks the paralyzing stillness of your thoughts, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The sound blankets your spiral in a layer of sweet, comforting darkness. You grab at the tuneless melody like a rope and as the rumbling within his chest begins to center you back in your living room, safe in his arms again, you realize he was humming. You squeeze his waist a little tighter and as you release, his humming trickles off.

“If it’s any consolation, no one knows what they’re doing.” He whispers into your hair. “Especially when packing up a home they’ve lived in for a while. This place is stocked with things, yes, but also memories. You’ve grown and changed a whole lot since you moved in.”

“So then why am I leaving?” your voice cracks on the last word as you hiccup it into the void.

He shrugs, “We both know I can’t answer that for you. I do hope that whatever answer you decided on when you started this process is still true, and if it’s not, then this is just one choice. And you can make a new one in the future.”

You ‘hrumph’ back at him and take another deep breath.

Your breathing soon begins to match his small, rhythmic motions, inhaling and exhaling as your brain clears. You pull back from where you had smushed your face on his shirt, grimacing at the snot left on his shirt, and wiggling to escape his embrace in search of a tissue. He seems to have a different idea as his grip strengthens and you look up to see his concerned eyes searching for yours. Suddenly, a cat-like grin breaks out across his features and out of nowhere, the man laughs.

“How could someone look so beautiful after sobbing like the Titanic was sinking?”

You groan, for likely the fiftieth time today, and swat at his chest. With another smirk, he releases you from the hug. You shiver from the immediate loss of body heat and quickly look around the room for something resembling a tissue that had not been packed yet. You hear him clear his throat, and you look back to be met with a tissue dangling right in front of your face.

“Thank you” your voice sounds small and gravely and you blot your eyes and nose before making eye contact with the spots on his shirt again. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry… your shirt…” your voice fades as you unconsciously reach out toward the stains, your only focus to assess the damage. He gently catches your wrist before your hand hits his chest, and places a butterfly light kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my designated moving t-shirt, eligible for dust, stains, and tears – bonus points if you get all three in one go,” he winks, fluidly moving his hand from your wrist to your fingers, and spins you around in circles until you can’t help but give him a watery grin. Pulling you in for another hug, he gently squeezes you once more before letting go and heading toward the kitchen. You hear the squeak of the faucet before he reappears proudly brandishing your glasses now full of water.

You accept the glass he holds out and let your eyes scan the pile of things in front of you. The boxes in the corner pull your attention again and you start to feel the overwhelm teeter you back over the edge. Taking a deep breath, you sip at the water and move to sit on the couch, seeking the comfort of your blanket once again.

“Let’s do something easy tonight, okay? No thoughts, just blankets.”

You nod, and he plugs in the TV that you had moved into a corner for ‘safe keeping’ while you sold the table it stood on. He settles next to you on the couch and you spy a slight knowing smile on his face as he navigates to your favorite show, the one you started over to watch with him, and the one that makes you happy cry every time.

He slides his hand into yours and it doesn’t leave for the entirety of the first, second, or third episode you watch. Neither does he when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

#bts #myg #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #fluff #one shot #bts one shot #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #diverseinsertknet

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justseventeen · 9 months

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August 1975. 'Patchwork perfection. Sweaters in super multicolors of rust, navy, green, or wine that match-up to anything of your choice.'

#vintage ads #1970s fashion #1975 #knitwear

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cressida-jayoungr · 4 months

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One Dress a Day Challenge

Anything Goes December

The Taming of the Shrew / Costume for Elizabeth Taylor as Katharina Minola(?)

I'm tremendously curious about this gown. It appeared in an exhibit titled "Glamour: Famous Gowns of the Silver Screen" in Finland in 2020. FrockFlicks did a a fine writeup of the exhibit in which they dubbed this the "unicorn dress." But it doesn't appear in the actual film!

It looks like an alternate version of the wedding dress, possibly intended to make Katharina match more closely with Petruchio's outlandish multicolored costume--but that's just a guess. If it wasn't used, why was it constructed? And was it designed by Irene Sharaff, who did Elizabeth Taylor's other gowns for this film, or by Danilo Donati, who designed everyone else's costumes?

#the taming of the shrew #anything goes december #elizabeth taylor #one dress a day challenge #one dress a week challenge #16th century costumes #movie costumes #period film #renaissance style #renaissance costumes #shakespeare adaptations #shakespear costumes #1967 movies #1967 films #multicolored august #multicoloured august #not appearing in this film

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sweet-christabel · 2 years

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One Dress a Day - bonus challenges

Multicoloured August Memoirs of a Geisha - Sayuri (Ziyi Zhang)

There are so many beautiful costumes in this movie. Experts have said that they aren’t as accurate as they could be, (Colleen Atwood is amazing, but it seems insane that they didn’t hire a Japanese costume designer), but they are very pretty to look at. My favourite is probably this pale blue kimino decorated with pink flowers to match the blossoms Sayuri walks through. The bold colours of the obi and her accessories tie the whole thing together nicely. The Chairman’s suit is very dapper too!

#one dress a day challenge #multicolored august #memoirs of a geisha #sayuri

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boltedgarlic · 5 months

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08/21/2010

#upload #dated #august #2010 #located #tokyo #japan #performance #outside #stage #sesame street #people #multicolor

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andreanakta · 2 years

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Wouldn't @taylorswift look lovely in this SLEEVELESS FLORAL TAPESTRY FAILLE DRESS by @oscardelarenta 🌻🌸🌹🌼🌷🌺

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corn-fanfiction · 5 months

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love confession during an actual confession for damien karras maybe? could be sad, if you want.

And it will be sad, anon. It will be.

Confessions (Damien Karras + GN!Reader)

Rated: T

Tags: religious themes, hurt no comfort, confessions of love, CATHOLIC GUILT!!!!

-·=»◆‡«=·-♡·=»◆‡«=·-

Picture it: August, 1971. Georgetown, Washington D.C.

The leaves are changing. The times are changing.

You are changed, and you don’t think it’s for the better.

A heaviness fills the hole in your chest as you pull open the heavy doors to the church, allowing the first fallen leaves of the season to tumble inside. It's late afternoon; the church is mostly empty, save for a few people praying either at pews or at candle stands. Distantly, you can hear singing in Latin as the choir practices a room over. Midday sun sends multicolored beams through the stained glass windows to catch dust in the light. The pity and hollowness of this room reflects the voided aspect of your life that is soon to come. You find some strange comfort in that.

You know he's minding the confessional. You have most of his schedule memorized, and you're not proud. You give the sign of the cross upon entering the nave, then turn to step quietly into the booth, despite the fact that the ancient wood creaks and announces your presence and purpose to the entire world.

Damien clears his throat through the partition.

"Go ahead," he instructs in that low, calming voice of his. God, you don't even want to speak. You don't want to hurt him. Perhaps it's vanity that convinces you that you'd have that effect on him at all.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been...three weeks since my last confession."

Upon hearing your voice, he grows deadly quiet. And even when you're finished speaking, there is an unbearable moment of silence.

"Why the long wait?"

You fidget with your hands in your lap.

"I've been...afraid to confess my sins...here."

"This is the safest place to confess and receive forgiveness. There is no judgment here."

"No, Father. There is. Because it's here. Because it's you."

You can almost feel him stiffen. His breath is either hitched or silent.

"I will not judge you. It's not my place."

You chuckle humorlessly. "I'm pretty sure the big man upstairs already knows. Of course, I can't imagine why He'd put me in this position."

He sighs. "It's not His work-"

"I know, I know, it's the evil in the world. But still. You can't...feel what I feel, so pure, and for whom I feel it for...so kind, and not think it divine. Even if I know it's not."

"...You still have not confessed your sin."

His voice has grown thick. With what, you can't be sure. You almost don't want to know. Knowing might keep you from your purpose here.

"I love. I yearn for someone I can't have. But God has put him in my path, made him kind and close to me. Put it in my mind that he could even possibly reciprocate my feelings. But I know he can't. Why would an Evil do that to me? It doesn't make sense. Just to hurt me? I don't inflict pain."

"No, of course not," he attempts to comfort, but neither of you can stop the tears that begin to pool at your eyes. "Sins can be small. Sins can be harmless to others. By coming here, you show that your heart longs to repent."

"God won't hear me when I ask him to stop this. Maybe coming into His house, speaking to His servant..." Guilt eats at your gut. "But I know it's wrong, because I knew you'd be here. I know I wanted it to be you to hear this from me...and that, I think, is inflicting pain. Two birds with one stone, I guess," you laugh, referring to gallows humor to mask your pain.

"You consciously came to inflict pain?"

"No. I came to speak the truth, knowing it would cause pain. Which is worse? To lie, or to deliver a painful truth."

"Well, lying is a sin..."

"Then I won't lie. I'm sorry for what I'm about to say to you. I love you, Damien. I'm so, so sorry that I do. I know it's not fair to you to be the object of my desire, or to hear this. But you have to hear it as much as I have to say it. This is what I beg forgiveness for. Perhaps more than the feeling itself. I can deal with the emptiness. I can't handle hurting you."

"But you must."

"I must."

Silence. Something has dropped out of you and plummeted into hell itself.

"Well, you were right- per usual. It is painful."

Having already been dealing with the complex feelings of this reality, you're almost relieved that he's validated your fears.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. I'm sorry if I...did anything to spur this on."

He thinks this is his fault?

"It's your existence, and that in and of itself is not bad. You help, you heal. But I think I'm one that can't be saved."

"Why not?"

My god, you think. He's crying. He's crying over you.

You'd rather burn in hell to have just spared him this.

"Because I can't stop this." You sniff, wipe the tears from your eyes, content with their perpetual presence. "I'm so sorry. You'll never see me again."

Your hand reaches for the handle but you hear him move.

"Wait-" there's panic in his voice. "You can't leave."

You heart stops. "I have to."

"No. It's not fair. There are ways, things we can do to...curb these emotions. We have to be stronger than this."

We we we we we we we we-

"No. I can't. And I don't think you can, either."

You hadn't planned on coming in here and calling him weak. But if you're on a roll of telling difficult truths...

"Please," he begs.

You can't stay here. You stand.

"I'm sorry. Please know that I've never been sorrier for anything in my life."

Before he can respond, you've left the booth, fleeing from the church and leaving him, alone to cradle his head in his hands, feeling like a damn coward for keeping his own truths inside.

-·=»◆‡«=·-♡·=»◆‡«=·-

I'd apologize anon, but...I think we both knew this is how it would go. Thanks for the req!!! 🩷🩷🩷

#damien karras #damien karras x reader #the exorcist #the exorcist 1973 #exorcist fanfiction

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oflights · 11 months

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oh have I missed the chance for prompts??? I hope not. Ummmm let’s see. How about your choice of the lads going to one of the below places:

* sushi conveyor belt restaurant

* way overpriced boozy brunch

* garden seating at a pub, on a hot summer night

so, as we've already discussed, i low-key want to do ALL of these and as such have screenshotted this to return to some of them. but this one is, in a roundabout way, garden seating at a pub on a hot summer (june) night. in new york! finally!

it's also 2.3k word again (just fuck my life, honestly) and it's getting back together fic. i'm sorry. this is who i am. i hope you like it!!

It’s a beautiful night, the stickiness of the summer day having faded a bit with the sun, just gone down an hour or so ago. There are lovely, multicolored paper lanterns filled with magical light strung up above, crisscrossing the width of the garden area, scattering it in purposeful rainbow. The low, cheerful din of glasses clinking against the wooden tables and excited chatter washes over the space.

There is a nice breeze, one Draco has been told means he should be grateful this is late June in New York and not August, where breezes flee. It’s still hot, unexpectedly so; he is very aware of wearing long sleeves and concedes his agent was probably right about that. He just didn’t want—people here like to ask about his tattoo when back home they know better, or worse, really. He doesn’t want to talk about that.

He finishes his drink trying not to even think about it, drumming his fingers against his own wooden table and shaking his head when a waitress asks him if he wants a refill. Carlo, his agent, gives him an unimpressed look and says, “If we’re going to wait to start, you might as well have another drink to calm your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” Draco says automatically, and Carlo snorts.

“Sure. Look, if that’s the case, we might as well—”

“Just a few more minutes; they’ll be here,” Draco cuts in quickly, and now Carlo sighs.

“A few more minutes, all right. But if we wait any longer the people who want to be here will actually just leave, and then we’ll have booked all this for nothing.”

Draco nods distractedly, already looking away and glancing out over the other tables without trying to be too obvious about it or catch anyone’s eye. He still has to nod at people—people he can’t really believe exist, people excited to see him read to them, people who have read his book with their actual eyes and liked it and bought it and maybe told their friends to buy it. They have it with them, holding it in their hands. It’s startling every time he thinks about it. It still seems like a trick, like someone is going to jump out from somewhere and say “Got you!”

This is the first reading he’s doing in person, ever. He’d done a successful launch party in London, had done something of a press round, even—terrifying, the whole time, even as it all went well. He’d read from his book on the wireless, he’d chatted with a few people who walked up to him in Diagon Alley, bewilderingly, happily. He likes to talk about his book.

But now Draco’s half a world away from all that, because apparently his book is selling really well in the States, better even than back home, and the international affiliate of his publisher wanted him to do a book tour to support the second printing, which means conferences and events and more press and—

And a reading, to strangers, in a beautiful garden area behind a large, apparently historic pub in the magical area nestled between the West Village and Greenwich Village. The sounds and lights of the city around them are muffled, muted, like the world has narrowed down only to this.

It’s a long way to go, for him and for all of the people Draco had rather desperately invited—all of his friends, who had had to break their promises to come one by one as family and job issues waylaid them.

Even his extended friends, the kind he only sees at rare and rarer pub nights every few months or at weddings or funerals or��he’d given out invitations to them, too, had offered to arrange Portkeys and stays in New York even once the book tour takes him elsewhere.

A few had said they’d try to come, but as the people he’s closer to had cancelled—Pansy, histrionically heartbroken about it, Blaise playing it so cool it was clear he truly was upset, Greg and Millie and Daphne and Theo and all of them full of regrets and work and kids and things that Draco didn’t have to keep him from doing something mad like traveling around the world for a stupid little book—Draco had resigned himself to the fact that they wouldn’t come either. Why would Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom go out of their way for someone they see once every few months now, ever since—when the people he sees at least twice a week on average couldn’t make it?

Draco had even invited—he was desperate—and he knew he wouldn’t come because they were over, of course, any obligation to come to things like this had ceased when all that had ended, so there was no way—but just in case—

He'd told himself that was all okay because his parents had promised. They don’t understand any of it, of course—Father thinks it’s a silly hobby gone a bit too far, and perhaps it had started that way, a diversion from the drudgery of managing the Malfoy estate, but now it’s all this, it’s Draco’s life that he doesn’t get—but they had said they’d be here to support him. They have no jobs, he is their family, they can arrange international Portkeys in their sleep—there’s no reason for them not to come. He’s certain they’ll be here.

Draco cranes his neck, searching the tables for any telltale blond hair he’s missed, eyes flicking to the back entrance to the pub where he’s sure they’ll emerge at any moment. Maybe they missed their Portkey and had to reschedule. Maybe there was a delay at the terminal. Maybe they decided to sleep off the time difference at their hotel and didn’t set a wakeup Floo. Maybe—

“Draco,” Carlo says, very gentle, but not patient. “We’ve got to start. I’m sorry, but I don’t think they’re coming.”

Draco shakes his head, even as the truth of that settles in the pit of his stomach like a sinking stone. He swallows past a lump in his throat, wishing he did have a new drink so his hands could be damp with cool condensation instead of clammy, anxious sweat.

He is not nervous. “You can do this,” Carlo tells him. “Just keep an eye on me; I’m here.” Draco likes talking about his book. He likes being around people, chatting with them—it’s just reading, his own words, he practically knows them by heart, they’re etched into his skin far deeper than the Mark, scratched over his heart—

But he really, really wanted his parents to come. He truly thought they would.

“All right,” Draco says finally, still shaking his head but forcing himself to come to terms. He talks himself into it as he stands up, rationalizing—it was definitely the time difference. They’re napping; Mother will wake up horrified, and they’ll get late drinks and perhaps midnight room service and laugh about it later.

That’s how he gets himself to the edge of the garden under the brightest lights, standing at a Levitating podium that settles to the ground once he reaches it. It’s hotter here, under the lights; he wants to rip his sleeves off and use them to dab at his sweaty temples. He has to take deep breaths.

Draco looks out over the crowd, their eager faces, and tries to focus on Carlo—but his face is too soft, too close to pity. He tries to look at nothing instead, knows soon he’ll be reading anyway so it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to look at the fact that his parents aren’t here. But first he has to talk a little, introduce himself, thank people for coming, all of these people who don’t even know him, didn’t raise him, still showed up because they liked his work that much when his parents haven’t even read—

“Hello,” Draco makes himself say, a small huff of a laugh, as charming a grin as he can muster. For a moment, that’s all he can muster; his throat is tightening, his sleeves feel like they’re getting smaller. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be strangled at your wrists, but perhaps they’re cutting off the circulation there, constricting his blood flow enough to explain why breathing is so treacherous. “I—I’m so glad you’re all here. I’m so glad that I’m here.”

More words, successful. Words are his thing, Draco reminds himself. He can do this. “And I’m—I’m grateful, really. Impossibly so. It’s really—this month, in this place, and I’m barely starting to understand how much it means to everyone because all I’ve known, all I’ve put into this book, is what it means to me—what it means to be like us, or so I assume, in what feels like a very small world, and—” He breaks off, making slightly panicked eye contact with Carlo—who taps the rainbow pin on his lapel and gives him a thumbs up, encouraging, he can do this.

Draco manages to open his mouth again, but all that emerges is a puff of slightly distressed air. And that’s when movement from the back entrance distracts him thoroughly, gratefully, another place to fix his gaze—which widens, steals more breath.

Rushing through the doorway, knocking into a slotted wooden chair and swearing, is Harry. He’s got Draco’s book wedged under his armpit, he’s whispering apologies to people he bumps into; he drags a chair out from a table with a bunch of strangers, apologizing to them and then hurriedly turning to face Draco with a slightly sweaty, flustered face.

Harry grins when Draco catches his eye. His glasses reflect the rainbow lights a little, and he looks a mess in the loveliest, most familiar way. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, excited, maybe nervous, too, and he’s—here. He’d gotten the invitation Draco sent in desperation, the note he’d scrawled I’m sure you’re busy with work, and I know we don’t really see much of each other anymore, and it’s a long way to go, but if you want to, if you have any interest, it would mean a lot be nice of you and nice to see you—and he’d Portkeyed halfway across the world and he’s here, somehow, bewilderingly, happily.

And suddenly all of Draco’s words are right there, easy, ready to be plucked up and tossed out with every confidence at where they’ll land. It’s a familiar feeling, a specific kind of confidence he’d thought entirely out of reach once he and Harry broke up and descended into the awkward, not-quite friends they’ve been since. Harry is here, and he cares for him, at least enough to show up for him, and Draco can do this because Harry clearly believes he can. It must not have even been a question in his mind, for him to come all this way.

“I’m so grateful we’re all here together,” Draco says. He touches his own pin, looks around, keeps talking. “Being together like this in a small world—it makes it feel much bigger.”

He goes on; he reads. He chokes himself a little but only for good reasons, looking up and seeing people listening, their eyes shining, laughing at the best of moments. He looks into Harry’s eyes, grins back at him, softens it when he catches Harry swiping his fingers behind his glasses as subtly as possible.

After, Draco gets another drink and sits at various tables, signing books, chatting happily. He gravitates towards Harry, who has his own drink and seems to be waiting, but when they near each other Harry whispers, “No, you can keep—I’ll wait for you, Draco, it’s all right.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispers back, hoping Harry knows how much he means it.

And there’s every opportunity to tell him as the crowd thins and the pub staff comes out to start stacking chairs and taking down the lights. Carlo leaves after hugging Draco and telling him how brilliant he’d been, telling him to get excited about doing this again two nights from now in Boston. And then there’s Harry, here, waiting.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Harry says once Draco joins him in the only other unstacked chair. The lights are all gone now, the pub staff telling them they can hang out while they finish closing up inside, the only light streaming from that backdoor. “And that I didn’t, um, tell you I was coming. I was just so—I’d heard about it, of course, but I didn’t know if you’d want me here really, I thought maybe you were just—”

“I wanted you here,” Draco says, realizing he was desperate but not in just the way he’d imagined. “I—I am so happy you came.”

“Me too,” Harry says, and then he laughs a little. “Even though I can barely see you.” He taps his wand a few times and shoots brilliantly bright, multicolored sparks out of it; they rise up to form a glowing, rainbow swirl of light above them, like all the lanterns have cracked open and spilled above them.

It’s beautiful, and Harry looks beautiful beneath it, the colors splayed across his skin as he puts his wand down, reaches out, and takes Draco’s hands. “Better,” Harry says, and then: “I’m so fucking proud of you, Draco.”

Relief, rushing and sweets, hits Draco so fast that it’s all he can feel for a moment. Gone is the disappointment, nerves, dread—all of it falls away. He can do this, he thinks; he did it.

“Do you want to—I mean, you came all this way, and this place is closing but I’m sure there are others we could—maybe food? And we could—I’d love to just—” His words are gone again but now it’s because it feels like there’s too many, that there’s so much he wants to say to Harry and it’s all got to come out quickly because “—and I’m going to Boston very soon, I’m sorry, but maybe—”

“Never been to Boston,” Harry says, smiling so fondly. He squeezes Draco’s hands.

#drarry #drarry fic #oflights #oknowkiss #asks #my fic #fic prompts #why am i like this!!!#this just spiraled #i could probably write 20k more of it tbh #also: happy pride!!!#this is the most pride fill yet :')

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