“Từ khi nào em đẩy tôi ra xa, và chúng ta không còn là chúng ta nữa. Từ khi nào câu hỏi mọc lên không còn chỗ chứa, và tôi mệt mỏi giữ chúng lặng im. Tôi nhìn những vết đinh ghim, còn sót lại sau dãy ảnh hạnh phúc. Tôi đã gặp và yêu em đúng lúc, còn em kết thúc chỉ có một mình. Nếu tình yêu là cuộc viễn chinh, em đã chiến thắng còn tôi có tất cả mà tay trắng cô đơn.”

(“Và để cơn mưa nằm yên” - Zelda)

#CHIÊU Thành phố này ồn ã quá, anh à.

You wanted me to submit this so… I copied it and fixed it around… Here it goes. I apologise.

me: *Sends photo*
Me: ok listen to me on this one *clears throat*

empty arena/field.
post game 
they lost.


It didn’t cost them like the big tournament but left them in a pretty bad spot, also killed their winning streak, and Harry, being #10 (the number they give the best player in soccer) knows it’s on him. He was all over the place, not focused, he wasn’t giving it his all, or he was and it just spiralled out of control. Kicks were either too messy or too hard. It just… It wasn’t his game and he doesn’t know why. He had been doing so good all season long. The whole team was. But today it all went to shit (not going to say why, you pick a reason E.) 

And you know everyone is devastated, they walk around like zombies and the other team hollers and pokes fun as they leave. Everyone is so down, Harry more than anything, and when you don’t see him anywhere after the game, you don’t spot him or hear any banging or fights (ya know cause he might be angry at this) you think you know where he is.

You go to the stadium/arena/field or whatever and see him kicking around balls he’s laid in front of him. Free style, direct hits to the net, he’s got only his shorts on and his cap, shirt thrown to the side and he’s wearing socks not even his spike shoes. He’s kicking hard, it’s like he’s trying to inflict himself pain since he’s doing this in his socks (in very frat harry fashion). He keeps missing and missing the goal, coming close but not really, no matter what angle and you just stare at him being frustrated. Then he scores one, just one, and he groans and sighs and goes to sit on the stands/chairs.

His back is to you and you see him slumped and covering his face with his hands. You decide you need to talk to him or at least ask him if he needs you, or anything. Instead of seeing this and deciding “yeah i’ll leave him alone to cool off” you think that you need to ask if he wants to be alone and cool off. So you go and when you get close and make noise with the chairs he looks up slowly like that (picture) and he just… There’s a bit of a staring contest kind of. He’s looking intensely at you holding his breath, and you’re looking intensely at him right back, and making sure nothing in your eyes gives him any pity, you know he hates that.
Its a game of who’s going to look away first.

He does.

He goes back to looking to the empty field and clears his throat, readjusting himself on the chair and not looking as slumped. You come to sit 2 chairs away from him.
It takes you a second, a small moment before you decide to start talking. You have a chat and he’s being super down and a bitch like kinda rude cause he feels like a failure and the more you talk the closer you scoot over to him until you’re close enough and lay a hand on his knee. You listen to him comment about technical things he missed, and angrily insult some other player from the opposing team. You squeeze at his knee over and over, trying to give him some sense of comfort, he stays there quiet, slowly he grabs it and caresses it, running his thumb over your knuckles. He sighs over and over still beating himself up for it in his mind, even when he’s not saying anything. You know it. Even when his grip on your hand feels like he’s saying thank you, you know his devils are attacking at full force, and you can’t let that happen, you don’t want him to venture there alone.
“Harry, it’s ok to make mistakes, to have a day when you’re not yourself… ” you sigh grabbing his hand in both of yours “You’re human… Let yourself fall and be wrong and cry… It’s ok to feel. And you get to rise up again, remember there’s always a next time…”
he pulls you in for a bit of a hug, no matter how uncomfortable due to how you’re sitting and your hands still holding on to his, and then you sit in silence holding hands.

And you think that maybe you should get him to go and kick the anger out as he was doing. He doesn’t want to anymore so you decide something else to try and get his mind OFF kicking himself.
“Then teach me how to kick” you say (or something) and you both go kick around balls barefoot as he’s removed his socks and you removed your heels or idk your totally not football appropriate shoes
and you’re kicking around and you start to get the hang of it and you keep scoring
“Hey what the hell?” He says in between laughter, and you shrug and tell him you used to play before so you knew how to kick “you liar” he gets kinda fake mad cause you’re winning so it becomes a game of tag more like him chasing you around with laughter filling the empty field.

And now you’d assume this ends in the typical “ he catches you and you fall and you’re about to kiss ” kinda thing and you might kiss, after all he’s been wanting to, for so long… But no.

He catches you, you fall, like the movie, and before he kisses you, you grab his sock and smack him with it until he surrenders off you, he lets you go and you take off running again, the biggest smile on your face and his laughter is so loud and full.

And then clumsy you falls or trips on air apparently, like how do you even? It’s ok you’re just clumsy, and he’s worried. The fun ends with him insisting he takes you to the doctor cause he’s pretty sure he knows what a badly sprained ankle looks like…

And then you’re waiting for the doctor to come back with x-rays or something but at least he’s smiling and you keep him laughing even though he’s worried sick about your ankle, you try to get him to be happy even right now when you’re hurting.

When you get like idk what they called the thing you use to walk when you have something in your leg, THAT ( i googled it; crutches, iv, you’re dumb); you get them and you’re soooo wobbly with them, it’s weird to have them to try and walk when your instinct is to plant your foot to the ground but Harry’s NOT letting you do anything to that ankle. Harry’s trying to help you walk around and when you go in the elevator to go back and he can take you home, you catch the ride alone, just you two in the elevator and he tells you to rest against the wall so you don’t have to continue being all wobbly and such
and then he just leans in as well as you rest against the elevator wall and kisses you briefly.

It ends before the elevator dings and on the way to your place it’s not spoken about… He helps you get settled in cause of the crutches and all, but not a word.



三軒家路地 by m-louis .®
Via Flickr:
Jul 2, 2016 at 11:55, Osaka 大正区


パンダのリーリー by Copanda_

Could someone who understands the IPA help me with this?


Specifically, I don’t understand the circumflex at all and am thus having great difficulty differentiating between Portuguese grandmothers and grandfathers.


nova canção // m ã o s

essas mãos não têm fim…

onde é que elas vão depois de mim?

amor é a tua vez agora,

e que o álcool leve a timidez embora.

e entre os dedos da mão esquerda agarro o mundo ou um cigarro,

e entre os medos na cabeça eu guardo o fundo ou a cidade.

à falta de pais temos as ruas em Lisboa,

vou-me despindo dos O L V S sob uma lua que nos magoa.

os punhos adornados… corpos onde eu tropeço,

e há o sangue que é roubado como é o ouro que preenche o meu esqueleto.

e tu vens-te e vais-te embora,

vais e bates a porta e nunca me dás aquilo que eu rezo.

e quando não mos contas onde é que guardas os segredos?

e quando não me tocas onde é que tu guardas os dedos?

essas mãos não têm fim…

onde é que elas vão depois de mim?

amor é a tua vez agora,

e que a droga leve a timidez embora.

e eu bebo aquilo que houver…  acho as tuas palavras.

estas noites habituaram-me a embebedar-me com falácias.

dizem que as putas baratas sentem tudo em demasia,

e que na cidade das acácias há magia.

(tenho) as mãos em sangue de amar-te - tocar-te é quase vida.

e que a dor que tu me trazes se transforme em arte um dia.

e eu chego tarde… as veias são apenas pedras,

não existem maneiras de viver sem ser em guerra.

Lisboa ensinou-nos a decorar-nos com miséria,

e a encontrar beleza entre a maldade e a tristeza.

és uma fera que insiste em dançar para se esconder.

e há maneiras de chorar que são difíceis de entender.

e quando não mos contas onde é que guardas os segredos?

e quando não me tocas onde é que tu guardas os dedos?

essas mãos não têm fim…

onde é que elas vão depois de mim?