#ALSO. having said what i said about her Mozart. i would have LOVED to hear her Fiordligi and Vitellia.

[motomamita]

singledad!eddie × pregnant!female!reader

warnings: smut, +18, mentions of breast milk, breeding kink, no condom, pregnant sex!

Part. 1

Upon hearing the news of your positive test, Eddie was eager and happy to be able to share this new stage with you. However, his happiness faded when you met him at your trailer one afternoon to talk.

Distraught and with Lily playing at your feet, you told him that while you were delighted to take care of Lily, you still didn't feel ready to raise a child of your own. You were too young and Lily already required too much time and energy that you didn't know if you would be able to give to another baby. Eddie lowered his head, watching as Lily played with the laces of your sneakers as she babbled 'mom' at you. Sad but accepting your decision, he lifted his daughter in his arms and began to talk to her, explaining the situation.

"Don't be sad, my little flower. Your little brother or sister won't be able to come this time, but I assure you that soon you will have one to play with..." Eddie spoke sweetly to Lily and, as if she understood his words, pouted and sob.

Obviously that broke your heart. So much so that in the end you surrendered to him and decided to continue with your pregnancy.

You moved into Eddie's trailer, so you could take care of Lily more comfortably and little by little you would accommodate the space to receive the new baby. Gradually you began to adapt to life there, and to be with both of them almost 24/7. Eddie left for work in the morning and returned a little before dinner. Some days he would pick you up and would go to the mall to buy things necessary for your pregnancy.

Eddie was delighted and even seemed to enjoy the purchases more than you. He loved choosing your maternity dresses, your braziers and even the most comfortable underwear for you. While you were inside the dressing room, he stayed with Lily outside the room while he softly sang her a lullaby. Every time you came out to show off how your clothes fit, he would whistle at you flirtatiously and Lily would applaud awkwardly.

Inevitably you managed to fall in love with him. He was too attentive, loving and understanding with you and Lily. He enjoyed accompanying you to the doctor, listening carefully to every word he said and asking a lot of questions about how to cope better with the pregnancy. Sometimes after work he brought with him magazines with advice for the first pregnancy and several classical music albums, because according to him: 'scientists say that the baby can be smarter if he listens to Beethoven or Mozart!'. True or not, the reality is that he did everything possible to keep his family happy.

As the months passed, your belly increased in size and you experienced several signs and symptoms. Your feet began to hurt and so did the desire for strange food combinations. Eddie knew it and for that same reason on the weekends he took full care of Lily so you could rest. He would place your feet in warm water and massage them while he told you the list of names he had been making. He also made sure to leave the cupboard and refrigerator full of candy and other possible foods that you might want such as ice cream, cookies, chips, gummies and even pickles.

As for sex, it had never really stopped. What's more, his desire for you seemed to have increased as the weeks passed, taking advantage of every opportunity he had to make you his. Despite having a little girl in home, Eddie was quite creative when it came to getting between your legs. You could wake up in the middle of the night with his cock inside your pussy, his hands on your sensitive nipples and hot breath in your ear. Or during a quick shower, he would sneak between the curtains, helping you soap your back and taking the opportunity to kiss every sensitive part of your skin. Otherwise, far from the gaze of Lily who was playing in the living room, he would put his face under your dress to taste the juices of your pussy.

That Friday everything was as usual. Lily, who had barely begun to walk, played with holding on to the couch while moving her body from one side to the other to the rhythm of Beethoven. You gave the final details to the table and looked from time to time at the lasagna that was cooking in the oven. The sound of Eddie's truck's engine alerted you both that he was already there. Lily gave a little scream, anticipating her father's arrival.

"Daddy's home!" Eddie announced himself, informing the house. You received it with a small smile, letting Lily be the first to receive it. Seeing him, she began to walk clumsily into the arms of her father, who hugged her tightly. "Good job, Lily!" He smiled, picking her up in his arms and approaching you. "How did my girls behave?" He asked, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips and touching your belly tenderly. "And this little one? Can't wait to get out? Mm?"

"The food is ready." you announced, wiping your hands on your apron.

Eddie took Lily to the bathroom to wash her hands, telling the little girl about his day at work as if she understood something. Once at the table, you began to eat while the music played. You and Eddie helped the little girl eat her food, wiping her mouth every time she spit out a bit of it.

When he finished, Eddie took care of cleaning her and taking her to her crib to sleep. For your part, you picked up the dishes and were about to wash up when you felt Eddie's hands on your belly.

"Leave it, I'll wash them later. The food was delicious, so you deserve to rest, mommy." He speak and then kiss your cheek. You didn't object and left things to go sit with him on the couch. "How do you feel?" He asked, caressing your thighs and letting his rings make your skin crawl.

"Okay, a little tired. As Lily starts walking alone I should have been more careful that she doesn't set the house on fire." you joked, remembering the childrens prank she was slowly starting to get up to. "I missed you." You murmured, somewhat embarrassed by how much you needed him.

"Yeah? How much?" Eddie asked with a mischievous smile on his face, squeezing your thighs slightly.

"So, so much.." Eddie growled, knowing the tone of voice you used when you needed more than a kiss or hug.

Eddie approached and joined his lips with yours in a loud, wet kiss. He brought one of his hands to the back of your neck, grabbing some of your hair while his other hand moved up your thigh to your center.

"Poor mommy, spending so many hours here with my baby..." he murmured, separating himself a little. "Alone and without anyone who can satisfy and fill that sweet, tight pussy.." he massage your pussy over your underwear.

"You're bad, very bad for always leaving me wanting more..." you complain and then moans when he found your clit lightly pinched by him.

"I know, my queen, I know... but now I'm here..." Eddie pulled her hair a little, making you moan. "I'm all yours, use me however you want."

It was a matter of minutes before you found yourself on top of Eddie, naked, riding his big cock. Your swollen breasts bounced with each sit on his hard cock, leaving such an exciting sight for Eddie who watched you with his hands behind his head.

"Come on, mommy. Milk this cock." His words did nothing but encourage you to move your hips faster and making the clash of skin echo through the room. "Fuuck, that's right.. Use me, use me.." Eddie closed his eyes, moaning at the way your pussy rode his cock with ease.

You placed your hands on his chest, digging your nails and trying to stabilize yourself, making his cock go even deeper in you in that new position.

"God.. Look at your tits, they are so big.. And heavy.." Eddie brought his hands to her breasts, making circles on her erect nipples and pressing them lightly in the hope that milk would come out of them. "I promise you that as soon as your sweet milk starts coming out of here, I will be the first to taste it.." you moaned when you heard it. "Uh? You like that? Would you like to breastfeed me?" You bit your lower lip, nodding madly and still moving.

Just thinking about it made Eddie even more horny. He brought his hands to your waist, carefully pulling you towards him to begin penetrating you hard. His hips rose and fell quickly, hitting his pubis against your clit and rubbing your tits against his beefy chest.

"I'm going to fill you with my cum again and again..." he moaned as his balls slapped against part of your ass. "Tell me...Who did this to you? Uh? Who put a baby inside you?" He asked, looking lustfully into your eyes while one of his hands caressed your belly.

"You- It was you.." you managed to say with a broken voice, completely overstimulated. Eddie smiled proudly at your words, changing his thrusts for slower but deeper ones.

"That's right, mommy.. You're so good that your fertile womb took my semen the first time.. Good girl." You moaned at his compliments, feeling your orgasm approaching. "Are you going to cum? Mmh?" He asked sweetly, caressing your face as you nodded your head. "Come on, cum for me..." those words were enough for seconds later his cock was wet with your sweet nectar.

Eddie took care of cleaning you, covering you with a blanket and placing you on his chest. Your head was spinning, dazed and in some sort of subspace. He noticed it, caressed your hair and let him slowly put you back together while you listened to his heartbeat.

"Hey, I have to show you something." He spoke to you after a few minutes. You raised your head to look at him, Eddie reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small box. "Remember what I told you the first time..." he stretched out his words, referring to the time he fucked you on that same couch. "What did I tell you?"

You thought for a few seconds before answering. "That you would make me a baby." You responded confidently and Eddie laughed when he heard you. "And that you would make me your wife" You added, remembering the situation even more.

"Very good.." he smiled at you and brought the small box to your hands. "Well, I think it's time to make it official..." you slowly opened the box and found a beautiful ring inside. "Will you marry me?"

[marley-manson]

My main takeaway of Fade Out, Fade In is that Hawkeye is extremely chill and secure lol. I feel like I've seen it used as an example of Hawkeye's egotism and I think that must be due to misremembering the episode because Hawkeye is constantly gracious wrt Charles as a surgeon. He's overjoyed that Charles knows the aneurysm operation they need to do and more than happy to let him do it, assist, and learn from him, asking questions and complimenting him. He's quick to give him the credit afterwards when Dr Berman wakes up as well.

When Charles finds a flood of patients too intense and doubts himself, Hawkeye reassures him by saying, "We're not any better than you, it's just that by sheer repetition we've gotten fast."

What Hawkeye takes issue with and makes fun of is Charles' superiority complex. He rolls his eyes when Charles pointedly insults him or anyone else, he mocks his haughty demeanour and upper class accent, calls him Chuck to annoy him, etc. This is all separate from his skill as a surgeon, which Hawkeye vocally admires, and all completely warranted because obviously Charles is an asshole lol.

The second takeaway of this episode is that I wish Potter was a villain. I'd forgotten this, but he's the one who arranges to keep Charles at the 4077 when otherwise Baldwin would've taken him back. Blah blah blah they need good surgeons and saving lives is important and someone's gotta do it blah blah blah, fact is Charles is well within his rights to hate Potter for this and I wish he did, and I wish we could be on his side about it properly, because I absolutely am on his side here.

Instead it's framed as something Charles deserves for being haughty, and a trial by fire to improve him. I would prefer to see it framed as a personal tragedy that engenders sympathy, perhaps planting the seed of comraderie between him and Hawk and BJ. Not a fan of framing being forced to work in a warzone as character building.

And now some miscellaneous thoughts:

-- Hawkeye clocks that Berman is jewish after hearing him speak one sentence (i assume, since hawk immediately jokes about him kibitzing), for the jewish hawkeye headcanoners

-- also love how overtly gay Berman is, I'm calling the "you doctors are all alike" joke as evidence of Berman clocking Hawkeye in return

-- "command me, o tall one with the presbyterian features" is such an amazing Klinger line

-- Hawk stealing Frank's boxers for himself

-- the scene with Margaret and Hawkeye and BJ is such an awful bait and switch lol, I go from 'aw they're friends!!' and loving Hawkeye when he tells her she doesn't have to tell them what's bothering her but she's clearly upset so she should sit and have a drink either way, to 'nooooo' when the (narratively endorsed) answer given to Margaret is she's too much of a flirty slut and it hurt Donald's feelings :(

-- Hawkeye being nice to Frank on the phone even when he's pissed at him and throws the phone immediately afterwards was cute honestly. Hawk speaking for both him and BJ was cute and married too ("we both think that's wonderful. we're proud to have known you")

-- BJ and Hawkeye both collaborated on the snake prank but Hawkeye's the one who gets a comeuppance >:( "Please, Mozart" is a fantastic final line though.

-- OH! the patient who didn't want to go back to the front because he doesn't want to kill anyone else! When he speaks to Mulcahy, Mulcahy starts off with his usual rote 'yeah it's scary go fight anyway' thing, and when dude corrects him about his reasons Mulcahy doesn't say anything, just stares off into the middle distance. And that's the end of that storyline.

Like man I would've liked to know what Mulcahy said to him lol, how Mulcahy squared that with himself. It's a fantastic counterpoint to his usual encouragement but I want more. Wish we could've repeated this premise in a Mulcahy-heavy episode.

[sim-ply-lilacs]

My dearest friend Irene,

In the months that have passed since my wedding, I have been surprised time and again by what it is to be a wife.

To my unending delight, I have discovered that what the bitter old gossips said is not true. My husband not only tolerates, but actively enjoys my company. Dear Josef would be outraged, I think, to hear I'd once been told that I would do well to find a deaf husband, so I could chatter on without driving him to distraction. Many days, we find ourselves distracted from work in the fields by our own good humor. I must confess—I find a great deal of enjoyment in making him laugh!

Lest you think us to be a lazy bunch, I must tell you we work quite hard on the farm! Mother and I have set ourselves to learning many new skills, so we might be useful to the running of things. There is no room for the lazy here! After all, when most of one's income is dependent on infrequent harvests, one must find ways to supplement one's income in the interim.

Josef has taken to helping the local fishermen with their catch in exchange for a few coins to keep us in ribbons and shoe polish, and I am proudly selling some of our milk and eggs every day to the general store. The grocer is kind enough to charge less interest on our account in exchange, and his wife and I get on nicely.

Mother, however, has made the most surprising shift of all! She has always done her little fancy things—she used to win those blue ribbons for her embroidery, you know. Lately, however, she has become a student of woodworking! Her knife blocks and little figures take in tidy sums at the market we travel to in neighboring Henford once a week to sell our wares, and I'm thrilled to see her getting recognition. At the least, it keeps her mind off of Father's passing. That is hard to do most days.

As for me, you'll be pleased to know that I am no longer the sad little wretch who could not boil an egg that I was when we met on Papa's business trip to San Myshuno. I am learning to cook! I have baked bread without poisoning Mother and Josef several times now, scrambled eggs without dropping in their shells, and stumbled my way through a passable stew or two that my dear man ate without complaint.

He never intended to be a farmer, my Josef. Before his father died, he'd intended to be a professor of music in Austria, but to care for his mother and brother, he took over farming the land from his father. When his mother also passed, he came here. As I understand it, an uncle of his and his brother Franz operate the property now. He still regrets not finishing his education, but he is a marvelous farmer. As if it were knowledge granted to him from God, he plants things together that grow better than they would apart. Some may say it's because we are blessed to have good soil, but I know it's more than that.

I am impressed watching his keen mind at work most especially in the quiet moments. Sometimes, we fish together in Henford when we go to market, and he tells me all about the composers he studied.

Papa took me to the opera, once. Did I ever tell you that? I thought there could be nothing more beautiful this side of heaven. Nothing was—until I listened to my love tell me about Schubert, about Bach, and of Mozart. Sometimes, he will sing to me. Josef has a beautiful baritone. It is rich like the honey our bees make and just as sweet. I am convinced I must cajole him to join the church choir, but for now I am content to keep him to myself. Perhaps that is selfish of me, but is it not a wife's prerogative to keep her husband to herself?

Even more than our fishing and our singing, I enjoy our time alone in the evenings—not in that way, you cad (though I do now enjoy that quite a lot, thank you very much. Your advice on the subject was invaluable).

Every night, we sit by the fire in our little parlor area after we eat a dinner whose quality varies by the day, and talk about any and everything we desire. Mother retires early in her grief. I am saddened by this, but choose to be optimistic. You see, friend o' mine, this means we are free to be true newlyweds and sigh and dream over the future, whispering our sweet nothings, or merely gazing at each other like cow-eyed courting youths at the parish picnic. Having done so little of that in my own schooldays, I like to think I'm making up for lost time. It is so much more delicious to be silly and love struck when one no longer requires a chaperone!

Oh, how I love this man! He loves every bit of me, even the absurd little bits that I should discard as the respectable matron of Idyllwind Farm (the fanciful name I have christened our patch of earth with), and together we love this life of ours. Do write back, and tell me you and your family will move out here to Brindleton. You must! Leave that horrid city behind and come work this good land. I swear to you, I have never been so happy in my whole life as I am right now. You and yours must come and share in my joy. Only one, small blessing could make me any happier.

(I pray we shall be blessed with one soon.)

Yours, Mrs. Beatrice Moody

Prev ~ Next ~ Beginning

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 49, 50

From this prompt list. If you've read this far, I'm not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn't written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit. Buckle in because this one is long.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here

Day 48 here

***

14. A whispered “Please” slipping out of kiss bitten lips.

27. Soft whines and whimpers; held back noises because they don’t want anyone else hearing them; a plea for more without the use of words.

94. Whispered praises against the other’s lips, which are met with soft whimpers and moans.

***

Tim didn’t see Damian again for a full week. He threw himself into casework and patrol, going out every night to, as he told himself and everyone else, "make up for all the coverage you took the slack for while I was gone." He could tell no one believed him, but they also didn't question him so he took it as a win. Jason bitched a little about never being able to get the two of them in the same place at the same time for their case, but he didn't really have a leg to stand on given the different ways they could collaborate.

Cass mentioned that Damian had headed for Metropolis to testify in some criminal trial he'd worked on with Jon in his civilian capacity over a year ago. She said it casually to Stephanie, just at the edges of Tim's hearing, and didn't look at him at all. Clearly she suspected something. He resolved never to bring up Damian in her presence.

He was just curling into bed on the seventh morning, staring at the light bleeding in around the curtains and once again remembering Damian telling him he should get shutters installed, when a text from Jason came through. Got a lead.

Tim didn't regret the distraction at all.

tell me

Why do you insist on not using punctuation like a normal human? Okay. There's a connection in Metropolis, believe it or not. They're the second-to-last stop on the northbound route and where the main arteries to the northern Midwest branch out.

so damian's there right now—can he check it out????

He's too busy; has to be in court every day for eight hours a day and Jon has other stuff he's doing. My sources are saying there's a connection with a couple of wealthy Metropolis dudes with ties to organized crime: Rufus Waters and Terrence Galloway. They're the ones taking the hottest girls and putting them to work as escorts etc. so they can get dirt on other rich dudes through them. Tale as old as time.

don't u start singing for me now

Timbo, you don't deserve my dulcet tones. Anyway. These guys love to see and be seen at bougie shit so they can throw their money around. The Metropolis Opera has something called the Aria After Party tonight for "young patrons," which I'm guessing means anyone under the age of sixty. You should go. Bruce keeps a box in Metropolis for when he needs another excuse to go there publicly.

Tim groaned. Opera was a definite acquired taste for him. He pulled up the Metropolis Opera's web site.

ah fuck they're doing the abduction from the seraglio

Is that a hotel? Are they keeping a lot of victims there? How do you even know?

no i mean that's the opera they're performing

Well, shit, Timothy, are you gonna survive a night of caterwauling that's not your fave genre just so dozens of young boys and girls don't get sex trafficked? Because I'd hate to fucking inconvenience you.

no need to get bitchy i'm going it's just i saw it awhile ago and it's kind of racist and not mozart's best work. so will some of the trafficking victims be there with waters and galloway or what?

Yeah, they usually have at least one on each of their arms so they can advertise. Just go with the flow and see what you can figure out. IDK, get wild and crazy and see if you can get one of the girls to leave with you.

Tim rolled his eyes. Yeah, right, like that would be hard. i am extremely charming and all the ladies love me so no worries i've got this

Sure, sure, I'm sure even someone who's being exploited is gonna be a sucker for those baby blues.

why jason i didn't know u noticed do u wanna tell me something

Absolutely, I want to tell you to shut the fuck up and do some detecting tonight. I'll drive down too in case you need backup but I'm gonna stay at that one safehouse Bruce has near Mortimer Bridge. Comms'll be open.

got it.

Tim put his phone on do not disturb and rolled over to his stomach, determinedly squeezing his eyes shut. He was going to get some sleep before he drove across the bay tonight, dammit. Good thing he'd had his best suit pressed recently.

He zoomed down to Metropolis after he took a detour by the Manor to borrow Bruce's Chiron. After all, what was the point of being the sort-of son of one of the richest people in the world if you couldn't drive faster than everyone else even without a mask on? Even when the car was idling at a red light, he could see pedestrians turning to look behind them at the sound of its engine. He grinned at the sight—he'd never deny that he shared the Bat penchant for making an entrance.

The opera itself went as expected. He saw some of Bruce's friends who made the same rounds of charity events and backstage events, and even some of his former classmates from Brentwood. The latter made a point to come to the box during intermission and make idle queries about where he was living, what he was doing, and how his Wayne Enterprises dealings were going at the moment. He kept his best vapid smile firmly in place and kept giving the answers that would get him an invitation to the party Jason had mentioned.

Finally, just as the lights dipped in warning, Jeffrey Chung said, "Hey, dude, there's this after party thing we're going to when the show's over. It's to support the opera and raise money for new carpets or whatever. Wanna come?"

Tim shrugged, though internally he was pumping his fist in victory. "Sure, I don't have to be back in Gotham tonight."

Once the lights were down and the performance had resumed, Tim raised his opera glass and tapped on the nightvision option so he could see across the hall. Galloway had a box opposite Bruce's, but it had been empty at the start of the show. Now, though, both Galloway and Waters sat close together, whispering to each other while the four stunning women with them stared at the stage with various levels of boredom. "You seeing what I'm seeing?" he subvocalized.

Jason replied on the comm. "Yep. Good deal. Hopefully you can get an invitation to one of their homes at the after party and plant some bugs."

"Even if I can't, I can get some into the women's purses, plus Waters' and Galloway's suits." He paused, then added judiciously, "It was a good idea to come here." A complimented Jason was a happy Jason. He was a former Robin, after all.

A brief pause in which he knew Jason was trying to hide his discomfiture. "Yeah, well, only a moron wouldn't have thought of it, so."

Tim suppressed a smile.

The after party was exactly what he'd expected: sponsored by a local entertainment and society magazine at a dark cramped restaurant that was trying to become fashionable, decent drinks, and pointlessly complicated hors d'oeuvres in which figs, liver, and fish were over-represented. Plus conversation in which bemoaning the state of taxation and by-the-way bragging about recent travel played a heavy role. Tim group-hopped with Jeffrey for a few minutes before wandering off on his own to make a circuitous route toward Waters, whose two companions were looking increasingly tired behind their charming smiles.

He approached them from behind, reaching just past their little cluster of people to grab a fresh glass of sparkling wine from one of the side tables. While he was back there, he dropped a combination bug/tracker into the clutch hanging from one of the escorts' arms. By the time he'd straightened, Waters had turned to see who was there.

Up close, he looked like the douchebag he was: floppy nose-length hair parted in the middle into two carefully styled waves, stupidly expensive tie gone askew despite the gold tie clip studded with huge diamonds, the type of puffiness around the jaw that bespoke self-indulgence, ill-fitting suit that he hadn't bothered to get tailored correctly. Kind of a faux pas, son, Tim heard Brucie say with that informal intonation that was an ultra-rich person's way of taking others down a peg or two. Most of the time Tim hated that the voice lived in his own brain, but in this case he felt like the target deserved it.

Guys like this always expected to be known, so Tim fixed a delighted expression on his face and reached to shake hands. "Well, hello there, Rufus Waters! We've got quite a few friends in common but I don't think we've ever officially met. Tim Drake."

Waters gave him a supercilious look down his nose before the name clicked and he returned Tim's grip. "Oh, right, you're Bruce Wayne's, uh . . ." He floundered a bit.

Tim jumped in before he could feel awkward about it. "Right, yeah, he's like a second father to me, taught me most of what I know today, set me up at WE. And who are these lovely ladies?" He turned with his most charming smile to the escorts, who both straightened and returned the expression with a little more enthusiasm than they'd shown previously.

"This is Luz," Waters indicated the Latina on the right, "And Katarina." The white blonde gave him a tiny wave. She stood at least three inches taller than him in her heels.

"You're a lucky man to have two dates when some of us have zero," Tim laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and planting another device in his collar. "Have some pity, give a lonely person a few tips."

"You don't need game to get these girls," Waters said, sliding his hands down to cup each of their asses and pulling them closer. "Just be rich and they'll throw themselves at you. Right, ladies?"

They both laughed and patted him on the chest. "Of course," Luz agreed.

Her eyes were dead despite the sparkling expression in her voice. Tim wanted to throw up, but instead he made a wide enough gesture to drop another tracker into the open mouth of her purse. "Well, then, clearly I'm all set! Luz, Katarina, tell your friends you know someone with lots of money and time who's ready to spend both on them."

"Thought I heard you were more into boys," Waters said, with just a thread of contempt sewn in the sentence.

Tim gave him a smirk and a tiny up-and-down just to watch him squirm. "Hey, I'm an equal-opportunity type of guy."

Katarina's smile turned a bit more genuine at that, and she caressed him from his shoulder to his wrist, where her touch lingered. "I appreciate a man who doesn't set artificial limits for himself." She had a slight Russian accent, but the British inflection was stronger.

Tim couldn't stop himself from blushing a tiny bit. "Oh yeah? And what kind of limits do you set for yourself?"

She raised his hand to chest level and held it in both of her own. He could feel her breath on his knuckles. "Not many, honestly."

Someone bumped into Tim from behind, sending his drink flying onto all three of the others. The women shrieked. He spun, but the culprit had been swallowed back into the crowd and probably didn't even know what they'd done. He turned back to Waters, who was grimacing at the wine splashed across his jacket.

Tim grabbed a cloth napkin from a nearby table and dabbed at it fruitlessly. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry."

Waters waved him off with better humor than he would've expected. "Not your fault. I've got fifty more suits just like this or better. I should probably get back home, though. Some of us were already headed there anyway for a party that isn't as boring as this one. Wanna join us?"

"Do it," Jason said, and Tim agreed.

Waters' house was tacky nouveau riche even for a tacky nouveau riche neighborhood, full of peacock accents, stark white walls broken up with haphazard black and white photographs of tigers, and neon mood lighting in alcoves that made no sense. From what Tim could tell, all the men present were either potential clients for the sex traffickers or were actually part of the profiteers. A few women wore typical black evening dresses and held conversations with the men with business-like expressions, but most of them were stunningly beautiful, in low-cut gowns, and seemed to serve the function of seductive eye candy. Bass boomed from speakers set into the walls, drowning out any conversation more than a foot away, which he had to think was purposeful.

Tim took the first opportunity to make a circuit of all the lower-level rooms and get video of the layout, then withdrew to one of the recessed areas to get a better look at faces.

"Galloway's there," Jason told him. "Just showed up. He and Waters and that woman who looks like a matron from a Romanian orphanage were all talking by the Jacuzzi, but it looks like they're moving inside, probably headed for his study via the kitchen stairs. Get up there before them and you might be able to plant some bugs in good places in time for us to hear their plans. One camera in the hall at the top of the stairs nearest you, one in the study on the bookshelf closest to the window."

Tim started up the stairs, body bent over the railing like he was calling down to someone on the ground floor to hide his face.

"Tim?" Katarina rounded the banister just as he got to the halfway point.

He used it as an excuse to keep his back to the camera as he continued ascending. "Just headed to the bathroom!" he called. "Be right back down."

She gave him a long look, but nodded without saying anything and walked away.

Tim did a backflip as he reached the landing beneath the camera’s range of sight and hit the lens askew with his heel before ricocheting off the wall and down the hallway. Hopefully the cameras were just precautionary measures and no one was watching the video feed at the moment.

"Third door on the left," Jason's voice directed him.

Tim picked the lock in a matter of seconds—what kind of idiot didn't use biometrics for sensitive stuff? Well, he supposed he should be grateful—and entered the study in a crouch, locking the door again behind him. Taking care of the remaining camera proved to be easy work, and then planting his own surveillance devices was no trouble at all.

"Shit, they were faster than I thought they'd be. Go out the window."

Tim dashed to the window facing a side yard fenced in with wrought iron and almost tugged on the sash lock before he noticed it had been painted shut.

"Tim, I'm not joking, they're almost there."

Shadows loomed in the light under the door as Waters' voice reached his ears. "—talked to the people we've got in Tulsa—"

A hot hand grabbed his upper arm and propelled him into a closet he hadn't noticed before, closing the door behind them silently just as the study door swung open with a creak. Tim had just enough time to wonder why the  hell he hadn't fought back before the faintest ghost of Oud-Al-Janaid gave him his answer. His vision adjusted to see Damian's eyes glaring down at him, green in the lamp light now slivered under the bottom of the door.

"Tim, what the fuck is happening? Gimme a report!" Jason sounded pissed, which meant he was actually concerned.

"Everything okay," Tim breathed out, and took the comm from his ear to drop into a pocket.

"Are you checking up on me?" Damian demanded in a whisper so quiet Tim more felt than heard it. The fury came through loud and clear, though. Tim shook his head. 

Cass had started learning ASL several years ago because her own rudimentary signs were frustrating her when she couldn't speak fluently, so the rest of them had learned as well, but they weren't conversational, more at toddler level plus a lot of finger spelling. Toddlers could communicate, though. 

He signed, With Jason. Don't know you here.

Damian replied, good I come. They catch you.

Tim shrugged. Maybe.

He strained his ears, but the closet door was made of quality wood and he couldn't hear the words being spoken outside, just tone. Whatever conversation the three were having sounded like routine business. It didn't matter since the hidden cameras would pick up everything and have it ready for review.

For the first time, he became aware of how Damian was dressed. He wore a long cut tuxedo in dark green, with gold thread embroidered in intricate vines down its front and on the sleeves. Heat climbed up Tim's cheeks at the sight. He had to work to take his next breath evenly. Opera?

Damian nodded. Not box. Already go here after other party. When see you, know you come up to this room, so I wait here.

He'd probably braced himself in a corner of the ceiling just to have the drop on Tim. He narrowed his eyes, struck by sudden suspicion. Drink?

It was Damian's turn to shrug. You mind?

Tim shook his head, clamping his thumb and first two fingers together for emphasis. No. Waters could drown in booze for all he cared, let alone give up a suit jacket to it. It didn't speak well of his powers of observation that he'd missed Damian's presence, though. It wasn't as if he didn't draw the eye.

The study door opened and closed again. They both straightened to attention. Waters and the woman's voices kept talking, but Galloway's was silent, so he must have been the one to leave.

Tim turned his eyes back to Damian and had to fight not to clear his suddenly dry throat. Fuck. Why was he so attractive? It wasn't fair.

Damian gave a tiny sigh as their gazes met. It sounded like regret. Tim didn't know how to fix it, though, so he stood on tiptoes and kissed first one cheek, then the other, then his chin. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Damian didn't move for a long moment, and kept looking at him with an unreadable expression. Probably he'd just made the situation worse.

But then Damian tilted up his chin with one finger and kissed his forehead, his eyes, his temples. Tim shivered at each delicate brush of lips. His heart swelled in his chest with emotion too significant to define.

And Damian kept kissing him. The curve of his ear, the thin scar on his neck left by Jason a lifetime ago. Tim braced himself with both hands on Damian's hips and let his eyes fall shut. Damian shuffled toward him, closing the few inches between them, arms wrapping around his back and pulling him close to kiss the top of his head. Tim strained his head up to kiss Damian's pulse just below his jaw. Damian let out a shuddering breath at the contact and turned his face so their lips met. Tim encircled his neck with both arms and pulled him down to kiss him harder.

This was so stupid. He was so stupid.

The lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. His heart kept thudding an uneven tattoo, made clumsy with the mingled joy and pain inherent in Damian's touch. He pulled his mouth away, meaning to say something, anything that would help instead of hurt. Instead, Damian took advantage of the pause to hoist him against the wall by his thighs. Tim wrapped his legs around his waist and clung.

Unlike the last time he'd pinned Tim this way, Damian's body was strung tight with tension. He angled his hips into Tim's. Tim bit his lip against the frenzied sound that wanted to break free as their erections pressed together. Damian shoved one big hand into his hair and tilted his head back to kiss him with ardent force. Tim opened up and let him in deeper.

I'm sorry, he tried to say through his touch, through the tiny whimpers he couldn't entirely strangle, through the kisses he nipped against Damian's mouth. I'm so, so sorry. I do want you. I really do.

He wasn't sure if Damian understood what he was telling him. He wasn't sure he wanted him to.

Damian fumbled between Tim's legs, getting his suit pants open, and pulled out his cock. Tim whined feather-soft against his mouth at the relief of freedom from the confines of clothing. He yanked the sole fastened button of the tuxedo jacket free and parted the sides to reach Damian's trousers, unfastening them as well until his searching fingers found their goal.

Damian bucked into Tim's grip as Tim fitted them together in his hand. "Please," slipped out of his lips in a quavered whisper, and he gripped their lengths in one of his hands as well, moving in tandem with Tim's strokes. It was a little rough at first for Tim without lube, but Damian was leaking precome all over both of them, enough to smooth the way after a second.

They rocked against each other for long moments. Tim lost track of how much time had passed, or whether he was being quiet enough. The necessity of making Damian feel better buried every other concern. He looked up at the handsome face currently slack with arousal, begging silently for absolution. The care in Damian’s touch felt like a plea of its own.

His lips parted as he panted for air, and Damian slid his thumb between them. Tim sucked on it without thinking, and that was all it took to get Damian to stiffen from head to toe and spurt hot over his cock and fingers. His chest heaved, though his breathing stayed soundless.

Tim relaxed against the wall, letting Damian's thumb slip from his mouth, nearly as satisfied from feeling Damian's orgasm as he would've been from coming himself.

Damian clearly didn't share the sentiment. He buried his face in the crook of Tim's shoulder and inhaled against his skin, then renewed the motion of his hand around Tim's erection. Tim squirmed, almost overstimulated in the bad way, but Damian directed his legs down so he was standing again and that helped, to be able to push against something with his feet.

"There you are," Damian murmured against his mouth, practically soundless. "You're so lovely when you're like this." Tim moaned in the back of his throat at the praise and throbbed in Damian's grip. "Stunning. You'll come for me now, won't you? Let me feel it."

Helpless, Tim slapped one hand over his mouth and came so hard it almost hurt.

When his eyes and ears started working again, Damian had turned away and was listening intently at the door. His clothes were back in place. How had he managed to put himself together while Tim was still a mess? Grimacing, Tim pulled his handkerchief out and wiped himself off, then set his own pants back to rights.

With a satisfied nod, Damian said, "They're gone. We can leave." He pushed the closet door open.

Tim fought the urge to force a conversation at this exact moment and followed him down the stairs, fitting his comm back into his ear as he went. There were still plenty of guests milling around. Jeffrey caught sight of him in the foyer, and by the time Tim extricated himself from the goodbyes he had to say, Damian was long gone into the night.

“Was I hallucinating, or did I see the baby bat leave just now?” Jason asked.

Tim couldn’t keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat. “No. I saw him too. We didn't really talk, though.”

day fifty-one here

(p.s. the Brucie line in here is an affectionate shout-out to one of my favorite Superbat fics, "Sometimes, Always, Never," by liodain.)

[motownfiction]

beech grove

When Rosemary gets her first iTunes gift card in the fall of ‘06, Sadie sits with her at the computer. She has fifteen dollars for fifteen songs, and Sadie wants to see what she’ll do. She’s eleven, twelve in February, and she’s just beginning to develop a taste in music. Sadie’s happy for her. Excited. There’s something special about the first music you choose on your own. More special than buying your first movie ticket or reading your first book outside of school. Music’s different. She’s always known that.

Right now, Rose’s taste in music seems almost entirely dictated by what she’s heard on television. The radio just doesn’t work the same way for kids today as it did for kids then (And has Sadie ever really stopped being a kid?). When the family goes on long road trips, Sadie mandates at least one hour of radio surfing (“And you must pay attention,” she always says, and the kids abide. They know why they’re doing it.). Sometimes, they catch a few gems across the airwaves. Rose just seems to prefer the cable. Sadie knows she should be glad her daughter listens to any music at all (so many of her friends’ parents drive in wretched silence, like they prefer the sound of tires rolling across the road and hockey sticks knocking into each other in their trunks). Still, when Rosemary hits the purchase button on Hannah Montana’s “Best of Both Worlds,” Sadie can’t help but cringe a little inside.

Come on, now, she hears from a voice inside herself (that does not belong to herself, except for all the ways that it does). You remember. Pop stars are always TV stars. You used to love The Monkees. Mutual symbiosis, baby!

Sadie laughs to herself. Thankfully, Rosemary doesn’t notice.

“Are you sure you want to spend that money on Hannah Montana, babe?” she asks. “I mean … a dollar’s not cheap.”

“I like Hannah Montana, Mom,” Rosemary insists. “Ooh, I have to get ‘Suddenly I See.’”

“What’s that?”

“The song they played when the girls got voted off on So You Think You Can Dance.”

Sadie sighs. At least that’s a real song.

A real song? the voice returns to ask. Oh, Sadie Lou, I thought you were better than that. All songs are real songs. Next you’re gonna say that the only real music is Mozart.

Sadie chuckles again, a little louder this time. Rosemary still doesn’t notice. She’s just playing around on the computer, buying up TV soundtracks.

“Oh, and I wanna get ‘Boston,’” she says.

“You want to buy an entire city?” Sadie asks. “I didn’t know iTunes could do that.”

“Very funny, Mom. No, it’s a song by Augustana.”

“You say that like anyone knows who Augustana is.”

“It’s just a song. It’s good. They played it on the season finale of One Tree Hill this past year. When Brooke and Lucas dance at the wedding.”

“They played Led Zeppelin in that episode – the first time I think I’ve ever heard Led Zeppelin on a TV show, by the way – and you want some other song?”

“It’s a good song, Mom. Hear, listen to the clip.”

Rosemary types in the name and hits the little play button. Sadie sits back and tries to hear what an eleven-year-old might hear.

She said I think I’ll go to Boston / I think I’ll start a new life / I think I’ll start it over / Where no one knows my name …

Sadie sighs again. Only this time, she’s not disappointed. She also doesn’t hear what an eleven-year-old might hear. She hears what she would have heard when she was about fifteen.

“Mom?” Rosemary asks. “Are you OK?”

“What?” Sadie asks. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m great. This just … this reminds me of how I felt about Beech Grove.”

“What’s Beech Grove?”

“Not what we thought it was going to be. So, when Lucy and I were a little older than you … all our lives, really, but especially around freshman year … we wanted to run away in the wintertime. We’d always lived in cold places, but we could just never get used to it. And I was looking for places with sunshine or warmth or just the word beach in them … and I found Beech Grove. I thought it sounded marvelous.”

“So, what was wrong with it?”

“It turned out to be a small town in Indiana. Hot summers, cold winters. Same as the place we dreamt we’d be escaping.”

Rosemary laughs. Goodness, her laugh. Sadie wonders if she knows who she sounds like … who she looks like when she smiles.

“I think it was about more than the weather, though,” Sadie says. “Lucy and I … we felt like we were different. Like St. Catherine’s wasn’t the right place for us. For any of us, really. That’s why Daddy and I didn’t send you and your brothers there. I think we wanted to go some place that felt magical … because we felt magical.”

Rosemary grins, and her eyes are just like glitter. Beautiful.

“So, do you like the song?” she asks.

Sadie laughs for real this time. Rosemary notices. She laughs, too.

“Yeah,” Sadie says. “Yeah, I like the song.”

Good choice.

(part of @nosebleedclub november challenge -- day xxi!)

[mygreatadventurehasbegun]

These are fabulous choices!!!

OK.  *cracks knuckles* my choices are:

The Original Broadway production of Amadeus starring Tim Curry and Ian Mckellen

Like @nitrateglow said, I made an earlier post about this production and I would have LOVED to see these two as Mozart and Salieri.  Also, Jane Seymour played Constanze...seriously...is there video of this?  I MUST SEE IT.

My Fair Lady with Julie Andrews as Eliza Doolitte

It can either be London or Broadway, I don’t care...but the idea of seeing Julie Andrews live is probably one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard.  Just to witness her and Rex Harrison onstage together would be incredible.  I’m thankful that we at least have a few recordings of her performing the role/songs...but I get chills at even the thought of hearing a full orchestra behind her while she sings “I Could Have Danced All Night” in a massive theater.

The Original Broadway Company of Ragtime

BRIAN STOKES MITCHELL.  AUDRA MCDONALD.  MARIN MAZZIE (RIP).  PETER FRIEDMAN.  I could go on and on about this magnificent cast and their unbelievable talent, because it cannot be beat.  I have seen this show onstage twice (both a touring and regional production), but this cast and production is unparalleled and I must witness it in person.  *Thank God for Slime Tutorials* : )

A Streetcar Named Desire-Original Broadway Production

It would be so interesting to see how Tandy’s performance as Blanche differs from Vivien Leigh’s!  And I am so curious about how Brando’s presence would be onstage compared to film.  And just to hear him yell “Stella!” in the same room as me would be worth the price of admission.

Deaf West’s Production of Spring Awakening

I didn’t really get into Spring Awakening when it first premiered on Broadway...I didn’t even fully get into it when this revival came out on Broadway.  But I came across some video of it online a while ago and have become obsessed.  I have searched for every video I can find to see as much of it as I can...and from what I’ve seen, this production is absolutely stunning.  I adore the use of both deaf and hearing actors...and the blending of singing and ASL is so mesmerizing to watch.  And as fantastic as these videos are, I can only imagine how amazing this was to see in person.

The most recent revival of Angels in America

I WAS IN NYC WHEN IT WAS ON BROADWAY AND I DIDN’T GO.  This is such a massive regret for me.  I mean, I’m glad I saw the shows that I did...but since I was pretty much picking a show to see on the day of (holding out hope for a Hamilton Lottery win), I probably should have planned in advance to see this one.  I would have tried to do the marathon day of watching both part 1 & 2 in the same day...yes, it would have been about six hours long, but it would have been worth it to see both Nathan Land and Andrew Garfield onstage.  I’m still a bit amazed that there was a stretch of time where I was only a few blocks away from Andrew Garfield.

I think that’s it for now! :)

@mygreatadventurehasbegun​ was posting about how Tim Curry played Mozart in the stage version of Amadeus, and it got me wondering what stage performances I’d love to go back in time to see. That’s the sad thing about theater– it’s ephemeral.

So if I could nab a time machine and just go see past productions, I’d want to watch:

Hamlet at the Globe with Richard Burbage in the title role. The main attraction to this production would just be experiencing Shakespeare’s work as it was presented in his own lifetime. I’m sure the acting style and staging alone would be quite the culture shock.

The Mercury Theater production of Caesar during the 1937-1938 season. More Shakespeare, but this time in contemporary dress. Orson Welles’ take on the original was packed with anti-fascist themes and apparently caused a great stir. The original production also had Vincent Price in it so that’s a massive bonus.

The original production of Isle of Dogs in 1597. This was a play written by Thomas Nashe and Ben Jonson. It was performed at least once and immediately suppressed for its allegedly seditious material against either Queen Elizabeth or another member of the nobility. The play is now lost and I’m just curious what it was about.

My Fair Lady with Julie Andrews as Eliza. I mean, this is a no-brainer. The recordings of her singing the music from the show are just divine. I would also love to see how she and Rex Harrison played off one another as Eliza and Higgins.

And then let’s throw in the original production of Pygmalion too. I actually prefer the original Shaw play to the musical, so this would be cool to see. Also, it’s interesting to think that this show– which we tend to see as a period piece now– was once a contemporary comedy of manners. It would be so cool to see it with its original audience.

The original Broadway production of Wait Until Dark with Lee Remick. Well, this is another obvious pick from me. People old enough to remember seeing this show say Remick was just phenomenal in the lead and they tend to be a bit miffed she didn’t get to reprise her role for the film. Now obviously, I would not trade Audrey Hepburn’s performance for anything, but I would love to have seen how Remick approached the part.

Going for another stage version of a favorite movie: the original Broadway production of A Streetcar Named Desire with Jessica Tandy. In the commentary for the film version, Karl Malden gushes about Tandy as Blanche Dubois. I once heard a snippet of her in the role for a radio abridgement and wasn’t impressed, but I expect that’s only the tiniest fraction of the impact she had on-stage. I also have to wonder what effect Marlon Brando must have had in the role that made him a star. He’s already so electric on film– imagine him live in the same part!

Anyone else have any productions they would want to nab a DeLorean to see?

[widevibratobitch]

Top 5 worst Callas roles. Go on do your worse

1. ROSINA (t's just horrible. horrible.)

2. Mimì (thank god she only recorded it and never performed)

3. Gilda (just as with Mimì, i just don't believe her in that role, she's not an innocent young girl, she's a bitch - also hate how she kinda. artificially thins out her voice for that one. talk about things that ultimately ruined it...)

4. Konstanze (yes, I know there is no recording of her in this role, only the one aria which is horrible and I hate it, she shouldn't have been allowed to even look at Mozart, next)

5. ANYTHING she sung in the 1960s (and, oh god, the 1970s...).

go on, boo me, you know I'm right.

[svtminghaolove]

First time he realized he is in love with you - Vocal unit (SVT)

Helloooo, so here is the vocal unit. I have a lot to do in the beginning of this week and will see how much I will post but anyway: Hope you enjoy this one ~

Triggers: Fluff in the snow

Jeonghan:It was in the winter, a few months into your relationship. It was a pretty normal day, the sun was about to go down and the cold were biting on the skin when you stepped out of the house.

But you loved the winter, so Jeonghan had followed you, despite his complaints about the cold, to go for a walk in the evening.

"Come on!", you laughed and ran in front of him laughing. He smiled at you and pulled down his beanie. You turned left at a Y-section and he lost sight of you for a moment.

"y/n?", he said looking for you when a snowball hit his shoulder and your mischievous giggle followed soon after.

"Oh, you're going down!", he laughed when he saw you ducking behind a tree. The two of you started a snow fight where you ran around like children, giggling and yelling halfhearted threats at each other.

"Got you!", Jeonghan yelped when he caught you in his arms. You busted out in laughter and try to wiggle your way out but in no success.

"Fine, I concede", you laughed and leaned back at him. The small gesture made him smile and his heart full.

"Do you want go and eat dinner somewhere?", you continued as he was realizing his feelings for you, that he was in fact, very much in love with you.

Joshua: Joshua had always loved you, I mean, you guys had been close your whole life so it was hard not to love each other, but being in love with you was a different thing.

This was before you two started dating even, and one day he was on the phone with his parents, talking to them about your last trip to Korea. He was going on and on and on, about you and what you two had done together and his parents on the other side of the video call was just smiling.

"Joshua", his mother interrupted him and he stopped talking.

"Yes? Sorry, I was talking a lot, wasn't I", he laughed and put his hand on the back of his neck.

"It's fine, you must really love her", his mom said, looking at his dad with a smile.

"Of course I do, she is one of my best friends", he smiled and his dad shook his head.

"No, Joshua. You're in love with her.", the statement coming from his dads mouth made him stop working for a second.

"What? No, we're just…", his words disappeared in the air as he began thinking.

He talked to you everyday, and the days that you guys couldn't it felt like the day hadn't been complete. His heart swelled when he saw how hard you were working to learn Korean, and was crushed the few times you'd called him crying. He loved the way you would do a small dance when you ate and always ensured that everyone around you ate before you started. He also didn't miss the jump in his chest when he began thinking of you.

"Oh… I think I'm in love with y/n", he stated out loud to his parents who laughed at their heart eyed son.

Woozi: Oh, he knew that he was in love with you when he gained inspiration from you when working on his songs.

He was having a writers block, and normally he could get out of it pretty quickly by working some on the melody or listening through it again, but not this time. But stubborn as he is, he refused to put it down. And that's when you called.

"Hello?", he answered, putting you on the speaker.

"Hello Mozart", you laughed at him, knowing he was sitting in front of his piano. He could hear the music in the background and the sound of your friends laughing.

"How are things back in Norway?", he smiled, leaning back into his chair, rolling the pen between his fingers. You were visiting some friends back in Norway and had been there for almost a week now.

"It's nice, I'm out with friends, but I miss you", Jihoon heart ached a bit when you said that.

"I miss you too", he said and sighed. "Very much", and that's when he got an idea for the next line in his lyric.

"You want me to bring anything special back from here?", you said softly and he began writing.

"No, just you. Come back safely", he simply stated while writing down another line, suddenly inspiration flowing.

"I will, see you soon", you said and he hummed.

"Call me when your back at your friends"

"Yeah, bye Mozart", you snickered and hung up.

Jihoon hand was moving across the paper but then suddenly stopped, all it had needed to get his inspiration flowing was a few words from you. He snickered a bit and continued to write when he realized that he was so deeply and whole heartedly in love with you.

Dokyeom: It was during the first Christmas in your relationship.

So it was Seokmin's first Christmas together with his family for a while. There was his grandparents, parents and sister and a few of his cousins and aunts there as well. They were having a great time and playing games, cooking and catching up with each other, but he still felt as if something wasn't quite right with him.

It wasn't until you called him in the evening that he realized why that was.

"I miss you", he answered the phone, making you laugh in response. You were back in Sweden celebrating Christmas with your own family.

"I miss you too, Merry Christmas Seokmin", you said, making him smile.

"Who is making you smile like that?", one of his aunts teased him, making him blush.

"It's my girlfriend, I'll be right back", he said, walking away to talk to you.

"Merry Christmas love, how is your Christmas going?"

"It just started, remember? I'm seven hours after you", he laughed and told you tell him anyway, so you did. And during the time you were talking he realized that he wanted you here, that Christmas wasn't whole without you in it. That in turn made him realize he wasn't whole without you, and that he was simply and deeply in love with you.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan has a habit of worrying for others.

He does it for the members, scolding them if they didn't eat or slept well. The same for his fans that comes to watch them even during the hottest of days, he reprimands them for not brining something to shade them from the sun or water to drink.

So when he gets home one night, like in the middle of the night, after appearing on a friends show, you're sitting in front of the dorm waiting for him.

"Hey!", and you were angry when you stood up to meet him. "I've been worried sick about you, you know! You promised that you would call when you were driving, and then you didn't answer when I called or when any of the guys called!", you huffed and hugged the shocked Seungkwan that just stepped out of the car.

"You were worried about me?", he said softly, hugging you back. You sighed and nodded.

"Very. Don't do that again.", you mumbled and pressed into his shoulder. His heart ached at the thought of worrying you but at the same time butterflies fluttered in his stomach at the thought of you caring that much about him. He really was in love with you.

"Thank you", he mumbled against the side of your head. "For worrying about me."

"Idiot…", you mumbled but felt a bit more at ease by being in his arms.

-----

Masterlist

[aminiatureworld]

Ikemen Vampire Headcanons I

Characters: Napoleon, Mozart, Leonardo ft. gn!reader and the rest of the mansion

Premise: I'm sick so I wrote some random headcanons

Word Count: 1,914

Warnings:Various series spoilers

Napoleon Bonaparte

Monsieur Bonaparte is a closeted Romantic. He has read as a great deal of Percy Shelley, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, The Sorrow of Young Werther Lord Byron’s works, etc. He’s also a closeted romantic. He definitely read Cyrano, and then locked himself in his room for two days after finishing it. He sees an appreciation for Romantic (and romantic) literature as part of the well-rounded nature of a gentleman. If he were a medievalist he’d be a passionate supporter of Courtly Love.

That being said Napoleon’s attempt at romance novel writing is very much a moot point. The only thing he writes now is entries in his diary and, somewhat endless, letters to you.

In a similar vein, Napoleon is surprisingly well put together in terms of clothing. He sees it once more as the mark of a gentleman. He’s also somewhat still chased by the view of him as an upstart or person of base origin. Fashion is one of the easiest ways to make people see you as ‘respectable’ and Napoleon uses this to the fullest when he goes out into the City.

Napoleon’s one capitulation to his past is a series of portraits he commissioned Leonardo to paint depicting his mother, father, sisters, brothers, wife Josephine, and son Napoleon II. He keeps them in a box in his dresser and only takes them out every once in a while, less so since you entered the mansion. Still, when he’s experiencing a particular pang of nostalgia or regret he likes to take them out and look at them. In particular he’ll sometimes talk to the painting of Pauline – his sister. He wishes that she were still with him so she could listen to her witticisms.

In a different capitulation to his past, Napoleon became a bit obsessed with Great Britain after being revived. He is after all still a military man in some ways, even if he can’t serve in the French army for, somewhat obvious reasons. He wants to know what exactly made Great Britain impossible to defeat, why the French Army had no chance of getting past the Royal Navy’s blockade, and why Trafalgar was such a blow for his army. He’d end up pestering Arthur with a lot of questions about British society, most of which wouldn’t get properly answered.

That being said he’d scoff at the idea of Britain being innately better than any other country or kingdom. I think if you told him France wasn’t as good as Britain he’d get genuinely offended. Might challenge you to a duel depending on the day (he wouldn’t actually kill you or anything but like, he’d probably nick you). He definitely fits the stereotype of the proud French man.

Napoleon’s obsession with empire kind of died with his original self. I don’t think he’d feel comfortable with royalist circles, not just because Napoleon was very much looked down upon by the upper classes and the aristocracy. He’s accepted by now that France is a republic and that’s the end of that. Any attempt to discuss the possibility of a French Empire like in his old life he’d brush off. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He secretly thinks Napoleon III is a buffoon, though out of some sense of familial loyalty he doesn’t let others know about his opinion.

Being a family man as he was and still is, Napoleon would still like children, though it’s something he’d be willing to talk to you about. Not everyone wants kids after all, adopted or not. Even if you didn’t want children Napoleon wouldn’t be too torn up about it. How many brothers does he have now? Too many. (At least he’s not trying to put them all on European thrones that’s right I’m calling you out dumbas-).

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart has a love hate relationship with listening to other composers. He knows on a cognitive level that, having been surrounded by musicians and composers in his past, his style isn’t going to be affected by what he hears. Yet there’s still a part of his mind that worries that other styles, especially newer ones, will somehow rub off on him and contaminate his artistic vision.

So, though Saint-Germain offers often enough, Mozart only goes to concerts occasionally, usually for his birthday and then sometime during the holiday season.

He enjoys going to concerts of his own works and silently critiquing the artistic interpretation of the conductors. Honestly, you’d think these people couldn’t tell staccato from marcato. Plebians.

Though Mozart finds a lot of Romantic Era music too long and bombastic – how does Wagner not see that he disgraced the balance of the orchestra with his string section, how many violins does the bastard need – he enjoys Rossini well enough, as well as Paganini and some of Schubert’s Lieder. That being said, never take this man to a Mahler symphony. He won’t last the first movement.

Do not try making music jokes, it’s a lost cause. One viola joke later and he’s writing on a chalkboard about how the viola is central to orchestral balance, and how a violin and a cello couldn’t replace it, and how dare you assume that a violinist requires better technique to play, have you seen some of the viola parts? Violinists don’t have to read multiple clefs! Honestly the presumption, the ingratitu-

At some point everyone has left the room. Professor Mozart isn’t something anyone can handle.

Like the madman he is, Mozart quite enjoys writing piano trios. He does it to blow off steam, as it’s a challenging enough thing to do. He has composed at least one piano trio for every member of the mansion, two for Dazai and Arthur. He plays them when they’re being particularly annoying, it’s an inside joke for him.

Yet, though Mozart would vehemently deny it, he’s also written a variation on the favorite piece of every member of the mansion, it’s usually one of the first things he does upon meeting a new member. It’s a way for him to get a feel of their character, and also an interesting challenge to see all the different ways music can be composed. Dazai’s was especially interesting, though he also quite enjoyed composing Leonardo’s.

Though some have suggested it, Mozart refuses to go back and finish some of the pieces that were incomplete upon his death. He is a different man now, and cannot recollect the emotions and thoughts that would be required to properly finish up the pieces. He feels understanding when one must move on from compositions is vital to continuing to compose.

No one else can clean Mozart’s piano, and only Leonardo is allowed to tune. Everyone else must simply admire from afar. Except for you. Mozart will sometimes let you sit on his lap or next to him, gently placing his hands over yours as he guides your fingers in a semi-awkward dance.

If you play an instrument, no matter the instrument, he’d love to play a duet with you. You’ll have to be the one to bring it up though, he won’t do it himself.

Leonardo da Vinci

Leonardo secretly wishes to sketch every single moment of importance in human history. He sees is as a monument to humanity, a tapestry to show how people are capable of great things, whether good or evil.

He also enjoys sketching the every day things. His favorite collection of sketches recently was that of a woman threshing wheat. It was just a very beautiful and intimate moment. The small miracles of humanity, or so he thinks when he allows himself to feel sentimental. In a way, isn’t his art a contribution to those small little moments? He may be a vampire, but there’s no guarantee his art will stand the test of time as he has. As such he sees art as a way to connect with the ethereal nature of humanity. Yes, perhaps his art may not last a hundred years, but it was still worth creating, was it not?

Leonardo was the one who insisted that the mansion have such a large library, in truth he’s already planned a second one in one of the less used wings of the house. What can he say? His love of art is rivaled only by his need for knowledge. He needs to have the capacity to learn about anything at the tips of his hands, and if that requires using most of his money to buy books, so be it.

Non fiction is definitely Leonardo’s area, he’s not a huge fan of the novel. However he enjoys epics and plays and poetry. And who could resist The Divine Comedy or Chaucer?

He also has a shelf in his room dedicated to his notebooks where he writes down anything new he’s studied or learned about. If you want to see crazy tanks or flying machines, that’s where you check.

Leonardo has always had a sort of fascination with anatomy and with the way that bodies move and work. He’d love sketching dancers, athletes, or laborers in general. He also loves seeing the ways that people differ, and the beauty in such differences. The human form is shrouded in divinity, no matter the form. After all, are humans not the divine light of a vampire’s shadow?

Architecture is also something Leonardo enjoys. Throughout his tours of Europe and the rest of the world one of the things that have struck him most is the different architecture of every nation, and how it reflects the people who live in different countries. He also enjoys studying clothing for similar purposes, although he himself does not keep up with the latest fashions, opting instead for worn in jackets and the smock of an artist or artisan – which is what he sees himself as first and foremost.

Saint-Germain and Leonardo have had a romantic relationship at some point in time, and even when they choose not to be lovers they have a bond that is both inexplicable and deeper beyond what anyone can interfere with. They are platonic soulmates, and often romantic too. Leonardo secretly sees himself as the more grounded of the two. He’s correct in his assumption.

Of all the eras that Leonardo has lived through, he still has a soft spot for the 15th century Italian peninsula. What can he say, roots run very deep. There is a fear inside of him that he might someday forget himself, where he came from, how he passed his youth. As such he’s developed a very strong sense of nostalgia for his past, though he also enjoys seeing the way the world has moved and shifted, particularly the ways that technology has changed.

Though it’s in the future, Saint-Germain has told Leonardo a little bit about aeroplanes. The day that the Kitty Hawk flight happens is something that Leonardo is very much excited to see, even if he won’t actually be there.

Leonardo is very very domestic. There’s a reason that he’s the second father of the house after all. The moment he sees a baby or a child he wants to play with them or make them laugh or smile. Indeed Leonardo’s become slightly famous on the outskirts of Paris for bringing children all sorts of strange gifts, from wood carvings to music boxes. It’s something he takes pride in, and he hope that he might have a family someday, either as a father or as a very cool uncle.

[your-nanas-house]

Hello! Huge fan of your work! I saw that you do ship pairing and I was wondering if you could do me! :) If you can't that's totally fine and I hope you have an amazing day!!

Oki idk how to really do this so Imma just put stuff i saw other people do.

Pronouns: She/ They (I don't really care what I'm called as long as it's not mean)

I'm a little bit on the shorter side (5'0) and I have brown hair cut to about chin length. It's pretty wavy and frizzy but I don't really mind :) I usually dress in bright colours like oranges and yellows and I am a sucker for pins. Also I love silly socks idk if that's important but they're my favorite :D

interests include collecting comic books (I've loved them since i was little! I collect DC, Marvel, Dark horse, Image, you name it! I started a few years back and have amassed quite the collection) I am also very into theatre/ music! I play piano and do a lot of shows as well as sing/ play keys in a band! I also love DND! I dm for my friends a bunch and it's a blast! I asked my friends to describe me and they said that I am like a neverending energetic toddler who they can tell has ADD. So...yeah XD okay I think that's it thank you for your time! Sorry if I did this wrong!

Hmmmm..first of all thank you very much! Second, I think that you are...

Jerome's doll!

This ginger would love the colors you normally dress in and would find your choice of socks amusing, he would probably ask to see your pins.

He would be interested in your comic book collection, come to see you play with your band and ask you to play for him or maybe teach him how to play but would lose patience quickly. Jerome is AN ENERGETIC TODDLER like you! So you would find yourself doing many fun and childish things.

I feel like Jerome could have ADHD so..you could be like...bonded? I'm not so sure because I don't know if ADD is the same as ADHD. I hope I didn't write bullshit.

While playing the piano

Pairing: Jerome Valeska X Reader

Warnings: fluff, playing piano

Words: 153

Summary: Y/n playing piano.

Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

..................................................................................

Y/n's hands moved elegantly and quickly on the piano keys as she enjoyed the sunshine coming in through the windows that warmed her skin, the house was silent and the notes coming out filled the room she was in; Jerome had not gone out but had remained there quieter than usual listening to her play, admiring her movements as he remained lying on the couch with his face turned toward her. 

He had tried days before to play but had not been able to and had given up declaring that it was boring but still wonderful to listen to, he had even asked her to play songs that were more fun and different from Bach or Vivaldi or Mozart and she agreed by promising to play the songs Jerome wanted to hear like 'Baby Shark' and other children's songs that made him start bouncing like a baby to the melody while dancing.

Taglist:

@gabile18

@mrsfullbuster500

@trainer--taylor

@elizamalfoyy

@eovjjj

@animefan3223

@jeremiah-va1eska

@gothamchic16

@rabbiteggz

@dieg0brandos-wife

@rottenecstasy

@lazyexcuse

@teh-vampire-bunny

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

[alby-rei]

[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks

a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?

a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.

My entry for @scummy-writes​‘s Arthur Week! 

Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block

[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)

[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian

[Word count]: ~2300 words

[Rating]: T

[POV]: 2nd Person 

“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.

You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.

Well, that is except—

“_____~!”

Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.

You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.

“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”

Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.

“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.

“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,”  You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!” 

You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.

“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.

“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”

“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.

You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”

“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.      

“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”

Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.

As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.

“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.

“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”

And just like that, he scurried off.

After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto. 

~*~

You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.

“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”

“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”      

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.

Right on time, as you expected.

“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.

Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?

Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.

“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”

“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”

Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.

Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”

He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.

“Do you think it worked?”

“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”

“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.

“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”

“Ah, but who said I was acting?”

He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.

“Wait… what?!”

~*~

Later that evening…

…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.  

Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.

Well crap.

“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”

For the love—.

“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”

In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.

“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.

“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time. 

You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.

He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.

“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.

You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.

“Arthur, are you… drunk?”

His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”

(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)

The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…

“Is your head okay?”

“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”

Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization. 

With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.

“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.

Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.

“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”

You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.

Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.

“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.

This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.

“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.

“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.” 

It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.

“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.

“Yes, ____?”

Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment. 

“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”

~*~

It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.

“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.

You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.

“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”

“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”

You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.

“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”

“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”

“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”

You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”

“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.

You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.

“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.

“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”

[lokiondisneyplus]

Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."

[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

Part 1

masterlist

Because, my darlings, I have no impulse control and Yoongi demanded to be written. I’m going to see if I can balance between SW and this, alternate releasing chapters for each story, but we’ll see. The title is a working title. don’t know if I’ll stick with it. I’m open to suggestions. Enjoy, my lovlies! It was a blast to write!-- Chaotic puff

here’s a link to the song the MC plays in this chapter!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q 

Yoongi didn’t go to events like this. He was a professional, but even professionals got blocks sometimes, and he was having a block. He couldn’t seem to produce anything new. He had spent hours in his studio trying to come up with something, but the muse had abandoned him. He needed to get out of his head, to get out of the studio for a while.

That was how he ended up sitting through a university showcase watching young, aspiring musicians present their skills. It was a far more classical feel than he used in his music. He was a rap god. He didn’t really use Debussy and Mozart in his work. But there was something amusing about watching all the fresh faced youths taking their showcase so seriously. Most of them would never be serious musicians. They would never play for a national symphony, but the way they all looked it was as if they were playing for some great orchestra or symphony instead of a small college showcase was amusing. It was all so serious, all so insignificant.

He was bored with it. Bored with the overly perfect renditions of the same songs that people had been playing for decades. Where was the feeling? Where was the passion? They were all just clinically passing through the motions for a grade. None of them would make serious musicians, not playing the way they did.

He was about to leave when the first strains of the cello caught his attention. It was the first real emotion he had heard from any of them. His eyes snapped to the stage to see a pair of girls. One was seated at the piano while the other was sat on a solitary chair with a cello before her. Both of them were as perfectly put together as every other student that had gone before them had been, black dresses and not a hair out of place.

He ignored the pianist in the favor of the cellist. Her eyes were closed as she played the rest of her face serene. She was completely at peace even though the song she played showed a deep sorrow. The song was just as recognizable as every other piece that had been played that night. The only difference was the musician.

She was lovely, pale and fragile under the stage lights, but there was also something almost unbearably sad about her, and it showed in her playing. The piece itself was already melancholy, but the way she played it was nearly heartbreaking. Her hair was pulled back in a neat updo that left her face clear for his perusal. Even with her eyes closed her face was filled with emotion. The simple string of pearls around her neck highlighted its curve, its swan like quality. Everything about her was simple, classic, graceful as she played.

He looked through the program he had been given when he’d first arrived searching for the song, searching for a name, her name. There is it was. The Swan composed by Camille Saint-Saens played by Kang Y/N and accompanied by Guem Nina. Kang Y/N. The name rang through his head carried by the melody she played. Beautiful. Beautiful and sad just like the song she played, just like her.

The song passed by too quickly for his liking. Before he knew it she was pulling her bow across the strings for the final time. Both musicians bowed to the audience before disappearing backstage and out of his sight. The spell was broken, but Yoongi still wanted to know more. Who was she? Why was she so sad? Why had she chosen that song? Yoongi wanted to know it all. The thought of her sent inspiration running through him. The fire was lit again telling him to create, to compose, for her.

He wanted to know what she would think of his music. Did she listen to rap? More specifically, did she listen to him? Or did she prefer classical music like the kind she had just played? Did she play any other instruments? Did she sing? How would the cello sound intertwined with his own style of music? He wanted to know the answer to all of these questions and so many more, but first he had to find her. Kang Y/N. His new muse.

So he sent out a bodyguard to find out everything about her that he could. Perhaps he should have felt guilty sending out a man to practically stalk the girl and bring him information on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about the invasion of her privacy. She consumed him, filling his thoughts. He wanted her near him. He wanted to hear her play, wanted to wipe the sadness from her features, and he was determined to do just that. She was meant to be his, and he wouldn’t rest until she was.  

Y/N was unaware of the thoughts coursing through his head as she was backstage tucked into a broom closet peeling herself out of her dress and the uncomfortable heels in favor of a pair of ripped jeans and a comfy sweater. She let her hair down from its tight confines and secured it in a loose pony tail. She loved playing, but stepping out on stage was always nerve wracking for her. The dresses and the perfectly put together faces never seemed like her. She wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was just… her. She didn’t even own the cello she had just played. She could never afford such a beautiful instrument. It belonged to the school.

She had had the cello on loan so long as she participated in the university orchestra, but that deal could no longer be upheld on her end. Family and financial obligations would no longer allow it. They were barely making ends meet as it was. She didn’t have the time to spend at rehearsals and practices when she needed to be focusing on her studies and working. Even her studies would have to take a back seat if their fortunes didn’t take a turn for the better soon.

It was just her, her grandmother, and her baby nephew, well no longer quite a baby. He was going to be three before she knew it. Her mother had taken off years ago. She flew in and out of their lives whenever it suited her usually when she wanted someone from them. Her father, bless him, couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. He was a dreamer. He sat at home most days contemplating the great questions of life like some sort of great philosopher. Most times he was drunk when he did this. She thanked god that he wasn’t violent drunk. His head was in the clouds more than else when he was drunk. Her sister, well no one really knew where Ha Jin was. She had taken off after the baby was born. She’d left Eun Jae with her and their grandmother, and she’d disappeared into the wind just like their mother had.

Part of her wanted to blame her little sister, to scream to the high heavens that it wasn’t fair that she was too young to be responsible for a child, but so was Ha Jin. She had been a child when she’d gotten pregnant, just seventeen when the baby was born. She was far too young to be a mother. Y/N couldn’t blame her for not being ready to raise a child, but she could blame her for abandoning Eun Jae.

Eun Jae didn’t know his mother. As far as he was concerned Y/N was his mother. She and Halmeoni were his whole world, his whole family. Her father couldn’t be counted as any sort of parental figure. He couldn’t be counted as one for his own daughters much less for his grandson. She’d heard her grandmother curse on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless son.  Y/N had cursed on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless father. But they had to work with what they were given, and this was the hand that fate had played them.

She had been eight when she’d figured out that both of her parents were useless. She’d been sixteen when she’d gotten her first part time job to help support the family. She’d been nineteen when she’d had to become a mother for her nephew. It was a shitty life, but it was hers.

Despite all the chaos Eun Jae had brought into the world, she wouldn’t trade him for anything. She loved that little boy more than life. He was her little angel, her light, the reason she was willing to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice everything. She may not have birthed him, but he was her son. He was the reason that she was sitting in a chicken place late in the evening a few days after the showcase with Nina. The pair of them were huddled over a phone making a profile on an app called sugarbebe.

“Are you sure about this?” Nina asked as they finalized her profile. “Maybe you could get another job.”

“I’m already working two jobs, along with school and practice, and Eun Jae. I can’t take on anything else.” She shook her head tiredly, glaring down at her phone in distaste. “We need the money.”

“What are you going to tell Halmeoni?” Nina questioned brows furrowed worriedly.

“I’m not going to tell Halmeoni anything. She thinks I’m looking for another job to take the place of orchestra.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

“No.” She laughed recalling the look on her grandmother’s face when she had told her that she was quitting orchestra. “She’s pissed at me. Says I’m wasting my God given talent, and that I’ll end up like my mom and my father and my sister if I’m not careful.”

“Harsh.” The other girl cringed knowing full well just how scary Y/N’s grandmother could be. “I still can’t believe it was your last concert.”

“It was only a showcase. Forget orchestra. Halmeoni said all that, and I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of giving up school to help with the bills.”

Nina’s eyes widened almost comically. “She’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah. I know.” She shuddered thinking of what her grandmother would do to her if she did quit school to help. It would not be a pretty picture. “I think she’d beat me black and blue with her favorite soup ladle.”

“Then let’s hope she doesn’t find out, and let’s hope you find yourself a rich sugar daddy.” Nina raised her glass in a mock toast, and Y/N raised hers as well.

“Here’s hoping.”

They pressed the button submitting her profile on the app. It was too late to back out now. If she was lucky whoever chose her wouldn’t be too old or perverted. With any luck he wouldn’t be ugly either, but that was asking a lot and she didn’t hold that much hope.  She’d be lucky if the guy wasn’t too much of a creep.

They both stared down at the phone in shock as it chimed, the banner announcing that she had a match on sugarbebe. Neither of them had expected anything quite that soon.

“Well, open it! What does it say? Who did you match with?” Nina asked excitedly eyes taking up almost the whole of her face with how wide they were.

She tapped on her phone opening the profile. MYG. No picture. Age twenty-seven. A producer. There wasn’t much information, but there was a message from the man asking to meet in person.

Nina looked over her shoulder frowning as she examined the profile as well. “He doesn’t have much information does he?”

“He wants to meet.”

“When?”

“Friday.” She gulped suddenly filled with nerves. It was all becoming so real. “He’s wants to meet on Friday at D-2.”

They both knew D-2. Every young person in the city knew it. It was the hottest club in Seoul at the moment, made even hotter by the fact it was owned by the king of rap himself, Agust D. To get into D-2 you either had to be rich, famous, or willing to wait in atrociously long lines and tipping the bouncer an outrageous amount of money wouldn’t hurt your chances either.

“D-2?” Nina gasped practically ripping the phone out of her hand to read the message herself. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

It was a good question. She really didn’t have anything that could be considered worthy of a place like D-2. Nothing she owned was really sexy. It was mostly comfy sweaters, jeans, and cute skirts. Things she could wear to school and work and were comfortable enough to chase a toddler around in. None of those would be appropriate for the club. Neither would any of the dresses she used for concerts. And the look on her face clearly conveyed that to Nina.

“You can borrow something of mine.” She assured gently patting her friend’s arm. “Maybe he won’t be so bad?”

“Maybe.” She agreed nervously.

“You can borrow that purple dress of mine. I can lend you some earrings too.” Nina offered sending her a reassuring smile. “At least you know if he’s meeting you at D-2 he’s gotta be rich.”

Y/N smiled back nervously. “I’m just hoping he’s not too much of a creep. Eun Jae is supposed to be with me at the apartment on Friday. Do you think you could babysit? If I ask Halmeoni to keep him at the restaurant she’ll ask questions.”

She had a small apartment close to campus that she stayed at normally. Eun Jae would bounce between the apartment and the family home with Halmeoni. It was good for him to be out of the house and away from her father sometimes, and it allowed her to keep Eun Jae close. She saw him often enough as she worked at Halmeoni’s restaurant, but on the weekends he would stay with her at the apartment. She’d take him back to Halmeoni’s on Sunday evening, and they’d both stay the night. Halmeoni would watch him during the week while she had classes, practice, and work, and Halmeoni lived closer to the preschool they were sending him to. She hated being away from him so much, but it was the best they could do for the moment.

“Of course I’ll watch Jae-ah.” Nina smiled. “You know I love the little guy. I’m his favorite auntie.”

“You’re his only auntie.”

“Technically, you’re his aunt.”

“Well unless Ha Jin suddenly shows up with a maternal instinct, I’m all he’s got in the mom department.”

“Poor kid.” Nina cringed teasingly.

“Hey.”  Y/N shoved her shoulder playfully. “I’m a great mom.”

“You’re okay at it.” The other girl dodged another hit. “I mean, he does have a sugar baby for a mom.”

“First of all, rude. Second, it’s only until we get our heads above water again, and then never again. This will all be a bad memory.”

Nina squeezed her arm sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll actually have a good time.”

“I really don’t think so, but how bad could it be?” It wasn’t going to be forever, and she could put up with anything to help her family, for Eun Jae.  

part 2

[fa-by]

Hi, Faby I'm finally free of homework. I loved your theory on all these years. I laughed at the memes. many CS say we have a version of Camila with all these years, but we don't have a similar version of Lauren but at the time that Camila and Lauren weren't together (after Camila left the group) Lauren kept thinking about Camila because she kept writing songs based on her relationship with Camila like all night. Can you make a song analysis of all night?

Hello to you, dear @camilalauren0327 👋🏼😄 I'm glad you're free from your homework 💪🏼 I'm also glad that you loved my interpretation and that you laughed at the GIFs.

So. About All Night, I can tell you it's track n° 11 of Steve Aoki's Neon Future IIIalbum. Both Laur and Steve loved the time spent together in the studio, and Steve totally loved working with her: “She’s got so many ideas and the problem is, they’re all good. She’s very meticulous. The attention to detail Lauren has is something I don’t find in many people. She’s very attentive to the detail. She’s got those ears, she’s got the sensibility and the vision, and I’m just totally inspired to be in the studio with her”.

As for the lyrics, were already there, but Laur rewrote them and wrote the bridge from scratch. Vocally speaking, she did all the backgrounds and vocally self-produced. So the vocal production? It's hers. It was her. Yeah. She's thattalented, and people still sleep on her. But anyway. Let's move on to my interpretation now, shall we?

Verse 1:

“My heart beats a little faster

When our eyes meet, in the middle of a crowded room”

Typical reaction of when we meet someone we like. You know? Heart beating fast as Laur says, along with butterflies in the stomach, cheeks blushing, palms sweating, adrenaline, dry mouth, palpitations, hot flashes, etc., etc.

“In knee deep, testing waters”

What does ‘in knee deep’ make us understand? That it wasn't an ordinary person that she just liked, but that it was a person that she really liked very much. *cough Mila*

“I've got a feeling, and I don't know what to do”

Why? Because she knew it was different and contrary to the past, she didn't know how to act.

Chorus:

“You got me paralyzed, and I think I like it”

As I think you know, ‘paralyzed’ in this case is intended as being blocked by a strong emotion (such as amazement). Mila got her paralyzed. Their situation and feelings were so strong, so deep/in knee-deep, that Laur was petrified by it. But despite this, as I said before, this was different. Unlike anything she'd ever felt before. And she liked it.

“Caught me by surprise, I'm not usually like this, no”

It caught her by surprise because she didn't expect it. And we know why she wasn't usually like that. Because she'd been in denial all her life. Because she'd always fought against these feelings.

“Got me paralyzed, don't think I can help it”

She couldn't. Even if she tried, she couldn't. She couldn't help herself.

“Why's it feel so right?”

Why did what she was taught to be wrong made her feel so good/right? Because it was. It was in general, but it was even more so with her. With Mila.

Post-Chorus:

“Let's keep this going all night

Going all night

Going all night

Going all night”

Freedom. Without thinking of tomorrow. Tomorrow's tomorrow.

Verse 2:

“The crowd fades, tunnel vision

In a daze, and the only thing I feel is you”

Because she was the only important thing. The only thing that mattered. All the rest? They were just surroundings.

“In perfect, syncopation”

Syncopation can be a rhythm, a passage, or a dance step. Syncopation in music occurs when a rhythm is unexpected and is played off-beat. It's like, an oscillation in a soft and not stiff way. It's an imbalance and prolongation of a note in the middle that creates an effect of, precisely, oscillation. Flamenco is the simplest first example that comes to mind for both musical rhythm and danced rhythm, but syncopation is used in many music styles. From the classical music of Mozart and Beethoven, to the ragtime ancestor of jazz, jazz itself, rock, metal, reggae, hip-hop, pop, house, salsa, etc.

To give you a practical example to help you understand better, count 5, 6, 7, 8 out loud three times in a row. From the fourth time, keep counting out loud and, at the same time, use the palm of your hand or the clenched fist on a surface to hear the rhythm yourself and understand how stable it is. Do this three times or even more until it’s natural for you to keep up the pace without having to keep counting 5, 6, 7, 8 out loud. Once you've done that, keep counting mentally and hit/tap 5 a little bit harder with a little pause, and then just 7, 8. It would be like: 5, no hit/tap, 7, 8.

FIIIVE, seven, eight - FIIIVE, seven, eight - FIIIVE, seven, eight.

You can slow down or speed up as you like, and this, dear @camilalauren0327 and babies, is an example of syncopation. If you guys want, to listen and understand better, I also found this for you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-H6oXpF-tw.

But anyway. What's my point? Why explain all this to you? Because for many composers and producers, syncopation is a vital element because it helps them tie the rhythm and the melody of a song together. The use of syncopation in music in general, but more precisely in a song, makes the track different and even unique at times.

And now that you know this, Lauren did or didn't use a beautiful metaphor with a simple one-word to describe her and Mila? *she was so phenomenal and romantic 😍*

“Face to face, tell me do you feel it too?”

Sounds weird that Laur was wondering, right? Well, it actually isn't because this song is about the moment in the timeline they were in the Like Friends Dosituation. Laur was still in denial and therefore they didn't speak. She didn't know if Mila still wanted her or not, and most likely, it was just before Mila started her relationship with the mystery girl because it coincides with Lauren finally accepting herself and her feelings for her.

Chorus:

“You got me paralyzed, and I think I like it

Caught me by surprise, I'm not usually like this, no

Got me paralyzed, don't think I can fight this

Why's it feel so right?”

The difference between the first chorus and this, is the ‘don't think I can fight this’ here. As I said before and as we know, Laur had been in denial all her life and she’d always fought against these feelings, but this time it was different. Thiswas different because Camila was different. Hell, Lauren herself was different. The environment she was in was different. Different especially from home and from what she was used to there. Her feelings were different. More powerful. Nothing like the crushes she'd had on other girls in the past, and she knew, because she knew, that she was going to lose this fight. Here, or rather at the time at that moment, she was simply admitting it to herself.

Bridge:

“But maybe I should wait

Let it fall into place

'Cause I keep going over

The things that could come from me feeling this way (Way)”

She was having second thoughts here. Her fear took over. Fear is the most powerful tool in the world. It makes you do unimaginable things and it makes you not do what you really want.

“And I don't wanna play (I don't wanna play)

This emotional game (This emotional game)

But when you pull me closer

I cannot deny that I want you to stay”

BUT, she finally gave in. She overcame her fear by finally admitting to herself that she wanted her, and not just physically. The ‘stay’ is tricky because if it's read just like that, it only means a physical action, but for Camren? It means so much more. An example that comes to mind now is the ‘It's almost 2AM and I can't ask you to stay’ that we find in Feel It Twice. For them, the ‘stay’ is not just a physical action. It's deeper. It means staying with each other. It means staying/being together.

After the bridge, we have the post-bridge and then the chorus again (in which that raspy, mature high-note occurs on the “I cannot deny this love”, which honestly leaves me dead every time) which I've already explained, so that's it, dear @camilalauren0327. All Night is a song about Laur's acceptance of her feelings for Mila.

I hope you liked it, and, I don't know where you live, but I hope you're having a wonderful summer or a beginning of winter. Sending you a hug 🤗

For you guys, on the other hand, I hope you too are having a wonderful summer or a beginning of winter wherever you live 😊 I'll try to keep answering your asks whenever possible until I get home in September (damn places with no connection and only one wi-fi).

Always remember to be kind, to others and to yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼 Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗 I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️