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moons-and-mobility-aids · 18 days ago

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Spoil Me Gently: Chapter 5 - masterlist

Chapter Word Count: 5.9k words.

Chapter Summary: Trust doesn't happen all at once—it builds, slowly, stitch by careful stitch. Over coffee and quiet laughter, they offer you something you didn't realize you were still brave enough to want: safety without strings, care without cost. A scarf, a promise, a thousand small gestures—all of it adding up to something bigger than you can name. And as time passes, you realize: maybe this isn't just survival. Maybe it's the beginning of being chosen, completely.

Tags: fem!reader, disabled!reader, sugar baby!reader, sugar daddy!marauders, soft!marauders, famous!marauders, chronic pain, emotional slow burn, reader is poor, reader was in an abusive relationship, gift as language, reader receives money, reader uses mobility aid, trauma-informed affection, vulnerability met with tenderness, consent-centered care, wealth without strings

Taglist: @miwi-moore

The conversation ebbs and flows like a gentle tide, touching upon work, favorite drinks, shared laughs, before receding into the deeper waters of memories. They don't pry or prod, simply allowing you to share at your own pace.

There's no overt flirtation, not yet. But what's happening is more than surface banter—it's the slow construction of intimacy through shared experiences and emotions. The connection between minds forming before bodies have a chance to collide.

"Do you like gifts?" Sirius asks out of the blue, swirling his spoon in his cappuccino, eyes never leaving yours. His tone is light, almost playful, but there's a sincerity behind his question that suggests he already knows the answer, waiting for you to confirm it.

You pause, considering. "Like, as a concept?"

James chuckles from your other side, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. His glasses reflect the soft glow of the overhead lights, but his gaze is sharp and focused on you. "Not exactly. More like...do you see them as an expression of affection rather than something transactional?"

You hesitate, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. "Maybe? I'm not very good with them, never know how to react."

A ghost of a smile plays on Sirius's lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They remain focused on you, searching, probing. "Interesting," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "You're not comfortable with the idea of someone giving you something without expecting anything in return."

You meet his gaze, your own eyes narrowing slightly as you consider his words. There's a tension in your shoulders that belies the casual shrug you give. "Let's just say I learned early on that gifts often come with strings attached."

"Ours don't," Remus says, the words falling from his lips with a conviction that stirs something within you.

James leans in, his elbows pressing into the tablecloth as he mirrors your posture. His gaze is steady, a lighthouse amidst stormy seas. "You're allowed to have things without owing anyone anything, without needing to earn them."

You almost laugh, ready to deflect with humour as you always do, but James's hand moves beneath the table, and he pulls out a slim, black box tied with a soft ribbon. He slides it across the table, the box coming to rest against your plate with a finality that silences your retort before it can form.

"James..."

His smile broadens. "Just a small thing."

Sirius snorts. "Says the boy who grew up with three kitchens in one house."

James shrugs, unbothered by the jab. "I'll admit, my sense of 'small' might be skewed, but in my defence this gift is both practical and comfortable, and you two agreed to it. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Remus arches a brow. "Compared to the time you wanted to gift us each a zero-gravity recliner with a built-in espresso machine, voice-activated speakers synced to Spotify, and a mini fridge? Yes, this is much more reasonable."

"That was multifunctional and completely within my aesthetic," James grumbles, but there's no heat in his words.

A soft laugh escapes you as you lift the lid, and a glimmer of something catches your eye. Under the dim light of the café, a scarf unfurls, its threads shimmering with an almost ethereal glow. It's as if it's woven with more than just silk and wool—it holds a promise, a hope that things can be different.

The fabric is a blend of warm pinks and cool silvers, colours that seem to dance and change as they catch the light. You reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against the material. It's softer than anything you've ever felt, like a whisper against your skin.

You draw the scarf closer, drinking in the sight of it. The colours shift and meld together, a perfect balance of warmth and coolness. Underneath the scent of the café—coffee and pastries and the faintest hint of magic—you detect something else. Salt and bergamot, a fragrance that reminds you of open water and wide skies.

Your fingers grip the edge of the scarf tighter than you intend. You hadn't noticed until now how hard you've been holding onto it.

But Remus does. He's always been good at noticing the little things. His eyes flicker to your hand, then back up to your face. There's no judgement there, only understanding. He doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. His nod is enough—a silent acknowledgement that he gets it, that he knows what this means.

"This isn't a bribe," Sirius says, his voice cutting through the moment. He drums his fingers on the surface of his cup, a rhythm only he seems to understand. "It's a declaration."

"Of what?" you murmur, your voice barely louder than the rustle of fabric against your skin.

"That you're wanted," James responds, his gaze never leaving your face.

You can feel their eyes on you, taking in every detail—the curve of your smile, the way your hands rest in your lap, the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath. They study you not with hunger but with interest, with awareness. It's as if they're trying to memorise you, to understand every part that makes up the whole.

The old tension is there, coiling in your gut like a shadow returning to haunt you — not because of them, but because of memories and past experiences that have taught you to fear.

You rub your thumb over the silk scarf, tracing the intricate patterns as if seeking some form of solace in its softness. A deep breath fills your lungs, the exhale slow and shaky.

A gentle nudge from James pulls you back from the precipice of your thoughts. "Hey, you still with us?"

"Sorry." You manage a nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... I'm not used to this."

Remus leans closer, his eyes softening. "That's all right. You don't have to be used to it yet. No one's expecting you to suddenly change."

"But we're not going to stop trying," Sirius adds, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You deserve things that feel soft against your skin, smell like the ocean or sunshine, and maybe—just maybe—if I have anything to do with it, bring a bit of excitement into your life."

"Especially the excitement," James chimes in, a grin tugging at his lips as he takes another sip of his drink.

Your laugh catches you off guard more than anyone else in the room. It's a real laugh, one that shakes your shoulders and warms your chest. The tension in the room lightens slightly as they join in, their own laughter softer, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether they're allowed to share in this moment of levity.

You trace the pattern of the fabric once more before carefully folding the scarf and placing it back in its box. The action gives you something to focus on, something other than the three pairs of eyes watching you. It's easier to pretend they're not there when you're looking at the scarf, but only just.

The words are casual, tossed out to disrupt the tension that clings to the air like static. "You're making me wish I'd brought something."

"But you did," Remus counters, his voice softening. "You came."

"Exactly." Sirius's eyes glint with something unreadable. "And your work... it's impressive enough to be a gift in itself."

Your gaze flickers up, meeting theirs. The compliment is unexpected but not entirely surprising. You knew they must have seen it online, but hearing it acknowledged aloud adds a layer of reality that sends a shiver down your spine.

"So, you've been looking," you say, a statement rather than a question. It's not an accusation, merely an acknowledgement of what you already suspected. There's no hostility in your tone—only curiosity.

"Of course we have." James's reply comes without hesitation, his gaze steady on yours. "Why wouldn't we?"

The question is asked with such calm sincerity that it feels as natural as breathing, as if seeking out the hidden layers of a person is the most normal thing in the world.

Remus's voice is softer still, a counterpoint to James's confidence. "They're beautiful, you know. The way you stitch them—it's like... it's like speaking without words."

You glance down at your hands, the fingers that have done so much yet remain so steady. The edge of the table is cool under your touch, grounding you in this moment as your thoughts drift to the pieces hanging back home—one with barbed wire encircling a blood-red rose, another proclaiming we do not mend to forget. Your cheeks warm, not from embarrassment but from the unexpected tenderness of their words and the silent understanding that fills the room.

"Your stitching," Sirius begins, his voice low and curious, laced with something warmer—wonder, perhaps—"it's like you're writing poetry." He leans forward, elbows on the table, his fingers brushing against the edge of the fabric close to yours. His nearness is palpable, yet not suffocating. "Every loop, every knot seems to hold a word just beneath its surface. A warning. A prayer. A dare."

A soft laugh escapes your lips, more from surprise than amusement. "You're not wrong," you admit, your gaze flickering up to meet his. "Mostly, it's anger."

James' smile is one of understanding rather than judgement. He's been mostly silent, taking in your words and the emotions behind them. His hand cradles a cup of coffee, the steam rising gently like the thoughts that seem to simmer in his mind. The other hand rests against his chin, fingers brushing his lower lip—a gesture so subtle you almost miss it amidst the intensity of his focus. "But even anger can be beautiful," he offers, voice low and measured. "Especially when it builds instead of breaks."

Across the table, Remus has been a quiet observer, his attention never wavering from the exchange. When he finally speaks, his words carry the weight of careful consideration. "Do you plan the pieces in advance? Or do they... emerge on their own, as if they need to be made?"

The question catches you off guard, not because it's intrusive, but because it's accurate. "They just come out," you confess, staring at the remnants of the scone on your plate. "I tell myself it's intentional later, to make it feel less like I'm... losing control."

He nods slowly, his gaze steady. "I understand that. I write in a similar way. The structure comes after. First, there's freedom. Chaos that eventually forms into something meaningful."

Sirius leans back, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the table. His eyes narrow, not with suspicion but something akin to respect. "Is there a piece you've been avoiding? Something you're afraid to create?"

You pause, your mind flickering over the countless images and ideas you've tucked away. "Yeah," you admit at last, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's one about my mum. I think it's still too big for me. Or maybe I'm just not ready to face it yet."

James moves then, his hand reaching across the table to rest lightly against your wrist. The contact is brief, but its message clear: You are not alone. "Then we'll wait for that one," he says softly. "No need to rush."

The conversation takes on an easy ebb and flow, the silences filled with the clink of cups and the murmur of the café around you. Your fingers toy with the sleeve of your jacket, tracing the seam in thought.

Remus's gaze lingers on you, eyes thoughtful. He leans forward slightly, his voice a low thrum that threads through the ambient noise. "I've always been fascinated by what drives people to create," he confesses, hands wrapped around his own cup. "For me, it's grief, love, anger, wonder… all of it tangled together."

His admission draws your attention away from the window, back to the warmth of the table. You meet his gaze as he continues, "And I see some of that in you." There's a pause, a hesitation before he ventures further. "But what emotion would you say is most present for you right now?"

A half-smile tugs at one corner of your mouth, but there's a sadness behind your eyes that tells a deeper story. "Survival, mostly," you admit after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "Anger too. And finding beauty in the broken."

Sirius tilts his head, considering this. "And grief," he suggests gently, not as an accusation but an understanding. "It has a way of sneaking up on us, doesn't it?"

You exhale, slow and steady, and offer a nod of agreement. "Always," you say. "It's... persistent."

James shifts in his chair, stretching his legs under the table until his knee brushes against yours—a subtle gesture, grounding and real. "Each stitch you make," he says, voice low and thoughtful, "it's like a tiny act of resistance."

The corners of your mouth twitch into a wry smile. "Life is a constant struggle, isn't it? Too many people suffering, too many voices telling them it's their own fault."

Silence falls over the group—not awkward or stifling, but heavy with implication. They don't rush to fill it with empty reassurances or platitudes. Instead, Sirius leans a fraction closer, his eyes holding a glimmer of understanding that wasn't there before. "But your work... it's more than just protest, isn't it? It's evidence."

You glance at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. "Yes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Evidence that I was here. That I didn't accept things as they were."

"A record of rebellion," James murmurs, tapping his fingers against his mug. "And the parts you don't show anyone...?"

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. You don't need words to confirm what they already know.

"We'll need to have a room dedicated to your work," Sirius interjects, his voice almost light as he grins over his cappuccino. "A wall lined with your pieces so that I can wake up each morning and feel thoroughly inadequate."

James nudges your elbow gently, drawing your attention back to him. "I want to see where you create. Even if it's just a corner with poor lighting and a box fan. I want to see your chaos—the fabric snippets, the needles stuck into cushions."

"It's not pretty," you warn, though the edge in your voice betrays the curiosity kindling within you.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. If it's yours, I want to see it."

"Tell us the stories you've never put into words," Remus says, his fingers curling around a mug of coffee. "The ones that have shaped you, that you carry close to your heart."

You look down at your own cup, cradling it between your hands. "I... I don't often speak of those stories. Not aloud."

Sirius leans back in his chair, a shadow against the morning light streaming through the window. "You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to," he offers, his tone softening. "But we'll listen all the same.”

"Even silence can tell a story," James adds, his voice steady and soothing. "We just want to be there to hear yours, however you choose to tell it."

This isn't small talk or a performance; it's an invitation to connect, to share truths too long kept hidden. You feel the tension in your shoulders ease as you breathe out, the warmth of their acceptance seeping into your bones. The part of you that's always ready for a fight, always braced for impact—it starts to uncoil, just a fraction.

And then the questions shift again, slipping sideways. Softer. But somehow heavier.

"Tell me," Remus begins, leaning back in his chair, "what makes you feel safe?" His tone is neither soft nor wary—simply open, unadorned with pretense.

The heaviness of the question doesn't seem to touch the room; it hangs suspended between sips of coffee and shared laughter.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden shift, but you don't shy away from answering. Your shoulders lift in an almost imperceptible shrug. "Consistency, I suppose," you say. "Control over my own choices when it matters most. The ability to leave when I want to—without it turning into a spectacle."

James, who had been quietly nursing his coffee, looks up at your words. There's a slight furrow to his brow as he turns the mug in his hands. "You mean like... not having to justify your every move?"

"Exactly." You nod, and he grins, pleased with his understanding.

Sirius watches you for a moment longer before tilting his head to one side. "And luxury? What does that look like to you?"

"Being warm," you say without hesitation. "Not having to decide between eating or heating the flat. A bed that doesn't creak with every move. Peace and quiet."

James grins, looking more like the boy from your memories than ever. "We can definitely do warm."

"And we can do quiet," Remus adds, his voice low but filled with an unspoken promise.

Sirius leans closer, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We might even start a new competition—who can bring you tea first in the morning."

The thought steals your breath—not from fear, but from something new and undeniably hopeful. You find yourself smiling, not the forced, careful curve of your lips you've grown accustomed to, but a real smile that reaches deep within and radiates outward.

It's warmth, you realise—not the kind that comes from a well-stoked fire or the sun on a clear day, but the kind that starts inside and grows, as natural as breathing, as right as the moon's pull on the tides. It's not flashy or imposing; it simply is, enveloping you like a blanket, woven with threads of acceptance and belonging.

"Can I ask something?" James's voice is soft, careful now. Not wanting to shatter the delicate trust that's beginning to form. "Not as a suggestion. Just a genuine question."

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing slightly, but you nod for him to continue.

"If this became something more—like an arrangement—what would it mean for you?"

The question prompts you to pause—not out of fear or suspicion, but because its sincerity demands thought. It's not about what they can offer or how much they're willing to give; it's about what it means to you.

"Security," you admit after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "Freedom. Room to breathe. The relief of not having to choose between eating and heating."

Sirius nods, his expression serious now. "That makes sense. That's honest. But what else?"

"More?" you echo, tilting your head. "Beyond that?"

Remus, who has been silent for a while, leans forward. His eyes are soft, filled with understanding. "What if being cared for didn't mean losing your independence? What if it didn't come with conditions?"

You ponder his words, the question sparking something inside you. "It would mean... rest. Being valued without having to constantly prove your worth. Structure, but not rigidity. Affection without expectation. And real consent—not just a yes or no, but a way to express it fully. The kind that allows you to breathe, to exist without asking for permission first."

"Sounds like you've given this some thought," says Sirius, and there's no mockery in his voice—only acknowledgement.

Remus's eyes are kind, understanding. "Take your time. Share as much or as little as you want. We don't expect you to sort it all out right away."

"Exactly," James chimes in, his smile reassuring. "This isn't about quick fixes. It's about building something that endures."

"And with no bounds," Sirius adds, a glint of mischief in his grey eyes.

Then come the promises, each one a seed planted with care, meant to take root and grow within you.

"I want to cook for you," James says. His voice is soft but firm, like worn leather. "Nothing extravagant. Just eggs the way you like them, toast not too burnt but not too soft either, and tea—just the way you prefer it. Every morning, if you let me."

"You like breakfast," you say, almost in spite of yourself.

He chuckles, a low rumble that seems to echo around the room. "I like taking care of people. And breakfast is a good place to start."

Sirius's promise comes in a different form, smooth as silk yet just as binding. "I want to photograph you," he says, his voice dropping slightly. "No poses, no filters. Just you, in whatever moment you find yourself in. I want to capture the things others might miss."

"Do I get veto rights?" you ask, aiming for humour but landing somewhere closer to vulnerability.

"Of course," he replies, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "But know this—I fall in love with light easily. And with you in it, I'll never stop taking pictures."

Remus lifts his coffee to his lips, the gesture slow and deliberate. "I want to give you a library of your own, endless hours to lose yourself in its quiet, and the freedom to return when you're ready," he says, his voice low, soothing. "Your place should be one of peace, not demand."

Their words aren't just promises; they're painting a picture of what closeness could look like, shaped by their knowledge of you, their desire for you. It's not a fantasy spun from thin air but a shared reality awaiting your permission to unfold.

"You're not trying to convince me," you say, the words barely more than a whisper. "You're offering it."

James nods. "Exactly. We want you to want this, all of it, for yourself as much as for us."

The air between you shifts subtly, charged with the potential of what lies ahead. The future isn't some abstract concept now; it's mornings spent with James' humming filling the kitchen, afternoons captured under Sirius' watchful gaze as he takes photos of you bathed in natural light, evenings tucked against Remus in the library, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh while he reads aloud. You can almost feel the weight of the blankets, smell the hint of cinnamon clinging to the pages of old books, sense the warmth radiating from three bodies that ask nothing of you but your company, your comfort.

There's an undeniable sugar daddy element to it, yes, but it doesn't feel transactional. Instead, it feels like devotion poured into every corner of a life they're willing to share.

Their questions probe deeper, asking not just what you desire but what you need. When is the last time you allowed yourself true rest? And again, you find yourself answering honestly, more candidly than you intend.

"It's been a while," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't remember the last time I slept without keeping one eye open, or ate without saving some for later. Or didn't calculate the cost of every bite."

James's hand finds yours on the table, his fingers warm and steady against your skin. His thumb moves in slow circles over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, in the reality that this isn't just a dream. "We can help with that."

Sirius's voice is softer now, gentler, as if he recognises how fragile this moment feels. "Or at least make it a bit easier. Give you space to breathe."

"Or share the load with you," Remus adds, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that goes beyond words. "So you're not carrying it all alone."

You swallow hard, taken aback by the sincerity in their voices, the genuine concern etched into their faces. "It's strange," you murmur, mostly to yourself. "How easy it is to want this. And how terrifying."

"That makes sense," James says, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "Wanting something without fear... that's a luxury too. One we'd like to offer you."

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken promises and potential, yet there's no pressure, no rush. Just the hum of possibility and the faintest stirrings of hope, intermingling with the warmth that radiates from the man beside you. It's a different kind of quiet, one that doesn't demand answers or action, but simply waits—patient and steady—for you to decide when you're ready.

You look back at them, these men who ask nothing of you but offer everything they have. Your chest tightens, the ache of longing and fear intertwined.

"You don't need to choose us now," James says, his voice a gentle murmur. "But we want you to know what choosing us would feel like."

"We want you to want it because it feels safe," Sirius adds.

Remus leans in a little closer, his eyes softening. "And if safe means locked doors and quiet nights, then that's part of it too."

You wonder if they'll still want you when the panic takes hold, when the scars are revealed, when the weight of silence becomes too much to bear. You wonder if this moment can withstand the darkness, the flashbacks, the way you sometimes forget how to be gentle.

But none of them look away, their gazes steady and unwavering. No trace of doubt mars their faces—only understanding, acceptance, and promise.

"Exactly," James leans in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. "So, we were thinking."

"Another meeting," Sirius picks up the thread, his grey eyes glinting with a familiar mischief that once brought Hogwarts' halls alive. "More private, less... formalities. Somewhere quiet."

"Comfortable," Remus adds, the corners of his mouth curving upwards ever so slightly. "No distractions. Just us, time, and honesty."

"Meaning?" you press, raising an eyebrow.

"To talk," Sirius says, leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. His grin is slow, confident. "To listen. To dream, even. And to make sure we're all reading from the same script."

James's smile broadens at that, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that grounds the moment. "This was about testing the waters, seeing if we click. If the chemistry is there. And I reckon it is, don't you think?"

You pause, letting the words settle around you like dust after a storm. The air between you crackles with anticipation, waiting for your answer.

"Yeah," you admit, finally breaking the silence. "It is."

Remus nods, a soft sigh of relief escaping him. "The next step is to do this right."

"We'll take it slow, as slow as you need," James assures you, his tone steady and strong. "We set the pace together."

"And we'll be open," Remus continues, his voice measured, resolute. "About what you need from us, what you want from us, and what we require and hope for from you. Boundaries, expectations, hopes—everything will be laid bare."

"Especially the things we're afraid to say out loud," Sirius adds, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

The thought of something long-term, something permanent, doesn't fill you with dread anymore. Not when everything feels so right. Not when your body isn't screaming at you to run. Not when your instincts, usually so sharp and wary, are curious rather than alarmed.

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll tell you what I need, what I can give, where my boundaries lie."

James meets your gaze, his eyes earnest. "And we'll respect that. Every word. It's not just a requirement; it's a promise."

The silence that settles is heavy with shared concern, and even the air seems to hold its breath in anticipation. When you finally pull out your phone, your movements slow and careful, their eyes follow every detail.

"Are you ordering a taxi?" James's voice cuts through the stillness, a note of hope threading through his question.

You nod, your gaze not leaving the screen as you get the app up. "Yeah."

"Good," Remus murmurs. "You shouldn't have to."

Sirius shifts in his seat, glancing towards the entrance before his eyes return to you, protective and resolute. "We're waiting with you, obviously."

Your smile is faint but genuine as you look up at them, the knot in your chest loosening just a fraction. "You don't have to—"

"We know," James interjects, already rising from his chair. His glasses catch a glint of light as he adjusts them, determination etched into every feature. "We want to."

The breeze outside is sharp for the time of day, teasing through your coat and catching at your curls, but you hardly feel the chill with one of them at each side. James's hand rests on the small of your back, a steady presence guiding you forward. Remus's shoulder brushes against yours, an unspoken promise of support.

You stand together, waiting for the taxi to arrive. The conversation is light, steering clear of the night's heavier topics. You talk about the latest music and your favourite ridiculous TV shows, anything to keep the darkness at bay. James recounts how Sirius burned toast three days in a row while attempting to create a "masterpiece breakfast," and Sirius grumbles about how his camera app has updated again, throwing off his entire photo organisation system.

Remus listens, contributing when there's space, but mostly he watches the three of you, a small smile playing on his lips. It's as if he's already committing this moment to memory—three friends standing on a London street corner, finding laughter amidst the chaos.

"Are you sure you're alright?" James asks once more, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am," you reply, meeting his gaze. And it's true—the warmth spreading through you isn't just the aftereffect of adrenaline.

The taxi pulls up to the curb, and they spring into action, each with their own role in ensuring your safety. Sirius holds the door open as you climb in, his grimace a stark contrast to his usual smirk. Remus double-checks that you have everything—your phone, your purse—his brows furrowed in concern.

James bends down slightly at the window, his hazel eyes meeting yours. "Text us when you're home," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "No matter what time it is."

"Even if it's just an emoji," Sirius adds, trying for levity but falling short.

You nod, clutching your phone tighter. "I will. Thank you. For everything."

"This isn't over," James promises, straightening as he steps back. "It's just the beginning."

As the taxi pulls away from the curb, you glance back. They haven't moved. They stand there, three figures bathed in streetlight, watching until you're out of sight. And even as the cityscape blurs again with the rhythm of the road, you can still feel it.

***

The taxi pulls away, leaving you alone in the chill of the evening. You grip the handles of your rollator tighter, the cold metal biting into your flesh, and begin the slow journey towards the entrance of your flat. Each step sends a jolt of pain through your body, a reminder of the price you've paid for tonight's revelations.

"Thanks," you mumble to the retreating vehicle, though your voice is weak, swallowed by the air.

Inside, you barely make it to the couch before your legs give out. The house is silent, a stillness that should bring relief but instead feels oppressive, heavy with unspoken dread. You remain rigid for a moment, half-expecting something to shatter the quiet.

You don't bother taking off your shoes or coat. Instead, you sink into the cushions, letting their worn softness cradle your aching body.

Your phone buzzes, the vibration startling against the silence. An instinctive flinch tugs at your muscles, old fears resurfacing despite your exhaustion. You pull the device from your pocket, squinting as the screen illuminates the dim room.

A notification.

New bank deposit: £1,000.

There is no message, no explanation accompanying the transaction. Just the stark reality of those numbers, an undeniable fact that stirs a mix of relief and unease within you.

Your chest tightens, the air thinning as if you've ascended too quickly to a great height. You look at the number again and again, afraid it will disappear if you blink too hard. It seems like another cruel trick of the light, but it's not. It's real.

You glance over at the walker by the door, its cold metal gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. It stands there, a silent testament to the life you have painstakingly built here. Your hands tremble, not from fear this time, but from the sheer weight of this moment. For once, it feels like someone sees you, truly sees you, without wanting something in return.

Curling up on yourself, you rest your forehead on your knees. The world narrows to the rise and fall of your shallow breaths, each one more ragged than the last.

You don't cry yet. It's too much, too sudden. The tears will come later, when the relief and terror can finally coexist. But for now, you just breathe.

Reaching into your bag, your fingers find the scarf. It's still there, the fabric cool and comforting against your skin. You pull it out and press it to your face, inhaling deeply. The scent of salt and bergamot fills your senses, mingling with the sterile smell of the hospital. It's an odd comfort, reminding you of freedom and the courage of a stranger who reached out when no one else would.

You text them without thinking:

You: I'm home. Safe. Warm. Just taking it all in.

There's a pause. Your fingers hover over the screen, not quite knowing what to say next. You're still sifting through the day's events, trying to make sense of them.

You: Thank you for today—the scarf, waiting with me, the money. I don't know how to express it yet. But... thank you.

The message sends with a small sound that echoes in the quiet room.

A few minutes later, responses start trickling in:

James: No need to explain or apologise.

Sirius: Get used to it, beautiful. This is just the beginning.

Remus: Get some rest, message us in the morning.

You set the phone down gently, treating it like something precious. You lean back, letting the couch support your weight. For once, you don't brace yourself for the next blow.

Instead, you let yourself feel tired. You allow the whisper of hope—a tentative belief that maybe, just maybe, you're safe.

The scarf rests on your lap, light yet solid, a tangible link to something you can't name yet.

Slowly, you close your eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, the darkness doesn't feel threatening. It feels like rest.

#Poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #Sirius black x reader #Sirius black x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfic #the sugar baby au #chantelle writes fic

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the-pinetree-poet · 8 months ago

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WEDNESDAY'S POETRY PROMPTS: 10/9/24 ~ TELECASTER

He started playing her when he was eight; In high school she was his Friday night date; They always stayed up way too late. Six strings for calloused fingers. She never told him, “No,” And always showed him where to go; And that made her sing just so. Six strings for calloused fingers.

He’s a master, Of the telecaster, Making the music ebb and flow. Fingers flying, Or dying and crying, Screaming fast or whispering Soft and low.

Folks tried to talk him into a Strat, Told him that’s where the music was at, He said, “If it true, I’ll eat my hat!” Six strings for calloused fingers. He may never be a world-famous star, But he’s happy the way things are. He just wants to keep growing, don’t care about going far; Six strings for calloused fingers.

Slow blues, If you choose; Or shred, Like a metal head…

He’s a master, Of the telecaster, Making the music ebb and flow. Fingers flying, Or dying and crying, Screaming fast or whispering Soft and low.

#wednesday poetry prompt #weekly poetry prompts #poetic asides #robert lee brewer #sherwin-williams #charlotte rains dixon #TELE______#Ebb tide #Curses foiled again #Telecaster

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elderwisp · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can you give a summary of what’s happened in your story to this point for people who want to continue reading but may not have time to catch all the way up? Or do you have a summary linked somewhere? 👀

oke oke so quite a bit has happened and writing a summary would quite literally turn into an essay LMAOO so I was thinking about how TS2 would have brief descriptions for each family so I'll do that for each character and the story as well. If there's any lore u wanna know in regards to a particular character or the lead up to a certain scene, feel free to reach out! <3 oke here we go:

Tessellate is a story about a group of individuals between their early to mid twenties. Each character’s storyline ebbs and flows into one another as it creates a tessellation. There are no good or bad characters, simply people being people making human decisions.

Atlas has always been a bit of a dreamer, using his charm and with to create the narrative that others want from him but no one has quite uncovered who he really is. The artist harbors a bit of a secret and that is that he has relapsed again. Part of why he uses is simply because he likes himself more in that state while the other half has yet to be discovered.

Life is hard being your own critic. Frances always finds herself on the go from one thing to the next. If she's doing nothing, then surely that must mean she's a failure, right? After landing a job as a caretaker, her notion of what life has been the last four years is challenged as she learns what it means to slow down.

Dan finds herself in a perpetual state of being an underachiever. Whether it's maintaining a low GPA, making terrible decisions, or simply putting in zero efforts in creating any new, meaningful relationships. What's really the point of anything she does if it’s overshadowed by a belittling mother?

Kai isn't the best when it comes to trusting others but when it comes to his friends, he'd do absolutely anything for them. Maybe Atlas more than the others. I suppose sharing your first kiss with your best friend gives him privileges most don't have.

After losing his parents in his senior year of high school, Icarus has had to grow up fast if it meant that the people closest to him would make it. Nowadays, he spends his days tip-toeing between reckless freedom and being the person that his family needs. It isn't easy living a double life.

Constantly being taken advantage of at work or at home, Taryn is truly stuck in the whirlwind of the mundane, never really feeling in control of her life. After one fateful night with Atlas, Taryn tests her own boundaries while uncovering the enigma that is Atlas.

Gabriel, Gum and Ares have grouped together as a band after Gabriel and Gum’s main vocalist dipped. Gum has reluctantly stepped up to the plate to take over vocals. Something about being in the spotlight terrifies her. Meanwhile, Gabriel exudes a confident, cheerful demeanor. There are many things he adores such as Kali Uchis, his guitar and meeting new people.

Ares has always had a calm, level-headed demeanor. Being the son of a famous producer and businessman has meant needing to maintain such a professional attitude all the time. After running into an uninterested Daniela, he finally lands his big break when the two share a cigarette at his party. He finds himself being a lot more outspoken around her, as well as curious about her inscrutable nature.

Syx, the best friend of Ares and Icarus, is no stranger to laying out the harsh truths that the people around her need to hear. Being in the food industry requires a keen sense of details and the ability to provide honest feedback. She’s encouraged Icarus to break things off with a toxic ex as well as find better hobbies, however he hasn’t quite agreed to things yet.

Theo recently moved into San Myshuno looking for a fresh start. After accidentally running into Gabriel, the two have a brief conversation outside of their apartment.

#THESE WERE LOWKEY FUN TO WRITE #gabriel gum ares syx and theo’s storylines are just barely ramping up so they have smaller blurbs so i don’t accidentally spoil things 💀#tessellate: extras #asks

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monimarat · 2 years ago

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So I was reading Vieux Cordelier VII and I thought the metaphors Desmoulins uses are interesting in the context of the language of terror and it’s association with nature and the sublime, specifically in relation to the imagery of things being “frozen.”

In A genealogy of terror in eighteenth-century France, one of the things Ronald Schechter writes about is how the word “terror” was, among other things, tied to the incapacitating awe in the face of natural forces and how related metaphors can be seen in the writing of revolutionaries.

In no. VII, Desmoulins uses that imagery repeatedly to describe what he sees as the impact terror has had on the Republic. I like this passage in particular:

Better would be the intemperance of the language of democracy, the pessimism of these eternal detractors of the present, whose bile pours out on everything around them, than this cold poison of fear, which freezes thought to the bottom of the soul, and prevents it from gushing forth at the Tribune or in writing. Better would be the misanthropy of Timon, who can find nothing beautiful in Athens, than this general terror, like mountains of ice, which, from one end of France to the other, covers the sea of opinion and obstructs its ebb and flow.

The example that Schechter uses in his book is this speech by Barère at the Convention on November 25th, 1793, where he is talking about how terror is intended to paralyze domestic and foreign enemies, but has no place in the Convention:

It is not at all in the temple of liberty, in the center of the Revolution, that terror must live, that courage must be frozen, that speech must be paralyzed; it is not at all here that souls must be timid, energy dulled, and that the character of the free man must be effaced. It is from this sanctuary that terror must go to restrain domestic enemies… and from this tribune that must come rewards and encouragements for the armies of the Republic and fright for the foreign cohorts.

And, of course, there is Saint-Just’s famous quote from the Fragments. I’m including the full thing because I usually only seen the first couple of sentences quoted:

The Revolution is frozen; all principles have been weakened; all that's left are red bonnets worn in intrigue. The exercise of terror has jaded crime, as strong liquors jade the palate. Undoubtedly, it's not yet time to do good. The particular good is a palliative. It is necessary to wait for a general evil great enough that general opinion feels the need for measures to do good. What produces general good is always terrible, or seems bizarre when you start too early. The Revolution must stop when it has perfected public happiness and liberty through laws. Its impetus has no other object, and must overthrow all that opposes it; and each period, each victory over monarchism must lead to and consecrate a republican institution. There is talk of the height of the Revolution: who will set that height? It is mobile. There have been free peoples who fell from greater heights.

#camille desmoulins #barère #saint just #translation of Camille and SJ mine so any mistakes are mine

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dojae-huh · 1 year ago

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Sometimes, when I psychoanalyze Jaehyun, I couldn't help but think how his possible attraction to men is not surprising. Ever since, Jaehyun already demonstrated how his father is actually the leading figure in his life, which may come as surprising because familial norms are used to having mothers as source of comfort (and from the 127 documentary, a lot of the members did not really grow up with good father figures). But from Jaehyun's stories, it is his father that he seeks comfort and guidance from. Jaehyun likes people that are assertive, mature, wise, stable, yet still comforting and gentle. I couldn't help but think how he possibly patterns the traits he look in a partner after his father (Freud, you will always be famous :D), and how Doyoung perfectly exhibited these traits.

Contrary to his image, Jaehyun is not dominant. His recent interaction with Lauv shows that. He is shy and reserved, but his natural softness and smile are enough to make it look like he is sociable. (That's why I doubt his claims of being an E in the MBTI, when he shows major signs of introversion, even Doyoung is more sociable than him and the latter is a proud ISFJ). I remember he was asked if he would like to be a leader or older member of the group and he answered he enjoyed being younger and not taking charge. His personality is chill and ebbs and flows, he prefers someone leading him instead of taking the lead, yet at the same time, gives him the space to be stubborn and be on his own occasionally. I think someone like Doyoung is really a perfect partner from him.

Orientation develops pre-birth.

Jaehyun had his granny. She coddled him a lot in childhood, and wrote letters with commentary on his dancing when he was a trainee. He talked about her a lot during EnNaNa.

I won't pretend I know for sure, but Jae started mentioning his father (and going for advice to him, playing sports) when he talked about himself as a young adult.

Regardless, the father is definitely the more openly affectionate parent. Jaehyun talked about his mother being a reserved person, and how it was a problem for him, several times.

Doyoung is not a very stable person, heh. Based on whom did you write the list of traits? Who are the other people Jaehyun likes for their personality we know of? (bedise GM, who hardly can be counted) Ten, WW and Yuta don't answer the list.

Koreans are in general shy during first meetings. And even men in their 40s can be very giggly or hesitant. Evenso, normally there is more awkwardness and "don't raise your head", than real shyness. While Jaehyun, despite years as a celebrity, has to rely on "bro" gestures to somehow mask how socially inept he is. Lauv, indeed, was a clear case. They both are of similar age, both have similar status as celebs, Jae is a fan and had motivation to give a good impression, charm and forge a friendship for future collabs. And yet Jae retrited immidiently after a hug or an eye-to-eye.

And no, Jaehyun is not an E. Koreans lie about their MBTI-s in general. Some celebs even lie about their birthdates.

This moment with Doyoung and Taemin from 2016 is good for comparison. Doyoung was awkward, but he pushed himself to do what he had to do, play along.

I think JaeHyuk (and JaeWoo, in the past especially) is good at highlighting Jae's non-assertiveness. Haechan literally can push Jae against the wall, heh. And when Jae wants to stand his ground or has his way, he does it with the help of his stuborness and defiance rather than dominance. Jaehyun can't behave in a way as to be perceived by Woo as a hyung (whose word is finite), so he opts to slight agressiveness and cold responces.

I don't know how Jae's father is, but we might see Jae emulating him (as an example most close to him) in his relatioship with Yuta. With Yuta Jaehyun is a protective figure.

I wouldn't say Jaehyun has a chill personality, lol. He is no Taeil. Jaehyun is accepting, that's different. He is very moody though, can be emotional. In 2018 or 2019 neos joked how TaeJae squabbles were their favourite show at that time.

#ask me away #he likes the night view

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misc-obeyme · 1 year ago

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Hola

🐆

Regarding the conversation about the om og cast and their previous sexual/romantic relationships

While it's possible they have had their fair amount of fun before mc I really do believe that at some point they got bored of having any without any emotional depth to the relationship

Like they will try it few times and see there was no actual benefit from it beside the release that they could do themselves without going through the trouble of pretending to like someone

From my personal experience the deeper the relationship the better it feels during sex lol and if these guys love for million years on end after awhile it will get boring

Thats my flow of thought anyway

CC if you're interested I can write you the meaning of the names in the game in hebrew/aramic since it's one of my mother languages, let me know I'd be happy to do so :)

Have a great day and drink some water ❤️

NSFW MDNI (just for discussion of sex, nothing explicit)

I mostly think it's unlikely that they haven't done anything ever considering how old they all are. I very much think that if they're doing hookups or one night stands, it's an "as the opportunity arises" sorta thing. Like I don't think any of them are going out looking for such encounters. (Not even Asmo... I think he probably gets plenty of people coming onto him so if he's interested, he doesn't have to go find someone himself.)

In my opinion, the point of casual sex is that you don't have to pretend to like someone and all that. It's just an encounter where two people are horny and that's it. And I kinda suspect there are less repercussions for such a lifestyle for demons. So it seems likely to me that they would all have such moments come up, especially considering how famous they all are and everything.

But I think that deeper relationships are harder for them. It's certainly a different experience to have sex with someone you love, but most of those guys strike me as very protective of themselves and each other for various reasons. I think some of them have had serious relationships, but I just think they're few and far between.

I'm sure it gets boring after a while. And I suspect a lot of them have other interests that they'd rather focus their energy on. But I also think it probably ebbs and flows somewhat.

The thing is, it's hard to say since they're demons. They might not have the same kind of sexual drive that humans have in general. Maybe it's perfectly normal for demons to never have sex until they find their one and only. Maybe demons mate for life. Maybe they're the complete opposite and have crazy high libidos and need to have sex every other day or they explode. I mean, I'm just saying it can pretty much be whatever you want lol!

In the end, I think it's all up to individual interpretation! I mostly based mine on my own personal preferences. Though now I'm kinda thinking I should get more creative with it, I love the idea of exploding being a consequence lol.

And OH yes, I am in fact very interesting in name meanings! I love information like that, it's fascinating! So if you wish to share, please do!

Ah, anons are always telling me to drink water and I continue to be terrible at it, I swear I'll go drink some lol.

I hope you have a lovely day as well, 🐆 anon!

#I think all opinions on this are valid and correct #because there is zero canon about it #except for the implied situations with some of the characters getting sexy with mc #obey me #obey me nightbringer #🐆 anon #misc answers

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youngbloodbuzz · 11 months ago

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it’s been a long time since I’ve found myself in these asks. in the times between chapter 10 & 11, I was here A LOT. I still consider BHAH one of my favorite stories I’ve ever read and I’ve reread it atleast three times. Other chapter have (like 9 & 11 have been read even more than that). Unfortunately, I am waiting probably another year before I read it again (I haven’t read it since Chapter 12 came out) just so I can try to experience it fresh. How does it feel to be a semi-famous-amongst-a-very-niche-audience-and-simultaneously-be-completely-anonymous? Must be pretty exciting. That book someone made also of BHAH!!! It’s perfect and I wish I could swoop to the nearest Barnes and Noble and pick up a copy for myself. I’ve always considered printing out yours and Roman’s story just to have it, but maybe I should take up a certain art of book binding first. Anyways, the reason I came here: I’m reading The Stand by Stephen King right now and it’s 475k words. It’s a monster. I’m nearly done with it, but I’m so ready for it to be over. BHAH was only 100k less and it still felt too soon for it to be over. First off, how the hell did you guys basically manage to write a Stephen King novel just based off a 9 part series? Second, how did you make it so goddamn entertaining? The whole time I’ve been reading this, I’ve just been contemplating what you guys must have went through because seeing the physical evidence of a 400k word novel in book format is insane. You don’t get that same experience scrolling on a screen. So, essentially I just came here to say again how much I love your story and also say how absolutely insane the two of you are. You’ve made a lot of people extremely happy with your story. If only it wasn’t illegal to sell on shelves, I think it would be considered a classic in the LGBT section of the book store. Now I’m signing off. Love y’all. I’ll check back in next year when I do my reread

thank you so much oh my god this is so sweet. honestly every time i get a message like this i'm still so surprised how well loved it is. i personally don't particularly feel like any kinda semi famous fic author lol thobm has such a small fandom after all but it is a first time that something i co-wrote got this much attention

and honestly i have no idea how we managed to write something that long and coherent while still being entertaining and gripping. we both agreed though that (in roman's words lol) that the key to making a long novel not seem like a huge slog is to make sure your plotting is even across big sections (ie/ our massive chapters lol) while still maintaining an overall structure. even having each chapter or pair of chapters feeling like they each have their own little mini arc because usually the past and present would complement each other in some way which meant that we pulled off a good ebb and flow effect

so in other words like...a lot of rambling in the dms and being super obsessed lmao

maybe one day we could officially publish it but no promises lol

@romanimp

#asks #anonymous #cfau

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realindianyug · 2 years ago

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mysticmercurial · 2 years ago

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Astro Observations: Duality 🤍🖤(2 of 2)

This is a continuation of the previous Astro Observations: Duality (1 of 2) and will cover the remaining sister signs 😁

✨Fair warning this thread is a bit lengthy compared to the first thread...enjoy :) ✨

CANCER/CAPRICORN - To start, water is memory and earth is how we connect to our Spirit/ancestors/guides. I say this to say they do not forget, life goes on but water and earth remember, they were here in the beginning. Analogy aside, Cancer is often *inaccurately* portrayed as an emotionally manipulative crybaby and Capricorn is *also inaccurately* described as an emotionless rock unworthy of time. In reality Cancer is what people think Capricorn projects; Capricorn is the meat inside of the crab whilst Cancer is the tough outer shell.

The moon, which represents emotions and that which makes us feel stable, finds it's home in Cancer. To feel is human, to error and make mistakes is human. The moon finding it's home in Cancer shows us that Cancer is aware of emotional currents, the ebb and flow of human emotion. They understand that nothing is merely on the surface and that it is okay to feel. Capricorn, on the other hand, is ruled by Saturn the planet of lessons, perseverance and endurance. Saturn often places pressure on his children to do things by themselves or to establish things on their own so they can learn. Emotionally this can cause issues since Saturn doesn't seem to find value in emotional outbursts or tantrums, even though it's in those outbursts and tantrums that real pain is released to make room for growth. Also be weary of looking for lessons by causing issues for yourselves, life will throw you curveballs without you subconsciously seeking them out.

From Cancer, Capricorn can learn that there is peace in freely expressing yourself, you are all you need to validate your emotions. Ultimately, Capricorn has to learn that their repression of emotion is what leads them to rely on the validation of others. Also that emotions are not meant to be rationalized, they are meant to be felt freely and to flow through you like water. From Capricorn, Cancer can learn to assert some boundaries and learn that although they can empathize with someone, that does not mean they always should. Empathy is your superpower but be sure not to allow others to manipulate that gift. To understand someone's pain without taking on their pain would be a good lesson for this axis.

LEO/AQUARIUS - *I have had difficulties analyzing this axis more than the others. I have come to admire and learn more about them so please lmk what you think*

These placements often keep their eccentricities and unique sense of humor to themselves and their chosen people. Consider famous Leo/Aquarius placements like Beyonce, Jason Momoa, Mila Kunis, Jennifer Aniston, Christian Bale; they are all recognizable and garner attention but it can often be unwanted. Beyonce and Christian Bale, as prime examples, both take immense pride in their craft but prefer to keep their home sectors private. I think this is because to a certain extent Leo and Aquarius both find comfort (12H Cancer) and stability (12H Capricorn) in being obscure (12H). This in turn makes people want to know more about them as people are most curious about the things that aren't readily available to them.

Leo is unashamedly themselves in the same way that Aquarius embraces eccentricities and uniqueness in others. Leo placements, at their best, know their worth, are confident and assured. There is an inner sense of knowing when it comes to the house that Leo sits in but also a sense of being seen even when you might not want said attention. Aquarius, more often than not, faced some kind of experience in which they struggled to be embraced for their own eccentricities. This caused them to be for others what they wish they had; Aqua 3Hers might encourage others to embrace being heard and communicating, Aqua 11H might embrace people in their circles that dismiss the status quo and seek individuality amongst a group.

The lesson for these signs resides more in how they present themselves and their creative selves. From Leo, Aquarius can learn that you can't find your people by dimming your eccentricities or making yourself small. The world will feel you and you must embrace that and transmute it into something that works in your benefit. From Aquarius, Leo can learn that every part of them is worth seeing, not just the parts that are palatable or "trendy". There may be a subconscious urge to always remain somehow beyond the trends which, of course, requires you to stay on top of what is trendy. Stop it. You guys are timeless and your ability to make even the most odd things acceptable is your gift. Leos and Aquarius don't dim your light.

VIRGO/PISCES - these sister signs keep themselves away from the masses and at any time can disappear as though they never existed. These people are often in their own world whether it be Virgo busying themselves with their day-to-day responsibilities or Pisces losing themselves in their daydreams or other realms. When I say 'other realms' that can mean TV shows, movies, books, meditation, anything that allows them to slip into another state of being. For Virgo, those responsibilities aren't always the things that should be worked on, but rather things on their mental list that take precedence over everything else. Virgo is a meticulous sign but that often gets misinterpreted to mean productive when in actuality Virgo can become overwhelmed with their duties to the point of complacency or procrastination. Similarly, Pisces can often be seen as one foot in the spiritual realm and the other here on Earth. When they are overwhelmed they retreat to the realm that provides them the most comfort which would be movies, books, vices, writing stories or daydreaming.

When looking at the exaltations of these signs we can further understand their function and lessons for each other. Mercury exalts in Virgo and Venus exalts in Pisces while Venus detriments in Virgo and Mercury is debilitated in Pisces. What we can infer here is that Virgo has no issue learning, assessing and planning but can falter when it comes to relaxing and doing things for self simply because it feels good. Essentially Virgo struggles with incorporating a sense of wonder, luxury and imagination to their lives. Pisces on the other hand has no issue with indulging, doing things only when they feel like it and dissociating from the everyday mundane activities. Where Pisces struggles is finding order within the chaos that is excessive indulgence and excessive wants. The 12H does also does rule dreams, escapism, vices and rehab while the 6H rules daily activities, working out, diet & nutrition etc.

From Virgo, Pisces can learn to organize their time and to add some structure to the madness. While daydreaming is a great way to enhance brain function and overall creativity, doing so in excess can cost you greater things and experiences. You can't avoid responsibilities forever Pisces. From Pisces, Virgo can learn that everyday activities don't have to feel like a laborious chore. Add some fantasy to your everyday life; imagine you are on a cooking show when making your meals, think of taking your vitamins as a potion or tonic. Maybe adding some wonder and relaxation to your day will help with the digestion issues Virgo 🌚. A good lesson for this axis would be not burying your head in the sand whilst also not overburdening yourself to the point of burnout.

Thank you for being patient with me during this intermission between posts😂 As always feel free to comment or ask questions and thank you for reading :)

-- mysticmercurial

#astro observations #astrology #astroblr #zodiac signs #zodiac #cancer #capricorn #leo #aquarius #virgo #pisces #astrology observations #astrology community #birth chart #astrology signs #astrology placements

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krankittoeleven · 2 years ago

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top ten favorite bands/musicians tag game

Thank you @findusinaweek for the tag. It should be noted that my favorites really do ebb and flow in and out of favor depending on my mood and what's generally going on in my life. This list is in no particular order. I'm not sure if I could ever truly pick a number one favorite.

Puscifer - my super hot take that usually gets me in trouble with certain kinds of music lovers is that Puscifer (and a Perfect Circle) is leaps and bounds better than Tool. Which is not to say that Tool is bad, it's just that I think Maynard's side projects are better. Fight Me. Actually, don't, I have other things I'd rather waste my time on.

PIG - Really, I love anyone that's been a part of KMFDM at one point or another, but Raymond Watts' solo stuff is among my favorites. His music really embodies sex, drugs & rock n roll, uplifts counter culture and points the finger at problematic aspects of government, religion and society. He's also just a really chill dude who is fun to talk to after shows.

Skinny Puppy - Just saw them in concert last night, on their farewell tour. They've provided me with nearly a life time of music. My uncle, who helped raise me, is a huge fan and he played them a lot when I was a kid, which of course led to me listening to them on my own. It's always been our thing to see them live together, no matter where we are, we figure out how to come together to catch them each tour. Glad we could do it one last time.

Pink Floyd - another band that has been providing the backing music to my like like SP. I love that i can find Pink Floyd music to fit just about any mood, but really, my fondest memories of their music is getting stoned and chilling out. xD Saw Roger Waters live a few years ago and I'm glad he still puts on live shows that really embody the essence of Pink Floyd.

Snoop Dog - good music and an amusing dude. Honestly, these days I just really love his middle aged man vibe, and all the silliness with Martha Stewart. But I did grow up in his musical prime and I'm glad I was around the right people at the right time to get into not just Snoop's music, but others in the genre.

Rammstein - I think my favorite thing about Rammstein, aside from their weird, sometimes unnerving, industrial aesthetic, is just that their music has remained consistently good their entire career and that is so hard to do. Like, there isn't an album of theirs I ignore or songs that I skip. Ok, well their is one exception to that and it's Du Hast, but that's because it got sooooo much radio play in the US that I just do not ever need to listen to it again. LOL But other than that, its all pure gold.

Leonard Cohen - I love this man. His music was brutally honest, and really, the world is just a lesser place without him in it. I usually don't get too worked up when famous people die, i think that sucks and feel a little bummed, but when Leonard Cohen died I will admit to feeling something near to destroyed for quiet some time. If you ever think somethings I say or do is referencing Leonard Cohen, I assure you, it is.

KMFDM - One of the ultimate 'rotating roster of musicians' bands that really fueled my teen age and young adult years. I still love them, always will, but I do feel like they were at their best and freshest when different artists were coming and going and contributing to their sound. The music is less unique from album to album now that they have more of a fixed roster.

Low Roar - I had no idea who Low Roar was before I played Death Stranding, so thank you Kojima for dotting the game with their music. Bummer that their lead singer died last year, that's truly unfortunate.

Jazz - yes, I'm just putting the whole genre here because I don't have a particular favorite artist or group. I just like me some good jazz. I played tenor sax for quiet a few years and my inner sax man still lives on inside me.

I will tag @ainulindaelynn @brasideios @akashadarkblade @mini-uzzy @theinkandthesea @liminalspacecowboah @vault-heck @vdk-hellscape and anyone else that wants to!

#music

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jhope-jchokeme · 3 years ago

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writers in the dark | part 1

summary: you are secretly one-half of a famous author duo. he's an international superstar. when he wants to produce the music for the television adaptation of your book, you jump at the chance to work with him. will you be able to keep yourself compartmentalised, or will your facade crack the moment it's under scrutiny?

pairing: hoseok x reader (nicknamed)

genre: fluff, angst, smut (later chapters)

rating: M [+18]

word count: 3.8k

warnings: list is for this chapter. [ past pregnancy loss | low self-esteem | blood mention ]

notes: i couldn't bring myself to type "y/n" in dialogue, so reader (that's you!) is nicknamed Lulu -- short for Delulu.

links: [ part 2 ]

1 | STRANGERS

Going back to the beginning is hard. There’s a murkiness - a damp fog - that bends the memories until they twist around themselves and they coil and writhe like a snake. They threaten to lash out, venom-soaked fangs at the ready. Going back to the earliest untainted memory? Well, that might prove possible — to a point. Memories are such curious creatures: easily manipulated, quickly lost, nearly sentient in their own right, but always so easy to trigger; a smell, a touch, a taste — anything can spur the mind into forming something to attach to it. That’s probably the easiest part. Recounting that attachment? Well, that can prove futile.

If we’re starting at the beginning, there are few things you need to keep in mind: one, you have never had the best luck in love; two, while you have a good relationship with your family, they can sometimes be unbelievably cruel; three, while it’s taken you a long time to get to where you are, you are mostly pleased with your trajectory.

All of your memories seem to ebb and flow; the rawest memory you can extract from the distorted static is a small fragment from six years ago, but you can recall it — vividly — as if it were merely hours ago. The striking details: the shock of red blood on white linen, the sickly-clean smell of the hospital, the sea-foam green walls. They stir together, swirling with the sobs (or were they screams?) that emanated from deep within your body.

A touch can spur a range of emotions, namely: anger, repulsion, nausea. A comforting pat on the arm is useless. A hard kiss on the mouth drags the beast from within, moaning and writhing with falsified passion. The grasping of wrists drags the demons out, shrieking with terror showing in the whites of their eyes.

A certain cologne dredges up memories you wish you could bury. He smiled like a waning moon, swept you off your feet. Red blood on white linen. Your walls never crumbled so quickly. That sickly-clean smell of the hospital. You dated briefly, married quickly. The sea-foam green walls. You only held your daughter once she was lifeless, wrapped in pink. Her little eyes are closed, her mother’s tears fall on her face, and the demised child weeps.

Past the divorce, the sorrow, the attempts on your own life, you found your footing again. Rekindled an old friendship that you thought you had let slip through your fingers completely. The two of you were thick as thieves. Part of you — the saddest, touch-starved parts — thought you were in love with her. She was your soulmate, but also your truest friend. While there were nights that you held her hand, and nights where you sobbed in her arms, the love you had for her was a platonic enigma.

But the two of you were always creatives, dreaming up fantasies and fairy tales and stories. Each of you had published before — you had your poetry, short stories, and a novella. She, two novellas and an anthology of intertwined short stories. When she suggested the two of you team up, a fire lit inside you that you hadn’t felt in years.

While neither of you were particularly well known authors, you decided to merge two identities into one, separating collaboration from independent works and thus, Ducky Castor was born. The pen name you two shared was nothing more than two random words. A hoax — convincing the general public you were both one person was easy at first. The first book you released together, one-third of a trilogy, started out quietly.

“The Moon is My Mother” was a book of little magic, intertwined vignettes of overcoming grief, the balance of magic, nature and the universe, and starting a ten-year war in the name of love. The reception was positive, but mostly quiet. Then, almost as if overnight, the series exploded. One review of the book on the TapTap app from three months ago finally went viral. As if everyone who had bought the book and finally finished it at the same time, decided to share the review and agree.

Earlier that year, it had been nominated for a Graeber-Collins award for “Best New Fantasy.” Just last week, you won the award, and while you both wanted to accept in person, to rub it in the faces of everyone who said you couldn’t, you didn’t want to accumulate a level of fame that felt overwhelming. Instead, keeping up the charade, your literary agent — Alexa — kindly accepted the award on your behalf, reading a written statement, thanking a fictitious family, very real editors, and the musical group who inspired the story with their title track, “Black Swan.”

Which now explains your current circumstance: sitting in a conference room of your publishing house’s London branch, next to your best friend and co-author — Lala. The shoutout to these seven boys was so under the radar, you weren’t expecting them to reach out when they heard about the television adaptation, wanting to produce a few songs for the OST.

Had you and Lala — sweetly — requested that the first Korean translations of the book be sent to them? Yes. Had you gently referenced them within the pages of your book? Also yes. But, to compare yourselves to the monolith, you didn’t think they’d actually read it.

They’re busy. However often they wondered aloud in videos what their fans did on a daily basis, or what their fans' lives must be like … you also knew they were businessmen. Marketers selling a product. Essentially selling an entire experience. The venn diagram of how these men marketed themselves and how sex-workers marketed themselves was a circle. They would say anything in the most genuine voices, but deep down, you knew they didn’t actually care. Why would they? They were laughing all the way to the bank.

But now, the anticipation of waiting for two of them to show up was going to kill you.

“Stop bouncing your leg, you’re shaking the table,” your friend teases, breaking the silence.

“Sorry,” you laugh, crossing your legs at the ankle to keep the nervous energy from collecting there. “What time is it?”

Lala taps her phone screen twice, glancing at the time but getting distracted by several notifications. Several moments later, she swipes one of the notifications and begins furiously texting a friend, before locking the screen and setting it back down.

“The time?” you inquire again, a fond smile spreading across your face.

“Oh, shit,” she laughs easily and checks her phone again. “11:11, make a wish,” she jokes. An old, silly pastime, but it helps calm your nerves.

You close your eyes tight, making a silent wish that they show up soon.

“Peanut butter,” you say, and watch Lala’s left eyebrow quirk up as a question mark. “You know, to make it stick.”

Lala’s eyes roll so far back in her head, you can only see the whites. This sends the both of you into a fit of giggles. There were only a few minutes left until the meeting was about to start, but you had showed up grotesquely early — for once — due to your anticipation. You didn’t know which two members you and Lala would be meeting with, but you had a sneaking suspicion one of them would be Yoongi. The other member? Either sad-art-ho Namjoon, or pop-culture-icon Hoseok. You had no complaints or preference either way. All seven members were, to put it bluntly, daddy candidates.

Your mind-numbing scroll through social media was interrupted by two knocks on the door. Your head snaps in the direction of the noise as the handle turns, your stomach mirroring the twisting motion.

Three men enter the room, two of whom you recognise immediately, despite the face masks: Yoongi and Hoseok. The third man who joins them must be their interpreter. You rise from your seat and smile warmly at them, before realising you’re also wearing a mask and they can’t see your smile, idiot. Hopefully the gesture reaches your eyes.

They greet you with polite bows and introductions, and you mirror their mannerisms, giving a polite bow in return.

“I’m Lala,” your friend jumps in with her own introduction. “One of the head writers for the adaptation.”

As their interpreter translates and they greet her, you prepare to introduce yourself. Just as you open your mouth to give your name, a large group passes by the still-open door, chattering loudly. Hopefully, they hear you give your name.

“… but everyone just calls me Lulu,” is all that you can hear leave your mouth. “I’m the other head writer for the adaptation. Thanks for making the trip to meet with us.”

“Lala and Lulu?” Hoseok asks, the smile reaching his eyes. He must think this is a joke. In a way, it is, but despite the differences between you and Lala, you wanted everyone to know that the two of you were a team.

“Consider LULA the western version of SOPE,” you say with a smile, hoping it doesn’t come across as corny as it sounds in retrospect. Lala rolls her eyes, but the boys smile at you both, and you feel your legs getting weak.

The meeting goes well, the boys asking thoughtful questions and taking notes. There’s one question that’s been burning in the back of your mind since they reached out, and finally with a lull in the conversation, you glance at Lala and this gives you the strength to ask it.

“Did you guys read the book?” you hope the question doesn’t come across as rude, but you know if you try to contextualise it within the chaos of how your mind works, you’ll only dig yourself into a deeper hole. Both boys glance at each other.

“I started it on the plane,” Hoseok admits with a laugh. His carefree demeanour makes it hurt just a little less.

“I read it,” Yoongi says, almost proudly.

“Namjoon read it twice, I think,” Hoseok adds, “He was mad he couldn’t come.”

“Ah,” is all you manage to say. Part of you wants to know why he couldn’t come, but the other part of you knows it isn’t your business. There’s a third part of you that is still a little disheartened that Hoseok only just started the book. He seems to sense this by the way your eyes glaze over.

“I’m almost done with it,” he says, offering a smile. “I just started ‘The Magician’ chapter, with Theodore? The back and forth of the timelines with the upright and reversed interpretations of the major arcana is really well done.”

You find a smile spreading across your face. He’s almost done with it.

“I had to explain what the major arcana is to him,” Yoongi says, not looking up from his notebook where he finishes writing a few notes. You still smile behind your mask, you know, like an idiot.

“You work closely with the author, right?” Yoongi asks, his eyes settling on the space between you and Lala. Your stomach twists — does he know?

“Yeah,” Lala says, effortlessly cool in these situations.

“What can you tell us about book two?”

“What can you tell us about your next comeback?” Lala asks, and that seems to put a stop to the prying questions. They both nod with a smile.

The meeting wraps up after a few more details are hammered out.

“So, we can meet up in the next week or so with a rough demo, and go from there,” Hoseok says, gathering his things up and packing them neatly into his bag. His phone is immediately in his hand, and he’s swiping through apps until he pulls up his calendar. You flip through your planner until you land on that month’s calendar.

“So, book two is launching next week,” you say, staring at the full days of the upcoming week, some of them amended with post-it notes. “And the pilot script is due by the end of the month,” You say as you rearrange a couple appointments and cross off another, making a note to cancel and reschedule them. “I can free up about three hours on Thursday, after lunch. Let’s say from one to four?” you ask, pen at the ready. He gives the affirmative and you block off that part of the day with a flourish and a pink highlighter.

“My Father Wept at Dawn’s First Light” is an excellent sophomore publication from mysterious author, Ducky Castor. Readers will be drawn back by the same compelling, wistful narrative of the struggles of war, love, loss, and magic. This dazzling sequel to “The Moon is My Mother” will keep you turning pages, even after it’s done. – Simon Lionel, Marie Claire Book Club

“Gripping, devastating, haunting.” – Sam Winters, BookBub Magazine

“This book oozes more talent than I have in my entire collection of work. Outstanding storytelling from my new favourite author.” – G. R. Mathis, author of “Windowless House”

“When did publishers start putting reviews on the back of books instead of the book synopsis?” you ask, mouth half-full with a bite of yoghurt. In front of you lies a copy of the second book, the back of the dust-cover full of glowing reviews.

“Whenever you decided it was okay to put your feet on the table,” Lala says, giving you a sideways glance. You smile and pull your feet down to the chair next to you instead.

“Floor,” Lala says.

“Yes, mommy,” you say, cheekily, and set your feet on the floor.

“Reviews on the back of books are just publishers calling consumers and readers, ah, not very intelligent. It’s like a content creator being sponsored,” Lala says.

“No, I know that. But why can’t they put the reviews on the inside of the dust cover? Why are they taking up valuable real estate with an info-mercial of the book?” you press.

“Specifically to bother you,” Lala replies.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you lean back over your laptop to finish writing an email. After several minutes of looking for the word you want to use but cannot — for the life of you — recall from the depths of your memory, you close the lid with a soft snap and push it away from you.

“I guess we should get ready for meeting part two,” you say. “Think I have time for a shower?”

“Is it just a hair-and-face shower, or whole body shower?” Lala asks, looking over the rim of her teacup at you.

“Whole body, lite?” you offer.

Lala grunts. “They’re not going to take us on the conference room table, no matter how hard we manifest it, bestie,” she says.

“… Then just a hair-and-face shower,” you say.

“I think dry-shampoo and deodorant would suffice,” she says. “You’re running on Lulu-time today.”

You groan. She’s right. Notoriously late and scatter-brained due to your packed schedule (that excuse only works for the next few weeks, until things settle down), you know that your brain doesn’t process time properly the minute you unplug and step into the shower.

“What if I —" you start.

“No,” Lala says with a bright smile. “Throw it up in a bun with some dry shampoo and take your whore-bath.”

You pout and head to the bathroom to freshen up. Between stretching yourself too thin and general mental health issues, your personal hygiene sometimes fell to the wayside. Once in the bathroom you check the time on your phone. You have forty-five minutes before you have to leave. It’s risky, but you set an alarm for half an hour and start the shower.

You and Lala arrive with only minutes to spare. She’s mad, but you’re clean and that’s good enough in your book. The boys haven’t arrived yet, and you count that as the day’s second little blessing. You quickly unpack your laptop and notebook, and the little gifts you prepared for Yoongi and Hoseok.

You’ve only just set their gifts at their seats when they knock and enter the conference room. Their eyes settle on the gifts with fondness. You greet them with a small bow and gesture to their seats.

“We come bearing gifts for you, as a thank you for the work you’re doing,” you say. “You can open them now, if you like,” you add as you sit back at your laptop. You pull your mask down low enough to take a long swig of your coffee, before replacing it on your face.

Hoseok is the first to settle in and peek into the bag, extracting the card from the tissue paper. The words inside are typed — as if done on an old fashioned type-writer.

Hoseok — J-Hope: Thank you for lending some of your genius to the soundtrack. It’s an honour for me to know that you liked my book enough to help with the adaptation. I had hoped (ha!) that I could have given this to you in person. Alas, my privacy is very near and dear to me. Perhaps one day we can meet and you can tell me your favourite parts, and I’ll tell you my favourite songs. Please accept this gift as a token of my gratitude. Light and love in all aspects of your life, - Ducky

You watch his eyes grow wide as he pulls away the tissue paper, revealing the hardcover, first editions of both “The Moon is My Mother” and “My Father Wept at Dawn’s First Light”. Yoongi’s gift is the same, though his card is different:

Yoongi — SUGA: Thank you for lending some of your genius to the soundtrack. I know it will be a hit, even if the adaptation flops. I never expected my little book of stories to get to this level, but I am thankful for it. While I had imagined giving you this gift myself, the thought of revealing myself to the world seems too great. Perhaps another time. Please accept this gift as my unending gratitude. Love and light in all your endeavours, - Ducky

“I bet those are signed,” you say off-handedly, taking another long sip of your coffee, knowing full well that they are signed. You and Lala signed them yourselves, last night. Each book has a scrawl on the inside title page (Lala’s handiwork), and the name ‘Ducky’ printed beneath it, with a small doodle of a duck-head (your handiwork).

Both Yoongi and Hoseok are quiet for a moment, marvelling at the gifts they received. At some point you wonder if they don’t like the gifts.

“How do we thank her?” Hoseok asks, after a long pause.

“Them,” you gently correct. “You can send them a thank you card by addressing it to the publishing company, or you can hand us the card and we’ll make sure they get it.”

They nod, and after a few more moments of silence, Yoongi clears his throat.

“So, we have a rough demo of the opening track,” he says, clicking on his laptop. “We have two versions, actually,” he amends. “One is just the instrumental, and one has lyrics.” Before you can acknowledge this, he’s opened the instrumental track and handed you a headset. He waits for you to put them on before he presses play.

“This is the instrumental,” he says before your ears are flooded with the soft, rich sound of a cello. You close your eyes to listen to it. Slowly, it crescendos, and various other string instruments layer in with rhythmic runs, percussion marking time. Above it all, two violins swirl a melody; simultaneously a dance and a fight — two separate themes becoming one in harmony. While you don’t know the lyrical version yet, you can imagine the violins emphasising two voices. Somewhere along the way, your musical knowledge from university takes over, and you find yourself conducting an imaginary orchestra until the final notes release their hold and you open your eyes.

You can feel the smile on your face, and a small reservoir of tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

“This is beautiful,” you say, passing the headset to Lala to allow her to experience it. You wait until she sets the headset on the table before you continue your thought from earlier.

“It almost reminds me of …” you pause to rack your brain for a moment. “Frank Ticheli’s compositions,” you say, recalling the name of your favourite contemporary composer. “Very ‘Angels in the Architecture’ meets ‘Vesuvius’. This is exactly what I envisioned,” you say, using the guise of adjusting your glasses to wipe the tears from your eyes on the sly.

Neither Lala, Hoseok, or Yoongi give any inclination that they know who or what you’re talking about. It doesn’t matter. If they wanted to know more, they’d surely ask. … Right?

“The lyrical version is just me crowing into a microphone,” Hoseok says, trying to remain humble. “We don’t need to show them that,” he adds, turning to Yoongi.

“Why would you deprive me of my favourite vocalist’s vocals?” you ask, grabbing up the headset again. “I want to hear it,” you reassure him as you settle the headset over your ears again. Yoongi presses play and you hear the familiar instrumental rise in your ears, this time joined with Hoseok’s deep voice crooning Korean lyrics with the strings. You needed this version of the track for … deeply personal reasons.

“Can you send me that?” You ask, unabashed, when it finishes. “I want to listen to it again later, maybe with some candles lit and a fancy dinner,” you go on to explain, making a light joke but also insinuating exactly what you’ll be doing later. They laugh, and from there you fall into a comfortable conversation about the track, the adaptation, and the second book release.

“Lulu and I were each asked to read a chapter at the launch party,” Lala says, humbly boasting about the honour you bestowed upon yourselves.

“Oh, that’s exciting!” Hoseok says, the smile behind his mask lighting up all of his features. “When is the launch party?”

“Tomorrow, starts around five,�� you say, then lean forward with a conspiratorial look on your face. “We each have a plus one, if you boys would like to join us.” Did you just shoot your shot? Hell yeah you did.

Yoongi and Hoseok look at each other for a moment then nod.

“It’s a date,” Hoseok says, and you can feel your heart melt and pool somewhere behind your stomach. “Where should we pick you up?”

#hoseok fluff #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok drabble #hoseok imagine #jhope fluff #jhope fic #jhope fanfic #jhope imagine #jhope drabble #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #writers in the dark #witd #lulu - short for delulu

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wastelandbabyblue · 3 years ago

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Oh I go so crazy for the “take the man out the city” it makes me feel like I cant sit still the way it starts softer and then it builds and builds until the instrumental is nonexistent basically. His music is just everything. My friends hated gloom and half life when I listened to it in the car around them like making comments hated it so I def don’t get to talk about his shit with anyone. And yes! That lyric with his sister always gets me! Another song that I think is like in my top three of this album is definitely On and On, the way the backing music literally like ebbs and flows like it sounds like how those expanding ball fidget toys look to me if that makes sense? Like liquid flowing through a lava lamp too. And a slow moving vinyl. Like I can imagine a whole music video/what kinda visuals id use for this song and it makes me wish I could do stuff like that. The lyrics, of course, don’t disappoint for even a second. One of my favorites is the “your family is in our thoughts, our hearts go out to you, say a prayer, light a digital candle and then scroll away. ” like holy fuck what a lyric I think like every lyric in this song is just too fucking good. I hope you know I’m probably gonna be like dumping asks like these now in your inbox cause I just need to talk about it somewhere

not my baby gloom!!! is one of his best pls people just don't Get it. I also catch myself singing "god you're a fool, you think these people care for you" at least 6 time a day no joke. his music is so addictingjfkf

omg on and on is a VIBE. the lyrics are spectacular and I love that you can feel how full of it he is, how much he can't stand sm anymore and how things are like the fact he just disappeared from sm and then released That song love that for him so much (and wish that were me. hope that'll me soon)

but can we talk about Fool 'cause him softly singing "look into my eyes and baby whisper fool" lives in my head rent free. I wake up with those lyrics at the forefront of my mind every morning and again I'm just so!!! about the lyrics I love the way he sings about being famous. his mind is just... amazing

anyways any time, anon! I'll love to rent with you about Djo

#his head is big because he has many juicy thoughts brewing there 😌#sorry if I don't reply anything else tonight I'm about to fall asleepjcjf

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theninjamouse · 4 years ago

Text

Ocean on Fire Phantom of the Opera AU Master List (To be added to as I see fit)

Strap in, this is gonna get long. Big thanks to @thaylepo for indulging me and sending many brilliant ideas.

This is a basic rundown and ideas that would happen at some point in the story. Obviously some things could change or be added but I’ve just got to get this down before I go nuts

Shore and Grillby were childhood friends.

Shore is the child of a wealthy business man, taught from childhood that the arts are to be treasured and appreciated

However, while she may learn instruments and dance and music, she is to take over the family business, not run away to star in the opera like she wants

Grillby's father (he has parents in this au) was a famous violinist who often was called by Shore's father to perform for parties. He wound up teaching Shore fundamentals of music

Little Grillby was a shy flame. Always trailed along behind his father, clutching his tailcoats

Shore saw the tiny elemental and decided instantly: I'm going to be his BEST FRIEND

Queue stuttering, hesitant Grillby being dragged around the manor, getting into all sorts of trouble and adventures. He's a lot more hardy than Shore is, so he rather often found himself acting as a sort of guard dog. He was utterly distraught when Shore fell and broke her arm. Shore teased him about crying because she couldn’t stand to see him so upset

They also learn music together from Grillby's father. First time Shore hears Grillby sing, she grabs his face and screams with delight until the poor little guy is fully bright blue with blushing

Then Grillby's father dies. A family friend takes Grillby away to one of the opera houses to work. Grillby and Shore are 13 and 10 at this point and have spent the last 6 years together. Shore makes Grillby promise to keep singing, to keep the spark of his father alive through music. He promises

They both wait until they are out of sight of the other to cry

Grillby cries every night for the first 3 months in the opera house. As a monster, he is bullied by many of the other students. He mourns his father's passing and he misses Shore to a near unbearable level. The only comfort he has is when he sings quietly to himself in those few moments when he is alone doing his chores

Then he hears a voice, a soft and gentle voice that asks him why such a bright flame weeps. He runs away in fear and hides in his bed

But the voice asks him again and again. 'Why does such a bright flame weep?' Slowly, over the course of a year, Grillby tells the voice his story

The voice says he is the Phantom of the opera house. Grillby thinks he sounds rather young to be a Phantom

The Phantom replies that Grillby is rather young to have such a lovely voice. He offers to teach Grillby. The fire monster agrees upon hearing the Phantom's beautiful and haunting voice

After all, he did promise

15 years pass. Shore has taken over her family business and is finally able to offer herself as a patron to an opera house that has shown remarkable growth over the years, becoming well known in the arts circles

Partially thanks to the star of the show, a humanoid robot named Mettaton. Most of the monsters we know work the show behind the scenes, so having a monster in the lead is a new leap in gaining treatment that is more fair for monster kind as performers

But Mettaton is also a diva. The day Shore arrives with new managers, he throws his tantrum and quits after a rather suspicious accident.

Shore only has eyes for the fire elemental standing frozen with the rest of the crew. She suggests letting him take the lead role. Promising that she knows he can sing.

Grillby is so quiet most assumed he couldn't even talk so naturally protests break out and Shore maybe uses her power as a patron to insist. 'He promised me,' is all she says, looking right at him

So he sings and everyone is stunned at the strength and grace of his voice. The managers instantly whisk him away to prepare for the show

After the show, Shore goes to his new dressing room and they fall into each other's arms. They speak of times past, of the loneliness of being apart. But when Shore says that she wants to take him out to celebrate, he hesitates. The Phantom will not be happy if he leaves, he knows this

But he agrees and she leaves to let him change

Enter in The Phantom. Showing himself for the first time, a figure in black wearing a simple white mask over his face. White hands punched through the palms. Grillby is enchanted, dazed and follows The Phantom into the tunnels under the opera house

*Music of the Night noises*

Grillby has a bit of a Crisis because he genuinely cares about Phantom and they became very close friends as much as teacher and student but this is kind of odd?? A little frightening?

Phantom sees this, backpedals real hard but hides it and sends Grillby back upstairs before falling into bed and screaming into his pillow

When Shore finds Grillby vaguely wandering back into the theater, she goes, uh??? What happened?? Were you kidnapped? I kind of stayed up all night looking for you??

Grillby, still a little in shock because what the heck just happened "Kind of?"

Now that won't STAND

Shore starts digging to find out everything she can about this opera ghost, keeping a close eye on Grillby. There is no gaslighting here folks like in versions of the story that to this day drive me crazy

As Shore digs, accidents start happening. Loose floorboards, unlatched equipment, a falling sandbag or two. Shore catches on pretty quickly what’s happening when she catches just a flash of shadow more than once right before or after these little ‘incidents’

Finally plants herself down in the middle of the stage and calls for the Phantom to show his face. It takes a while then she sees a shadow just barely move. He’s up in the rafters, crouched like some kind of bat

“What is your freaking deal?”

“Why are you trying to take what’s mine?”

“Yours? He belongs to himself you dingbat”

That makes him laugh for reasons Shore doesn’t get

Conversation happens, a lot of dodging questions, shifting blame. Phantom is oddly charming. For being an attempted murdering/kidnapping jerk

“Are you the one who keeps trying to kill me? The sandbag dropped on my head, the broken trapdoor, the spiders in my hat??”

“Oh my God, I’m not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong in this place. It’s an old building, accidents do happen.

“The sandbag was me though.”

Grillby materializes just to smack him in the head for that

And so it goes, Grillby and Shore trying to reconnect, Grillby trying to maintain a level of friendship (and maybe more?) with Phantom and Phantom attempting various levels of accidents to get Shore to leave the theater

Until one day he finds Shore on the stage. She’s singing to an empty theater. She’s not...good exactly but...rather unpracticed. He’s startled enough that he stops his evil giggling and untwisting of the hidden trapdoor in the stage to listen.

He comes up silently, creeping on the edges just out of sight. When he speaks, Shore shrieks and nearly falls off the stage anyway. Her blushing does a weird thing to his Soul. Like a sort of flip flopping squeeze.

“Well, if you’re going to think yourself worthy of my Flame, you’d better have a voice to match. Let me hear you sing again.”

Many ‘threat’ filled lessons later-

“Hmm. Maybe there’s hope for you after all”

“Maybe there’s more to you than a creepy stalker personality.”

Past the Point of No Return scene happens at some point. I don’t make the rules

Also Phantom and Shore have a sword fight that maybe starts out as anger fueled but rather quickly changes to a pent up Feelings kind of deal

Grillby’s concern is quick to fade and he watches the two idiots dance around each other, wondering why exactly they don’t see how much they actually do like each other.

It’s also at this moment he realizes fully that he loves them both

“Well shoot, I love these two morons and they love each other but won’t admit it. This is going to be very ‘fun’ to sort out”

Eventually, Shore asks for Phantom’s name.

“My name...died with the person I was long ago.”

“Maybe it’s time you reclaim it.”

His name is Wing Dings Gaster and for countless years he was held by the Void. He doesn’t fully remember how he escaped, nor what he looked like before. All he knows is that his face is broken with terrible cracks and skeletal in only the vaguest sense with a body that ebbs and flows with darkness. When he first stumbled back into the light after the darkness of the Void, people screamed and ran from him. Or worse, they chased him, calling him an omen of death. So he retreated down below the theater and resigned himself to always be a watcher and made a mask to cover his face.

He was alone for years until he heard young Grillby crying in a corner and sat as close as he dared. It took a while for him to gain the courage to speak to the elemental

Given the fluid nature of his body, it’s easy for him to change his voice to sing. It’s the only part of himself that he can see as holding any worth.

Grillby was his only source of socialization and he’s terrified of losing him, which makes Phantom a tad bit clingy with some pretty severe separation anxiety

Phantom is a sad, sad boy who needs a lot of hugs and therapy

Shore is kind to him despite it all (and despite the irritation at the ‘death threats’)

Phantom finally admits that she was never in any actual danger because he might be a messed up guy but he’s not a murderer. He might have even nudged her out of the way with blue magic a few times to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Eventually Phantom realizes he no longer wants her to leave. He wants to stand with her and Grillby. He wants to be a better monster but he doesn’t know how to do that so kind of retreats into his lair

Grillby and Shore have to track him down. And queue the heart to heart, the great Crying Session, the Unmasking or whatever you wanna call it

And they all live an OT3 happy ending, the end

#OoF phantom au #grillby #gaster #gaster/grillby/reader #undertale #WHOOO finally got this all down #listen in this house #love triangles mean that all three are in love with each other!#and it's wonderful!#OoF extra

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