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sunbloomdew · 1 year

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Love Confessions in the Baxter DLC

The sequel! Monochrome obsession continues. Part 2/3

Part 1 "The Wedding Confession"

Welcome, or hello again! I played the Baxter DLC a couple of times and I like it a lot, so I wanted to ramble about some of my favourite parts. Specifically about love confessions in Baxter’s version of Step 4, because they are all very well written and make me feel good :3

Reading the first part of this "series" isn't necessary, the introduction is just a bit more thorough in the first post. Furthermore if you've read the first part it might seem like i'm repeating myself with certain points, since those moments share some similarities and i like to be meticulous.

It is time for the second confession and the last one that can be initiated by the player. If you don’t confess here and pick an option in which MC expresses hope of Baxter returning their feelings, you will later reach the moment where Baxter asks MC out himself. This confession is my personal favourite, so prepare for me losing my mind over every single detail.

Spoilers for Baxter DLC!

The confessions all happen after the wedding ceremony, so if you hadn't played to this point yet, i recommend skipping this post (and maybe coming back later, if you wanna chat about them with me)! I may not bring up every single line, but i think this post still covers a good part of what happens.

I call this confession, The Morning Confession, because it takes place on the morning after the wedding! Simple name but it does the job.

There is also another reason for this name, but i'll get to it later.

The wedding is over and most stuff had been cleaned up. MC returns with Baxter to his apartment, after accepting his invitation to stay with him until they have to come back to their home. The two have finally reunited and they aren’t ready to part ways yet.

During that evening, MC and Baxter share a moment by the fireplace in the lobby of the building. I wanted to dedicate some time to this moment, because I think it’s a valuable context to the confession. And aside from providing insight into the mind of Baxter Ward, I love the way it’s written. So sue me, i wanna talk about it.

Despite the fact that they have reconciled, Baxter’s reasoning behind his actions still isn’t fully clear to MC. While being in the company of other people made the lingering unease between them bearable, it still remains. They can't act casually, as if nothing had happened, as if the years hadn’t been lost. So Baxter offers to clarify his point of view. “As sorry as I am, I don’t think I’ve been as open as I could have been” he says and well, that is the truth.

If the player chose to confess to Baxter before this conversation, this moment provides a deeper understanding of the character and explains his reluctance to accept the confession.

It is here by a fireplace – a fitting spot for another personal conversation, considering the duo's shared history – that Baxter reveals his innermost thoughts and fears. At his core, he believes he doesn’t contribute anything to any relationship, because he can't see his own value. And to him, if he doesn’t add anything, then he has no right to form and be in deep, mutually supportive relationships.

Baxter convinced himself that he doesn’t matter. That his only worth is in the entertainment he can provide or the help he can give. In his own words, he doesn’t know what it means to be significant to a person, just by being yourself. Which is why he doesn’t let people get close to him. He assumes that upon finding out that there is nothing more to him, they will leave. So it’s better to not let anybody get to know him, that way no one can be disappointed by his “true” self. He is unable to see that none of that is true because deep down, he thinks he is worthless as a person.

Those feelings about himself are something that have influenced Baxter’s decisions about relationships with other people, for example with Xavier. As the baker reveals later, they always felt that if Baxter had no reason to contact them again, he wouldn't. He kept himself away from others and believed that every connection he makes isn’t meant to last.

Still, Baxter wanted to create bonds with other people. And it terrified him.

He wanted to have that with MC, but he was too afraid to take that chance five years ago. It couldn't have worked out back then. Baxter had his assumptions about himself and others, and he held onto them strongly. It’s sad, but there was no way to make him change his ways back then. He was set on leaving no matter what would have happened.

This Baxter is different from the 19 year old who put his comfort above all else. During that conversation by the fireplace he is being vulnerable in ways he never allowed himself to be before. He tells MC that he missed them over those five years. That they made him feel wanted that summer, and as incredible as it felt, he couldn’t believe it would last. He makes it clear that it wasn’t any of MC’s actions that made him feel that way - he applied this mindset to every connection he made at that time.

It’s incredibly sad to witness his thoughts out in the open like that. I think Baxter’s struggles are something most of us can relate to in some way. Low self-esteem can make people withdraw from social situations and spiral into self-hatered. It’s terrible, to be so wrapped up in disliking yourself that you assume that nobody could ever like you. That you have no good qualities as a person, so you have to make up for them somehow. It can feel like it'll stay this way forever, and so there is no point in trying to connect with others.

However that is not true. In the end, Baxter came to understand this as well. He is worthy of love and friendship. He grew and learned from his past mistakes, and so can we.

He apologises to MC once again, and expresses deep regret over not staying in contact with them. And at last, MC can say that they actually know Baxter Alexander Ward.

I think this moment is really beautiful. It’s an apology without excuses, that provides an explanation. Baxter never had malicious intentions, but even so, his actions had hurt people who cared for him (and who he cared about), so he owns up to his mistakes and does his best to correct them.

Aside from being a really good moment of taking accountablity and being vulnerable with another person this conversation also sets the mood for the morning confession. The air is finally cleared. These two characters can finally show how much they value each other because there is mutual understanding and trust between them again. It will take some time to get to know each other after so long, but they are willing to try, and they know they can be honest.

After a day full of emotional revelations, Baxter and MC finally head to bed. Not only the characters, but the players can take a breath and prepare for what’s to come. And boy are we in for a treat.

The next day arrives and the players are given an option to sleep in as much as they want. What time MC wakes up will have an effect on dialogues and is one of the many examples of how the game lets us customize the protagonist however we want, even in the silliest ways. It is something i deeply appreciate about the Our Life series. The comfort level also changes the lines, for example MC's response to Baxter greeting them in the morning.

Eventually the sleeping beauty wakes up and the pair moves to the living room. Despite sleeping in for a while Baxter is still out of it and it’s so adorable (he's just like me fr).

I think the tone set for the confession is lovely. The atmosphere in the morning is relaxing and light and to me it feels like this is exactly what those characters needed. A new day has arrived, not only literally but figuratively for their relationship. There is no negative tension in the air, just the feeling of peace. They are clearly enjoying each other's company and it's great to finally have that again.

This is only my opinion, but the way this moment feels is exactly why i like it more than the wedding confession. The previous confession is meant to feel rushed, high on emotions and full of determination to declare the feelings right away. MC feels like they have to be upfront about their feelings in that moment so they confess. I do enjoy this type of tension, but i simply prefer this kind of setting. As much as i love convincing Baxter to truly express his feelings by shooting down the reasons not to date him (it's so intense and dramatic! absolutely amazing) i find that i like this quiet admission of feelings more.

While it might not be that intense as the moment right after the wedding, there is still this nagging feeling that urges MC not to wait any longer. They love that they are included in this private corner of Baxter's life and they wish they could have been before. It's this feeling of not wanting to lose any more time, that makes them think about confessing then and there.

And so, the player is presented with a choice:

It is time to confess! Hallelujah.

Just like in the wedding confession we can pick the way we want to confess - with words or with a gesture. If we pick the third option you lose the chance to confess yourself. Instead Baxter will do this when the time comes.

Upon choosing one of the ways to confess, MC has the same internal monologue they do in the wedding confession. I've already shared my thoughts about it in the previous post, but i'll just say here that it's a very nice scene. They reminisce about their relationship with Baxter as a whole, eventually coming to the conclusion, that they can hold on to him.

After the monologue ends, the player has a chance to reaffirm their decision, as they did in the previous confession.

If you back out, MC thinks that they can be together just not in the way they'd want to. They are afraid of confessing, in case they ruin what they just got back and make Baxter run away.

But, if you reaffirm your decision, you get my personal favourite confession scene. Let's get right into it!

I mentioned in Part 1 that Baxter reacts to MC's silence, as they reminisce about their relationship. I find it a little funny when i imagine them just sitting in silence and staring intensely for a while. Kinda like when magical girls have their transformations and the bad guys don't do anything to interrupt them. MC monologuing definitely gives off the same energy. Writing inner monologues is tricky like that.

During the wedding confession Baxter is anxious and worried, waiting to receive MC's verdict. Do they welcome him back to their life? Or do they reject him (even though there is no such option in the game)?. It's stressful and the prolonged silence makes Baxter slowly come back to his usual behaviour to protect himself, in case his vulnerability was the wrong move.

This isn't the case here. His reaction is wildly different. There is no tension or stress, just curiosity and anticipation. Instead of being nervous he is very smug, clearly knowing or at least suspecting what MC is thinking about. I gotta say, when i first picked this option i was stunned. I did NOT expect him to act in this way, but it was a pleasant surprise. Mr. Ward is very perceptive and i love this confident attitude of his.

MC asks him what is on his mind, and he comes back to reality. Baxter encourages them to continue, but they insist he tells them what's going on. And that's what he does. He says that he was remembering a "funny story". Then he asks MC if they want to know something absolutely embarrassing. With that kind of an opening, how could they refuse?

Baxter tells them that Jude and Scott attempted to speak to him about his and MC's... situation. He was surprised that they noticed he was sad and wanted to help him, when he was supposed to be doing that with their relationship. I think it was his feelings of inferiority that made him feel that way.

Moving on, the reason he brought that up wasn't to draw attention to how his poor relationship management skills made others concerned for him. But rather to point out, that the men knew, that MC is important to Baxter. Baxter states that he was grateful they met and despite ending their relationship five years ago, he was never sorry he knew MC. He is kinda chaotic with his admission, one second bringing up the chat with the grooms and the other expressing his affection for MC.

Understandably, it makes MC confused. They thought they were the one leading the dance - or the conversation in this case - but clearly now it's Baxter doing that (i mean he is a professional). Even so, he isn't as good with his words as usual and doesn't quite manage to convey what he wants to MC.

He thanks MC for letting him "ramble" for so long and stands up. Shit's getting real. We're about to enter the boss fight.

He moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table, which puts him at the eye level with MC, only closer than before. And then this silly man leans closer acting all calm and confident. Dude. Please. Everytime i play this moment i lose my precious ability to formulate thoughts, not to mention actual sentences. Because. Oh my god.

And then he hits you with THAT. He absolutely knew what MC was thinking about and he is having a lot of fun with teasing them. They realize that he caught on to what was going on and figure that at least it makes it easier to confess. The dialogue varies in this place because of the comfort level - these are their thoughts on the Direct setting. They also think about how hard would it be to tell him they liked him before he opened up to them. I find it pretty funny, because it’s clearly a tiny poke, towards players who did confess right after the wedding and faced this struggle. When you’re replaying those moments it does make you chuckle.

Now we can finally confess our feelings! When doing that verbally there are a couple of options to choose from, as in the case of the wedding confession. One of the options is: "Could I consider all the time we spent together a date?" and you already know i love this one. It's playful, it's a reference to when Baxter asked MC out five years ago, it's perfect. There is no contender, i always choose it.

...Is what i would say, but i actually always choose the option to confess with a kiss during this feelings reveal.

Confessing with a kiss looks a bit different from the first confession. This time there aren't multiple options to choose where we want to kiss him, MC goes straight (or is it?) for the lips. And the way that kiss is described is everything to me. I'm an absolute sucker for kissing scenes and this one is just so, so, so good! I cannot find fitting words in english (and neither can i in polish) so i'll just drop one screenshot from it and move along before i combust.

It's so tender and sweet and adorable please-

While Baxter was acting super confident and cocky, the second MC declares their love for him/moves to kiss him he turns into a shy, blushing mess. Despite knowing or at least suspecting what MC was about to do he is still caught of guard. I think that his reaction is absolutely adorable. Baxter doesn't blush a lot, so it's always a treat when he does.

We can choose to tell Baxter, that MC wanted to be with him even five years ago and this stuns him again.

Now that MC have confessed their love they're waiting for Baxter to respond. But GOD, is he struggling. It's the first time Baxter is so flustered and it makes me so giddy. He allows himself to show how much MC means to him and holy shit, this man cannot look at them for too long because he will just blush even harder.

From the way he is acting it's already clear that he reciprocates MC's feelings. But the fact that he gets so shy? Stole my heart, sir how dare you be so cute.

Of course, Baxter Ward cannot stay flustered for long and he eventually recovers. Damn it.

His response to the confession is so sweet. He basically says "my turn" and tells MC all the things he loves about being with them, how they made him feel and how much he appreciates them. There is still a moment of self-loathing, when Baxter regrets trying to keep MC out of his life- twice. He is surprised that MC still has feelings for him, still wants to be with him despite all the pain he caused them.

He still brings up all the potential reasons why this could be a bad idea. Limited connections, his current financial situation and his past ways of managing relationships. But unlike in the Wedding Confession, here those aren't statements for MC to refute. I'd say they are less of a warning for MC and more of an expose of himself, to be sure that he revealed everything he considers a flaw before accepting their confession. "By all accounts, I shouldn't be doing this. But I am." - those are his words. Even if he still has his doubts, he isn't going to turn MC down anymore. If he let them go now, in fear of potentially not being enough in this relationship, he would regret it.

And so that is his response: "If you'll have me you will have me." Don't mind if i do- yoink.

While he calmed down a bit for this admission, he gets flustered yet again. It's so adorable to see him be so affected by MC and this situation.

Baxter says that it was easier asking MC out himself all those years ago. He is still so out of it that he voices out loud that he has no idea what to do now. His usual grace and poise are still on leave it seems. He follows it up with that it would be the best if he switched from sitting on the coffee table to somewhere with a backrest, just in case. Dude. Baxter is so strongly impacted by this confession that he is fully aware that there is a possiblity that he will just topple down. I'm melting, it's so cute!

He moves to the couch and MC joins him over there. Once Baxter calms down a bit, he says he is starting to "remember some possiblities" and the two kiss again. I can't even begin describe how much i love the way the kissing moments are written. They're amazing and i'm losing my mind.

The last question Baxter has is if his feelings were obvious to MC. He recounts when Jude asked him point-blank if he was still 'into' MC - we get a couple of dialogue answers to pick, either reacting to Jude even asking about it or answering Baxter's question.

And that is the end of this confession! Baxter overcomes his sheepishness at last, no longer blushing intensely. Quite a shame, but i think we all love his usual charming self as well.

There are no more reservations about showing his true feelings. The pair has been reunited after five years and are finally ready to start a long-term relationship. Good for them <3

Baxter shares one last thought at the end of this long conversation:

And yes, this is the other reason why i call this confession the Morning Confession specifically! It's entirely because of Baxter pointing it out. And because he is so surprised about this turn of events.

The second part is finally over! I worked on it during those two weeks (holy fuck, why) it took me to post it. I'm a bit bummed it took me this long to finish it, but i did my best <3

This part is definitely longer than the first, the brainrot got to me. I haven't started the third part yet but i already replayed the last confession scene and honestly? I forgot how good it was compared to the other two! Shame on me, truly.

See you in the third part! Peace out~

Part 1

#baxter ward #our life beginnings & always #olba baxter #baxter dlc #olba #our life beginnings and always #our life #gamer hours #sunbloom talks #gb patch games

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p3chris · 2 years

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Mission 35 comes out in anime soon!

*manga spoilers ahead*

If we look from the perspective of Twilight getting worried about the safety of his cover, he does actually have a somewhat logical reason to want to seduce Yor.

[I say somewhat because if Twilight truly wanted to be safe, perhaps the safest option would be to swap out Yor and avoid contact with Yuri completely. But throughout the entire spectacle, Twilight never considers simply changing wives. That says something in itself.]

The ostensible benefit Yor gets from their marriage is camouflage from the SSS. But if Yuri reveals his status, Yor will find that the marriage cover is unnecessary after all - under Yuri's SSS protection, she won't get into trouble for being single.

With that knowledge, Yor can safely quit the marriage and leave Twilight (and his mission) in the lurch.

Of course, we readers know this is still unlikely to occur. Yuri has no intention of outing himself because he is terrified of Yor's potential disapproval, and what Yor truly fears is not actually getting caught by the SSS but her actual profession coming to light. Yor is also becoming reluctant to leave because of Anya and him. But Twilight doesn’t know that. For him, it is clear this arrangement is not secure.

But if Yor was genuinely attached to and happily in love with Loid, she would not go raising any alarms to Yuri. Their romantic involvement would add a layer of protection should the original terms of their marriage agreement fall through.

In this context, the honey trap makes sense.

Except... When Twilight jumps at the chance to honey trap his wife, there is none of the above thought processes shown.

Despite the manga telling us Twilight mode is engaged, his thoughts are certainly not Twilight thoughts: there is none of his cautious overthinking and risk-benefit assessment, he makes this inexplicable leap from nowhere to the conclusion that he has to perform a honey trap, and he plain forgets what a violent drunk Yor can be.

Which means he is not thinking straight. He does not know what he is doing.

That makes the Twiyor fan in me very happy.

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emberwood-if · 2 years

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Ooof I dunno which RO to go for 😩 Who would you recommend? I'll go for whoever you pick

I love that I made the decision difficult for you. I saw this ask right when I was writing with Perry so I choose Perry!

For context (and for any new players/followers):

Want to reiterate that Emberwood can be a romance (if you choose) but I've settled with calling the romance routes more drama, or 'angstmance' because none of these relationships are 100% healthy or pure aha...

Perry: if you like friendly, warm, nice, very 'easy' route in terms of emotion. It's by no means smooth sailing, but Perry is a very open and willing person, and emotionally in-tune with himself.

Route: friends to lovers // daddy issues //personality switch// 'love at first sight' (if you pursue him romantically thats what it he would claim it is) // mentor/mentee relationship (which will make Perry more hesitant) // possible age gap // possible unhealthy attachment

E: I always say E is the most mature route of all of them, mostly because the main obstacle of their route is having to deal with them choosing their job >>> over anything and anyone else. They've also had been very badly burned by love in the past, so they're not eager to be in a relationship.

Route: brokenhearted by ex // lying to them // work over personal life // another mentor/mentee relationship (which is based solely on whether you choose that) // possible age gap

Alex: Alex is emotionally empty, very indifferent and does not see themself ever getting vulnerable. I think they're best for players who like the 'emotional chase.' Most of the route is trying to break down Alex's walls. They are very guarded, so it won't be easy to get them to open up.

Route: indifference to attachment // distrust // has not faced their past and doesn't want to lol // will purposely push MC away by any means necessary

Dani: Angry. Angry. Angry. Dani is very hard to please, rude, brash, abrasive but they have a heart...deep down. They care about others in their own way, and they can be surprisingly witty when they want to be.

Tropes//Themes: rivals to lovers // 'Stay away from me, I will hurt you in the end' vibes // unhealthy emotional...regulation? // morally grey //

F: F is very bright and very easy to talk to, cheerful, fun. Very sweet, I think F is very easy to love, both from a friendship and a romantic stand point. Of course, loving them actually wont be easy

Route: has never experienced love // insecure with themselves // for MC's that are on the older side, this will prove to be another obstacle due to the nature of F's past //

N: N is a hermit, quiet, doesn't speak much and has a lot of anger inside them. You won't talk to them much unless you're on their platonic and/or romantic route lol unfortunately or if you go out of your way to choose choices that are directly interacting with N.

Route: reluctant friend to lovers // never sure whether N will be gone or not // inexperienced with romance // familial issues //

K: While intelligent and very serious, K is like F in the romance aspect. While their route is heavy, it's not as heavy as say, Alex or Dani, but it's up there. But the romance is a lot more straight forward, mostly because K is straight forward.

Route: familial issues // powerful parents // has not faced their past // difficult to open up

#ask #anonymous #emberwood #interactive fiction #ROs

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bobafett · 6 months

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stealing this because the boops made me realize how much i miss tag games.

How many works do you have on AO3? A grand total of 14. I am not a prolific writer.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 63,880. Please see above answer.

What fandoms do you write for? Batman and Star Wars. I have a little bit of Supernatural fic posted on an alt account, and I've been turning over an idea for an OW fic in my head for a while, but it takes me a long time to figure out how to write in a fandom in a way that still captures the "vibes" of the source material (which is always one of my goals). So I rarely branch out.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? New Cornerstone (suitless!Vader AU from a million years ago), Brothers in Arms (Jon starts to get an inkling that his best friend has perhaps not had a normal childhood), Setting the Bone (Selina Kyle: reluctant parental figure), In This Twilight (Damian and Jason brotherly bonding, first batfam fic I ever wrote), and Try to Sweep the Darkness Out (batfam Christmas special that I've almost orphaned 10 times because I hate the writing choices I made in it so much). None of the fics I'm actually proud of are on this list. Tragic.

Do you respond to comments? Irregularly and unpredictably! I will if I feel like I have something to say and it catches me in the right mood.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Uh, that would be High Water Mark since it starts with a scene of Cody contemplating suicide and ends with the instant right before Order 66 kicks in.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably Problem Solving since it's the only fic I've ever written where I was actually trying to be light hearted.

Do you get hate on fics? Never, thankfully.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? If I thought I could do it successfully, I would. But I'm not, so I don't.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Basically never. There is a Doctor Who/Sherlock fic buried on my old FF.net account. There's also a Super Smash Bros fic on there that I wrote in 2009, which I suppose also counts.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? I can't imagine why anyone would.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, and I never would. I'm too much of a control freak about my writing. Writing, say, shared universe stuff might be fun, but actually co-authoring something would drive me nuts.

What’s your all time favorite ship? What a question. I come back to Jaime/Brienne a lot for reading, but I don't think I'd ever write it. I write a ton of BatCat, but rarely read it because I'm particular. I like Lois/Clark, but I almost never write OR read it. I'm honestly not very ship motivated. Most of the time I filter for a ship because I'm in the mood for its attendant tropes, and if the writing is good, you can sell me on just about anything.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Hmngh. New Cornerstone again. There's 20k of an expanded version of it on my hard drive that I haven't added to since probably 2017. There's something very fun about suitless!Vader as a character because he's such a sparking, destructive livewire of a person, but also I'm experienced enough now to realize how difficult doing justice to that premise is. Also, I'd have to rewatch TCW to get Ahsoka's voice down, and I just don't got time for that shit.

What are your writing strengths? Description and sense of place. Also pretty good at dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses? Fucking. Long fic. Plot in general. I'm horrifically bad at it.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'm usually inclined to keep all my dialogue in English, but it would depend on the context and the effect I was going for.

First fandom you wrote for? Purposefully? Inuyasha. Without having any idea what fanfic was? I created an Artemis Fowl fairy OC and stuck her in Indiana Jones when I was 10 years old.

Favorite fic you’ve written? They Don't Sing Songs For Me. No contest. It's perfectly captures what I think is the ideal form of fanfic: two characters who have absolutely no business interacting with each other building a compelling relationship dynamic over the course of 9k words.

I will be tagging @panharmonium, @apostatefrog, @dead-ghost-walking, @ryehouses, @yellowocaballero, @lazuliquetzal. Also anyone else who wants to. I will bring back tag games by force of will, so help me God.

#nothing like looking at your own AO3 archive to make you realize how much you've grown as a writer since 2015 #from the beehive

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cheswirls · 3 months

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there's not anything from the beginning of the cyberpunk au that is ready to share (too many holes and fill-ins and such that i don't feel like correcting rn) so instead here's three takes of a particular breakdown scene from the second act that is. uh. hopefully far, far enough away from being published that this part fades from everyone's minds by then :) but if not, no context is a killer

Ace moves back into the room he and Sabo had formerly occupied alone. He’s not sure how to take that at first, and seeing the lack of Sabo’s belongings spread around the shared space hits like a punch to the gut. But after a spell, he resolves to give Sabo some space. He’ll come around when he’s ready, Ace tells himself. All Ace has to do is be patient.

It quickly becomes painfully obvious that things are not that simple.

Sabo starts avoiding him, little by little. At first it’s almost unnoticeable. He’ll stiffen in Ace’s hold, then shy away from Ace’s touch, then casually move to avoid it altogether. They’ll be in the same room, in the same space, and yet it suddenly feels like Sabo is worlds away.

It’s such a sharp contrast compared to how they were when Ace was first recovered. Where Sabo would cling to him with pain in his eyes, unwilling to let Ace out of sight for any reason. Now he’s so reluctant to initiate any sort of contact at all, and when it’s just the two of them, no matter the situation, Sabo finds an excuse to be somewhere else.

Ace thought, given time, Sabo would move back in with him. That the room he was staying in now would be temporary the longer he adjusted to Ace being back. But it turns out to be the opposite. The more time goes on, the less he sees of Sabo in general.

With help, Ace manages to confront Sabo before he’s confined himself in his office for the day. It’s tense and awkward where it doesn’t need to be, should never need to be. Sabo doesn’t have any reasons for his recent behavior that he’s willing to give to Ace. So Ace starts offering his own, wanting to finally get to the bottom of this.

He hits rock bottom with his final guess, convincing himself that no matter how Sabo answers, he’ll accept it. But Sabo surprises him again, head shooting up to look at Ace with wide, scared eyes, one hand outstretched in Ace’s direction.

“Of course I–” Sabo stops, his voice failing him, and turns his head sharply to choke on the sob stuck in his throat. Ace steps forward, dropping to his knees to kneel at Sabo’s side, and risks grabbing Sabo by the shoulders so he’ll finally look at Ace.

Sabo’s teeth are gritted tight. There are tears in the corners of his eyes, and after a moment, he blinks harsh and two wet trails run down his cheeks. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he whispers, and Ace’s heart stops thudding in his chest.

Sabo continues, oblivious to Ace’s condition. “If I didn’t love you anymore, maybe this would be easier. Maybe it would stop hurting all the time.” He glances over and ends up holding Ace’s gaze, sincerity blooming in his own eyes in a way that physically pains Ace, when coupled with the words he says. “It’s so empty,” Sabo confesses, reaching up to grab at his heart. “It has been ever since you d–” He shakes his head. “And now that you’re back, I can’t even feel happy about it. It aches, Ace. It’s indescribable, and you don’t even feel it!”

Sabo leans back, out of his hold, almost toppling from the chair. “You left me!

[Take 2.]

It’s hard not to notice all the changes, but at first, especially in the beginning, it’s easy to ignore them.

Sabo clings to Ace in such an unnatural way. He has a new room now, because none of his belongings remain in the room he and Ace had shared. But it would be hard to tell otherwise, because Ace is there, and Sabo occupies the space as if he had never left.

It’s different from before, like when Sabo had first moved in with him. Ace still remembers it well. Sabo being in here all the time, even when Ace was not. Sleeping in the same bed more days out of the week than in his own room, and then casually borrowing items from Ace until he began to leave space for his own. At first it was clothes for the next day in an empty drawer Ace never had the need to fill. Then various hygiene products taking up space in the en-suite bathroom one by one. Sabo brings a bag filled with various things that never end up leaving, and by the end of a particularly draining week, when they’re both back here, too exhausted to even make it to the bed, Sabo softly admits that there was nothing he needed to grab from his own room to make it through the next day.

And Ace just. Follows that. Really easily, the ‘why don’t you just move in?’ spills from his lips, because it seems like the correct response to have. It would keep Sabo from worrying about missing something, because everything will be in one place once more. He and Sabo will be in one place, really, wholeheartedly.

There’s not even much left, but the next day, Ace helps Sabo carry the remaining items over. And that was it. Simple. Easy. Natural, even.

Not like this.

Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong, but Ace is too afraid to ask. He can’t quite put his finger on it, either, and yet he knows.

It wouldn’t be too far off to say Sabo is scared, but of what Ace isn’t certain. Losing him again? That would explain a lot, but it would only explain the things he could outright see. Sabo clinging to him tightly, unable to let go. Unwilling to be apart, and yet.

All of his belongings remain in his other room. Completely separated.

Ace has never even seen it, but he knows it has to exist. Sabo is so frantic, so on edge, and Ace thinks, at first, that Sabo is bracing himself. Not willing to give himself the chance to get attached, in case something else happens.

It’s a good theory, but Ace knows, instinctively, that it’s incorrect. There’s another reason, has to be, and he just hasn’t stumbled upon the right pieces to put it together yet.

It’s colder, too.

Ace can feel it at night, gripping Sabo’s frozen fingers and wishing he had the power to warm them up. His body heat isn’t unnaturally high, though, and that’s all he has. All he can do is cup Sabo’s hands in his own and hope the chill doesn’t spread to him as well.

And that’s not the only thing that’s missing.

For all the trouble it was worth, Ace can’t help but feel a tinge of regret that their soul bond was no longer. It’s definitely an adjustment. Ace will do something too hard, too rough, and then instinctively look over his shoulder to apologize only to find Sabo hasn’t felt a thing.

But he notices. How Sabo tenses, like he should be feeling a reaction and is lost when he doesn’t. It’s subtle, but Ace starts watching closer so he can see when Sabo acts out of turn. An action that’s too forceful, or a misstep, or something he can get away with while in Ace’s line of sight that should send a twinge of pain coursing through him.

It never does. Sabo always looks so unhappy about it. Like he’s testing their bond, like he wants Ace to have a reaction, to feel what he’s feeling.

Ace doesn’t understand why it matters so much until Sabo starts pulling away. Subtly, at first. Little things Ace shouldn’t notice, but he does.

[Take 3??]

“You don’t have a soul bond anymore,” Sabo mutters, so distraught and defeated, head drooped low. Ace’s lips open, a counter on his tongue, a reassurance, a promise. Sabo doesn’t give him the chance, continuing, words dripping from his lips like acid. “But I do. It’s still there. It hasn’t gone away. You came back, and still, nothing has changed.”

He stops to breathe, ragged, in and out. Then his teeth clench and he lifts his head just to the point where he can gaze up at Ace through his bangs. “It’s still broken. It won’t go away. I–” He’s cut off by a sob tearing through his throat, and when he blinks, tears leave his eyes.

Ace, panicked, crouches down to eye-level. He reaches out, slowly, both hands up, but it doesn’t even matter. Sabo still flinches back violently, eyeing him warily. He realizes his actions right after they happen, biting down on his lip, eyes blown wide.

A second later, Sabo is out of his chair, collapsed fully in Ace’s outstretched arms, clinging to his form. Ace’s knees drop so he doesn’t overbalance, and he grips tight, drawing Sabo in.

“It feels so empty,” Sabo confesses, voice warbled from tears that drip down the back of Ace’s neck. “So lonely. You’re right here and yet my heart doesn’t know. It can’t find you, Ace. This doesn’t even feel real right now.

"And I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this. And I’m sorry, sorry that I keep pushing you away, but! It’s so much easier than having you in my arms with my soul telling me that you died, that you left and took half of me with you, and the other half is so inconsolable about it. It doesn’t understand, it keeps telling me to find you, to join you again, but I have so much work left to do here. I can’t leave. Not with Dragon dead. Not with you alive, still, because if I die and my soul can’t find you even in the afterlife? It will kill me, Ace, for good. It’s killing me now. And you don’t–”

He chokes and stops, working through a set of shaky, shallow breaths that Ace coaxes him through, running a comforting hand down his back and up again, over and over.

Ace sits and tugs Sabo down onto his lap, bringing them both into a more comfortable position.

“I don’t even feel it,” Ace finishes, voice quiet, barely there. “Right? The remains of our soul bond are tearing you apart, and here I am, free from it in death.” That would explain all of Sabo’s peculiarities as of late. He’s been trying to get Ace to feel, like before. Working himself up over it and then falling apart when Ace doesn’t react. He wants their bond back so bad that he’s been so reckless, and Ace didn’t even notice.

#saboace #op #writing #idk idk this is another au w a legit title in my head #but ive been calling it the cyberpunk au on here bc spoilers #tbh i started notes for this fic in 2021 i think??? its nowhere near being done #i should start rambling abt it on here more bc i love it n theres so much untouched potential #probably literal years away from being ready to post anywhere online tbh #but!! here is this ig for now

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sirendeepity · 7 months

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For the fanfic writer ask game:

♥️👻📗

Nikiiiii, my love, it's so good to see you here! <333

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

So, this one's tough. Not because I have the hands of Midas, but because I simply... Have no idea? I did skim through metanoia, though, because if that's where the good stuff is, and I found a few because I'm physically unable to choose just one I really liked, two of which are quote quotes

“I gave him the power he thinks he has now, and by not agreeing on meeting with him we’re just proving his point: that he has something, that he’s worth something. I’d rather die than give him the satisfaction.”

That night was not for deep, belly laughs. That night was for healing what others had broken. To build anew.

while the third is more of a context quote

What caught her attention the most, tho, had been the fact that Rhysand had been ready to put so much of himself, of what he’d been through, at stake. For her. Nesta shifted in her seat, not stomaching the starlight violet any longer. She felt Night caressing her mental shields, purring, asking to get in. She let it. You’re worth the risks. She turned, the bones in her neck cracking with the fast motion, and stared speechless at Rhysand. She’d let him in her mind, yet the voice wasn’t there. He’d said those words out loud, had made sure the stars heard them too.

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

I answered this one here, bUT I'll give you another one, which is also a spoiler for a possible future multi-chapter fanfic I've been thinking about for a while and recently I'm entertaining the idea of actually try to write it? We'll see. Anyway I have this idea that the Valkyries (well, Nesta, at least, since she's the one who's part of the Inner Circle) will "give up" their citizenship? And they're not members of the Night Court anymore? Or they're just a private citizen like any other? I still have to think this trough, but they're going to do all that because they are going to tour around Prythian to recruit and train more females and officially revive The Valkyries, and make them an army for the people: basically, there will be a base in every Court and legions/battalions for each, but overall they don't belong to a single Court but rather all of them, but really, if you think about it, none at all. They're like an independent army, the "neutral party" which will not stay so neutral if things get dirty. They'll stand for equality and freedom, they'll protect the innocents, and by not "legally" belonging to any Court they won't have a High Lord or High Lady that can order them around and such, so they'll be like an Eight Court of sorts without really being a Court at all. Does this make sense?

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

Oh bestie I'm so happy you asked this because y e s. Yes. Yes, I do. And I am completely cool about it. Not acting weird at all.

I'm almost done with the first draft of this personal project of mine that I've been working on and off for the past ..year..s? But I keep procrastinating so I've been "-10 chapters!!" for the past week, but still. To keep things sweet and short, I'll make you a list, because we love lists on this blog:

Crown of Thorns (4): (high?) fantasy; reluctant found family where each and every one of them is "in it" for their own personal gaining, but what started as a shallow "they took my crown from me so now I'll take it back because I can? and because I'm petty and hold grudges" will turn into "I have to stop the Lord of Darkness from coming back from the dead and destroy the world as we know it, and maybe start a revolution while I'm at it". It's messy, and sometimes I think I won't be able to pull this off the way I intended to (good intentions, bad delivery, you know?) so don't ask me to tell you more than this because I really don't know how without spoiling the entire thing;

Cursed Goddes/Blessed God (2): CoT spin-off that is actually a prequel and kind of explains/shows the events that led society to become the way it is in CoT and yes, I really did dig my own grave with this whole series, but now I'm in too deep to stop so down we go;

Kill Your Darlings (1): dark academia-ish, paranormal vibes and a hint of mystery, too? Think House of Anubis, but everyone is gay and mentally ill. That's it, that's the plot.

The Haven Island series (3): contemporary romance, interconnected standalones following a group of friends navigating life in their 20s, where every story is meant to represent a different aspect of girlhood/womanhood (aka toxic/abusive relationships, motherhood, sexism and mysoginy, etc.)

I'd also like to write something in the dystopian sub-genre, because who doesn't love that feeling of impending and unavoidable doom? But I have absolutely nothing in my hands if not some sort of relationship dynamics that for the sake of logic and coherency I had to cut out from the CoT plot, so, yeah, we're really basing it all on vibes at this point

Ask me a question!

#dee answers #ask game #this was a long one #sorry #(I don't regret this at all)

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dwsavideos · 2 years

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have u seen the sing street movie? i loved it and i was reluctant about the musical bc there’s some stuff about the movie that i love that ik wouldn’t translate to stage so im wondering how they compare👀

Just to warn you, I’m answering this in a very long and specific way because I can talk about Sing Street forever (could probably write a thesis on it tbh) so I hope you don’t mind the long answer. It’s a really great question! I have seen the Sing Street movie several times and I love it. Also having seen the stage version in Boston, I can confidently say that though most of the movie translates to the stage version, they are pretty different in a lot of ways, and not just the staging. Here’s my observations:

When you say “stuff about the movie that you love but know wouldn’t translate to the stage” I don’t know if you mean that in a staging way or if you mean specific characteristics or scenes. (I think I know what you’re talking about but that’s a spoiler lol) BUT without spoiling any of the major plot, I can say that in the movie, there’s characters swimming, characters on boats, characters driving/sitting in a car, riding bikes, a motorcycle at one point and none of that is in the stage version obviously because those are very hard things to stage in any musical or play.

That being said, the stage version deviates from the movie at times but the whole storyline and main character arcs are the same. The only thing that’s a bit different is a few scenes, some of the band characters, and songs that are new like Dream For You, Faith of Our Fathers, Up Reprise, and a few 80s songs that aren’t in the movie. The biggest difference (that’s not a spoiler) is that there is no school dance at the end. With a cast of 15 people, 4 of those people being the adult characters, a school dance scene would’ve been tricky to try to stage.

Also I have to say the musical touches on a lot of darker themes while the movie definitely has it’s sad moments, but is overall lighthearted. The stage version is very funny but gets heavy, and that content is treated and performed with lots of respect. Also there was a trigger warning insert in the playbill and on the website when you buy tickets. Adding those heavy scenarios can be hit or miss depending on how the characters cope or how it relates to the plot. (i.e: Do the scenarios help develop character/drive the story forward/give the audience context?) Adding those heavy themes just for the hell of it is bad writing and an unhealthy habit for writers to have. But these themes definitely relate to the plot and characters and drive the story forward along with helping character development. (Some of these themes were hinted at in the movie but never shown/barely mentioned).

The ending of the movie is something that the creator (John Carney) wished he could change, and I think he made the perfect tweaks to it in the stage version. If you’ve watched the movie, you know that the ending has no closure at all. The musical fixes that and it’s a bit more satisfying as an audience member to have closure at the end, especially when the show has as many depressing moments as this one.

Overall, there’s definitely no drastic deviations from the movie, but the stage version is definitely not a carbon copy of the film. For lack of better wording, I’d say the stage version is just more “theatrical.” It’s beautiful just like the movie and I’d recommend it to anyone as soon as it’s staged again, whether it be in Boston, on Broadway, Tour, or West End. I don’t blame you for your reluctance though, there’s always a bit of fear when a favorite movie gets a stage adaptation.

EDIT: I know Sing Street (musical) isn’t being staged anywhere atm but if you’re reading this and wanna learn more about it, listen to the OBCR, watch videos of the precious and talented OBC on YouTube, read reviews from NYTW, join the fandom and get to know the show because it’s amazing and deserves all the love!!

#thanks for the ask!#sing street

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amplifyme · 1 year

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Episode time!

A Gentle Rain-- I liked this episode, too; and it's interesting that I didn't want (forgot his name) to not be turned in (at first) while ALSO wanting him to accept responsibility and pay his dues. His self-inflicted "punishment" was really the voice of "conscience", and his The Scarlet Letter routine (though it was perfectly understandable to a degree) got staler and staler the more he retreated into cowardice. His wife's decisions and rationalizations were a great touch. I admired the line Cathy walked this episode, because it would be so easy to let the case grow cold or be closed off to the mother's avenging attitude simply because she valued her family Below. The "I'm sorry" scene was excellent, as was Vincent's speech that broke through (forgot his name)'s denial.

The Outside-- Stressed, stressed, stressed. Long time since an episode has brought that out in me. (As an aside, the man who sent down the wheelbarrow of flowers reminded me glaringly of Mr. Chuckle Teeth from the Revival, though I've only seen the character through screenshots floating around here. Love him regardless.) The children playing heavily into the plot (not subtle for Vincent/Cathy, getting cut, almost getting killed, getting traumatized from seeing Randal's body, etc.) was an excellent, excellent idea. Mary getting more screentime, her and Father's rash and unwise (though heartfelt) decision almost got them killed (by a group that loves to play games through terror even more than killing in cold blood) her reluctance to leave, and her plan of action juxtaposed brilliantly to William's pragmatic boldness, willingness to stamp out evil even if it involved violence, and continual push of her and Father's more safety-oriented perspective. Vincent throughout this entire episode... wow. And even Cathy-- it wasn't really her fault this time around so much as Father's for forgetting about her (because of everything on his mind but also his other, more urgent priorities-- interesting dynamic); and though it went against Vincent's wishes, there was nothing else for her to do, really. Being chased down the hallway, shooting, getting caught and threatened, calling Vincent back, and trying to stop the child with her gun (a fitting parallel-- another part of her that contributed to his "downfall") was magnificent. The Outside left me with so many unclear thoughts and even more material for rumination. But here's one: they were all wrong and right-- Father and Mary heart to help was right but wrong for their community's rules (and neither response is wrong, only the context); William was right in his protective instinct but wrong to expect Vincent to be their weapon (though he hadn't meant to strip his friend of humanity); Cathy was wrong to push Vincent's mandate not to get involved but right to help when Father directly asked for her participation (BEHIND Vincent's back-- another fascinating touch); Vincent is right that bloodthirst is a part of him but wrong to assume it taints the whole of himself; etc. etc. Love any and all thoughts I might have missed (what was discussed when this aired, or after; what a lot of Classics miss in this ep.; what I might have missed, etc.) All of the scenes were brilliant, and everything haunting.

Another meaty one to sink my teeth into. See below...

Oh, I'm glad you liked A Gentle Rain! I wish we'd gotten to see more of Kanin and Livvy in later episodes. Livvy does show up again a few times, but Kanin continues on only in fanfic. I remember reading an interview with Shelly Moore and Linda Campanelli (the writers) where they spoke about how tough it was to sell this story in the writer's room. Apparently none of the male writers found it believable that a mother might still be so deeply affected by her child's death 16 years later. 😲 I'm very glad they were able to persuade the rest of the room to give this one a shot.

On to darker things...

I had to laugh at your comparison of Long, the grocer, to Mr. Chuckle Teeth. Now I'll never watch that scene again without thinking that!

Nothing much to add to the first part of your musings on The Outsiders. As an aside, Paramount Plus screwed up with the incomplete title on this one. That's important because the title doesn't refer just to the outsiders who invade the tunnel community but also to the one member of that community who is also in many ways an outsider.

And even Cathy-- it wasn't really her fault this time around so much as Father's for forgetting about her (because of everything on his mind but also his other, more urgent priorities-- interesting dynamic); and though it went against Vincent's wishes, there was nothing else for her to do, really.

A couple things here. Father doesn't forget about Cathy. If you'll remember, he asked Cathy to meet Pascal and a group of children to escort the kids to a helper uptop. Pascal never makes it to the meeting because his group is ambushed on the way there. That's when Matthew and Simon are killed by the outsiders and Vincent kills the small group who attacked them (marking the first time we see him kill a woman, by the way).

And I strongly disagree with you about Cathy's decision to venture below. There was absolutely something else she could have done instead. She could have done as Vincent asked and stayed away. These lines are so, so important to the arc of Vincent's storyline going forward. It's not always brought up in future episodes, but the seed of his downward spiral starts here, I think. From the scene on Cathy's balcony:

C: Well then, let me try to help. V: No! You must stay away from it. C: That world, those tunnels, are part of my life too. And so are you! V: And if the worst should happen, you must not be anywhere near. C: If the worst happens, I want to be by your side. With you. V: No. Not like that. Not ever again.

Three times he tells her to stay away, because he already knows how this is going to end. He knows he'll end up killing at least some of the outsiders and he doesn't want her there when it happens.

Not like that, he says to her. Not ever again. Translation: I don't want you there when I kill. I don't want you to witness that. I can't continue to be burdened by the visceral emotions I always feel in you when I've killed in your protection, and with you so close. With you invariably throwing yourself at me in the immediate aftermath of my killings, when everything within me is nothing but beast and everything within you is exaltation at my protection of you, and your love for me at its strongest and most primal. I don't want to be that for you anymore. I don't want to feel that in you anymore - not from my killings. To steal another of Vincent's lines from A Happy Life that fits here as well: "It mocks our dream."

It's important to remember that Vincent draws a very distinct line in his own mind about what is acceptable when it comes to protection of the tunnel community and their world as opposed to the killing he's forced to do Above, in Catherine's world. His posture and the way he holds himself, even the way he kills, is vastly different from when he dispatches the first group of outsiders without Cathy there, to when she is the one in danger and right there with him. And Cathy seems to finally understand why he didn't want her there when she watches him go absolutely ape-shit on the group at the end. She tells him, "No, stop!" Too little, too late, Cathy.

Vincent is right that bloodthirst is a part of him but wrong to assume it taints the whole of himself; etc. etc.

I'm not so sure I agree with that. I think his assumption is correct. What he does when he loses himself in protection of Cathy does taint him.

V: How can you even look at me? C: Because I know you… I know who you are. V: You don't know me. C: Vincent… There are dark places in all of us. V: But part of me feeds in that darkness and I am lost in it.

He's right. He's not exaggerating. He can very pragmatically dispose of any threat to his world and his family, but when it's for Cathy, it's a whole different set of emotions and needs. And Vincent knows as long as that's true, he can never have the kind of life, be the kind of man, he wants to be with her.

As far as reactions... Vincent fans tended to view this ep as a deeper look at him and his dichotomies, while fans of the romance part of the story didn't like it because of the level of violence, and didn't seem to understand the ramifications.

Okay, that exhausted me. I need a nap now. Enjoy Orphans, it's a well-needed respite. It's also deeply sad though, too, for both Vincent and Cathy.

#beauty and the beast 1987 #season 2 #discussion #a gentle rain #the outsiders

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veliseraptor · 2 years

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AU ask: 5 headcanons about your reluctant shishi-verse!

oooh this is a fun one. okay, haven't been in this au for a while but here goes

so Xiao Xingchen doesn't know what's going on, obviously, but he knows something is going on, and I think he...doesn't know about Song Lan but he has some vague memories that mostly feel like those dreams you sort of remember but don't really, and also has always had a vague feeling of somebody missing who should be around but he always just kind of chalked it up to general loneliness, and it did get better when he started seeing Xue Yang, so. but after the most recent fic he definitely suspects something, and he's much more inclined than Xue Yang is to look for or think of a supernatural explanation, though I don't think he has one yet. but he does know this all feels very funny.

there is a distinct possibility that as Xue Yang gets more and more paranoid and desperate to figure out who the fuck Song Lan is and why he keeps lurking around and what he wants that he will put together that Song Lan shows up when he's in trouble for whatever reason and, like, walk in front of a car because it's the only way he has of fucking finding the guy and talking to him. it's not out of the question. he'd definitely at least think about it.

he doesn't even consider the idea that this is a friendly thing. doesn't buy that for a minute. he knows the vibes he's getting off Chinese Batman and they aren't positive! this is a guy who keeps saving his life but consistently gives off "desperately want to murder you" vibes. it's very confusing and makes no sense and honestly that's one of the more concerning things about this whole bizarre situation, other than the fact that he knows, intuitively, that he has to keep Chinese Batman and Xiao Xingchen from interacting with each other because something undefinedly awful will happen if they do.

Song Lan, meanwhile, is just. having a time of it. I mean, obviously, he's been having a time of it for a long time now, he's spent more of his life having a time of it than otherwise, but this is a new level! and also he is concerned that his "I am doing this for Xingchen's happiness only" line is maybe not a good enough explanation, and he sort of wonders if Xue Yang is still somehow fucking with his head even though he's not a demonic cultivator anymore, and he kind of hopes that's it because all the other potential explanations are worse.

also now his problem is that Xue Yang seems to be actively trying to stay on the (more or less) straight and narrow (or at least the less violently illegal) and now he doesn't have an excuse to stalk him anymore, particularly since Xue Yang seems hellbent on tracking him down, which is problematic in a lot of ways, and really Song Lan should just move on and go somewhere else but that would mean leaving Xingchen again even though he's not even technically with Xingchen, just kind of hovering awkwardly in his vicinity, and-

(like I said, having a time.)

honestly though I really do feel for Xiao Xingchen in all of this because he's got all of the anxiety about his risk-taking boyfriend generally and the "something is going on but I have no clue what" confusion of Xue Yang and none of the context that Song Lan has for any of it.

#conversating #silvysartfulness #i feel like i want to revisit this one but i'm not sure where to take it exactly #aggressively headcanons #i feel like i had a tag for these but idk what it was anymore #song lan #xue yang #xiao xingchen #the sad queer cultivators show

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priscilaoutofcontext · 30 days

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Initial context, a month and a half ago, a new girl showed up at school in my class, right in the middle of the school year, which in itself is weird, but that was none of my business.

At first I was a little reluctant to be nice or try to get along, but I thought she was a very nice girl and she was the first to talk to me, asking for help and acting "friendly", saying that she was a "good vibes" person and that she wasn't looking for trouble.

Since (according to my friends) I'm a person who has a soft side and gives in easily instead of keeping a "serious" facade, I automatically smiled and started helping her, offering her a tour, giving her my notes, telling her things she should know about the course, the teachers and so on, all very well, I even spent my own money to buy her cookies and made her some tea because she seemed nervous.

She arrived at school on a Friday, so the following week (Monday through Friday) I tried to continue acting nice, even showing my orange cat or golden retriever personality, being playful and integrating her into my group of friends.

The teachers brought her into my work group (Esme and I), at first I agreed and even did extra work so that the new girl (whom we will call "Betty") wouldn't do anything or get overwhelmed by arriving at a new school and new people.

Let's say that on Tuesday and Wednesday of her first week, I asked Betty and Esme to continue the work they had to do while I corrected and tidied things up, they agreed but then they started talking to a boy we'll call James, he was a friend of mine, or at least we used to be, I didn't say anything, I didn't even complain because I thought it would be good for Betty to meet new people.

On Wednesday, Betty skipped school and on Thursday she made some "jokes" that weren't very funny (she made fun of a blind man and said some other things that just weren't friendly).

(Postscript: And yes, if I made references to Taylor Swift's Folklore with Betty and James, I was born for my mother and I will die for TayTay)

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nicklloydnow · 2 years

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“In 1972, Lancelot wasn’t coming off as cleanly as Walker Percy would have liked. He was under intense, self-imposed pressure to produce another critically successful novel. A relatively new empty-nester, he was also drinking more heavily than usual, and was in something of a crisis of faith. Writing to his friend Shelby Foote, he said, “I’ve been in a long spell of acedia, anomie and aridity in which, unlike the saints who write under the assaults of devils, I simply get sleepy and doze off.” Percy being Percy, he inserts a wry, self-deprecating note into his reportage, but his travail with the affliction was very real.

(…)

Acedia made its way into modern parlance as sloth, a word we now associate with the supposedly benign vices of laziness or idleness. Percy knew better. In these couple of instances, he does indeed mention laziness and sleepiness, but he does so in the context of acedia’s more classic associations: as a complex, subtle, destructive habit of the soul—with a possibly demonic origin—that neglects the weightier matters of love of God and neighbor for more immediately gratifying pleasures. Moreover, he interprets acedia not just as an arcane spiritual malady of early monastics. Rather, it is a widespread, distinctly modern phenomenon that “has settled like a fallout,” as he says in The Moviegoer, and it is capable of imposing itself upon the modern person regardless of his or her affiliation with the religious life.

A wily demon, acedia is difficult to pin down. It’s a trickster, a shapeshifter, a boggart. It goes out of focus when you try to look directly at it. The term itself defies translation: despondency, sloth, lassitude, ennui, melancholy—each displays an aspect, none the full image.

The desert monks who first wrestled the demon acedia to the ground did so by grinding through their prayers in the pitiless heat of the Egyptian wilderness. In doing so they became superbly intimate with their failures. Evagrius had a theoretical bent and began cataloging the modes and patterns of failure he and his fellow monks encountered. Eventually he placed acedia at the center of a spectrum comprising the “eight thoughts,” the fountainhead of the seven-deadly-sins tradition. On the one side of the spectrum, he said, lie our animal or material vices; on the other, the vices of the intellect. Acedia, he said, is “the complex thought” because it stands at the center of the spectrum and thus assimilates aspects of both the material and the intellectual into itself.

Acedia causes the soul, hovering between a person’s animal nature and rational intellect, to shrink from contemplation or the possibility of contemplation. Reluctant to ascend to pure intellection, it becomes possessed of lethargy and stupefaction. Aridity and ennui take hold, giving rise to restlessness, mania, indolence, somnolence, discouragement—whatever will do to turn the face away from the fire of God’s love. The habit of acedia terminates in the failure of all hope. Acedia in extremis eventuates in despair and in some cases suicide. Thomas Aquinas says acedia pulls apart the constituent parts of the human being and then causes us to mistake the physical, transitory part of human existence for the whole. He calls this mistake “animal beatitude.”

The fundamental paradox of acedia lies in the fact that contemplation must be a possibility in order to experience it. Acedia is so dangerous because it involves a denial of the possibility that God has in fact saved us in the Incarnation. And it is so subtle because it manifests not as rebellion but by sedimenting into the habit of despair. Aquinas’s animal beatitude is not defiance of God but a loss of concern for salvation, a kind of spiritual disintegration. One might even notice one no longer cares about one’s salvation, but one doesn’t care that one doesn’t care.

(…)

Binx tells the reader early on in The Moviegoer that he used to read only “fundamental” books, such as War and Peace and Schrödinger’s What Is Life?—books that he thought would give him mastery over the world. Percy identifies two types of modern people: the theorist and the consumer. Theorists master the world according to abstract generalizations, eliminating the individual person. Consumers, Percy says, participate in “the goods and services of scientific theory”; but as passive, second-tier actors with regard to the ascendant philosopher-kings of modern science, they remain latently dissatisfied. Binx might be said to have renounced the life of the theorist only to have taken up the life of the consumer. Having been involved in scientific research on kidney stones in pigs, he instead became enchanted by the wonder of the world around him, gazing at dust motes in shafts of late-afternoon sunlight. Binx’s renunciation of the life of a theorist resulted from his encounter with something that was calling him beyond everydayness. But he failed to heed the summons of the search and instead slouched into the life of the consumer, pursuing money and women and hiding his despair from himself. Only years later does he notice the failure. The novel turns on his waking himself up from acedia, from the death-in-life of everydayness, and embarking on the search.

The product of both theory and consumption, Percy says, is “sadness and anxiety.” Aquinas says in reference to acedia that “no one can remain in sadness”; we can’t bear it, so we resolve it in some other action. One route we take away from sadness and anxiety is harm—of ourselves and others. Percy says that the denizen of the modern world, whether theorist or consumer, “can become so frustrated, bored, and enraged that he resorts to violence, violence upon himself (drugs, suicide) or upon others (murder, war).” But acedia, or everydayness, presents an opportunity not only for violence but also for real contemplation. Those cast out from both theory and consumerism have the opportunity to open themselves to the risk of something more. “In the old Christendom,” Percy says, “everyone was a Christian and hardly anyone thought twice about it. But in the present age the survivor of theory and consumption becomes a wayfarer in the desert, like St. Anthony; which is to say, open to signs.”

Acedia, once overcome, gives way to prayer. “Prayer,” Evagrius says, “is the elimination of sorrow and dejection.” In a way, then, acedia is the threshold of contemplation, provided one is willing to sit with it rather than flee from it. Spending the night at his mother’s cabin, Binx says he is “locked in a death grip with everydayness, sworn not to move a muscle until I advance another inch in my search.” When he does advance, it is by overcoming his “invincible apathy”—another daughter of acedia.

(…)

What does all this have to do with acedia? As the ultimate antidote to acedia, Thomas Aquinas recommends nothing less than the Incarnation itself. Acedia is a malady that pulls apart the animal and rational parts of our nature and pits them against each other. As the archetype of humanity, the incarnate Christ, fully God and fully man, not only perfectly joins body and mind and thus heals our deformed, schizoid human nature but also bears in himself the fullness of God’s sacramental presence in creation.

(…)

Percy maintained throughout his life that, “to the degree that a society has been overtaken by a sense of malaise, the vocation of the artist...can perhaps be said to come that much closer to that of the diagnostician.” The artist’s work, in other words, is not an autopsy but a diagnosis made in the hope of recovery—an attempt, he says, to “give the sickness a name, to render the unspeakable speakable.” Even when he is at his bleakest, Percy manages to counter despair with the possibility, however elusive, of hope. The fact that Lamar is speaking about—even confessing—his vengefulness and violence indicates as much; and the novel closes on the possibility of dialogical counterpoint, maybe even absolution. What will Percival the psychiatrist-priest say in response to Lancelot’s confession? The novel doesn’t tell us. But there are signs, even amid the darkness of Lancelot’s infernal vision, that Lamar could still move into the realm of contemplation. The question is whether we, the readers Percy is ultimately addressing, are able to recognize those signs.

Percy believed that the world is strewn with such signs, if only we are looking for them, and know where to look. It is all too easy to miss—or even blind ourselves to—the signs of the transcendent shot through the world of the everyday, and therefore to miss everything. But it is exactly in that world that we find Walker Percy, a voice in the wilderness crying out like a prophet, “He that hath ears to hear let him hear.””

“There often seem to be two camps of Percy readers: those who still treat him as Gospel Prophet of the Apocalyptic Modern World and those who think he is overrated, too outdated, or otherwise done to death. As a convert driven away from evangelicalism toward Catholicism largely through reading his (and other Catholic) novels, I am particularly interested in the rather strong opinions longtime or cradle Catholics tend to have of him. As image bearers of the One True Church, Catholics need to understand what people coming in from the outside see worth clinging to in Catholicism.

While I generally try to be understanding of people’s differing tastes, when I see Catholics criticizing him, misunderstanding him, or trying to dismiss his value, I am almost tempted to shake them, demanding: don’t you understand what a good thing you have here? (I am also tempted to throw in some profanity for good Percy-character measure.) Yet I suspect that in the case of Walker Percy, it may be a situation where if you have to ask what is so great about him, you might not understand the explanation. If you are uncomfortable with the aspects of his writing that are meant to evoke discomfort—and are leaving it at that—perhaps you are missing the point.

(…)

On a certain level, perhaps I can understand how some people might not appreciate Percy’s style. He was writing with such an intense focus on such a particular period in American culture that, if you are not looking hard enough, it can be hard to see the swamp for the moss. At certain times in my relationship with Percy, I have wandered off, unable to see how his obsessions with the banal sorts of evil that weigh us down every day could translate to my life—or perhaps I was simply too close to them.

For it seems to me that most of the charges our current culture might like to weigh against people like him—too comfortable with language about things like race and gender that now can grate against our postmodern sensibilities; too comfortable with making us uncomfortable with how difficult it is to truly face our lower natures—reflect the very people in his novels whom we are meant to see as lacking something vital.

(…)

I like to think it is this reality-centered aspect of Percy’s work that makes him particularly well suited for a time like Lent. It is why I feel this almost magnetic pull toward his books each year as winter gives way to Mardi Gras, reminding me of the physical and spiritual scenes that await. If we are uncomfortable with Percy for moral or aesthetic reasons, Lancelot is an ideal litmus test for getting us in tune with our own failings. In my case, the novel makes me squirm as it forces me to consider in an almost Dostoevskian sense how easy it can be to descend into evil once the word is stripped of its gravity or essence.

When getting from day to day becomes the most difficult obstacle—too familiar to anyone with depression or other chronic (physical or spiritual) ailments—larger mysteries can become nearly impossible to take seriously. Trapped with his own thoughts and a vague recollection of his capacity for evil, Lance just wanted to figure out the endless puzzle of living from one moment to the next. As he said of someone else, “All he had to do was solve the mystery of the universe, which may be difficult but is not as difficult as living an ordinary life.”

He did not know what words “meant” anymore; he just wanted love and a tall glass of something good. Spoken as a true citizen of Louisiana, Lance felt that “one of the biggest discoveries” of his life was this: “It was simply that there is such a thing as a beautiful day to go out into, a road to travel, good food to eat when you’re hungry, wine to drink when you’re thirsty, and most of all, 99 percent of all, no: all of all: a woman to love.”

(…)

Despite the long-windedness of some of his characters, Percy has a unique way of cutting through the fat to proclaim certain truths about human nature that are simultaneously peculiar to his time and relevant to all times. His anti-heroic heroes’ frequent inability to abide by such truths is merely a reflection of how impossible it is to live in a state of grace without constantly returning to its source—how frequently our own natures (not to mention our culture) impede our ability to recognize that grace, much less remain open to it.

That brokenness, as it dwells alongside a certain measure of conviction that we are made for something better, makes these books uncomfortable inasmuch as they are supremely relatable—far more so, arguably, than Flannery’s freaks or Waugh’s statuesque pilgrims of a bygone age. In all cases, however, it is that underlying conviction that Catholicism makes reality possible that ultimately redeems our pathetic attempts to attain it. Despite his characters’ crooked paths toward this truth, Percy never wavers.

(…)

A great strength of so much of the best Catholic literature is what might be termed a “proof by contrast”: the reality of the Church is demonstrated primarily by the obvious incompleteness or misunderstandings of opposing points of view. In this sense, I can understand the less aggressive approach to evangelization that I have tended to encounter among many Catholics. It is almost as if their apologetics could be summed up in another familiar Percy quote: “What else is there?””

#percy #walker percy #acedia #malaise #ennui #catholic #catholiscism #existentialism

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lilacmoon83 · 2 years

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Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 61: Only Human

"Sheriff's Department…open up," she called, but heard no one respond so she knocked again.

"Sheriff's department…" she called again and this time, she heard a voice croak a response.

"It's open…" he said, clearly male in tone. She opened it up and stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called, as she scanned the inside and finally saw someone laying on a seat inside.

"Hello Emma…" August, who was now very much completely wooden, said.

"August…" she uttered. The corners of his wooden mouth turned upward slightly.

"I'd say in the flesh…but yeah, there's none of that left," he replied.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I turned back to wood…completely," he stated.

"But I broke the curse…I thought that was supposed to fix you?" she asked. He struggled, but managed to sit up.

"Me too…but the opposite happened when the rainbow wave washed over me. I guess…I haven't been selfless, brave, and true. The Blue Fairy warned me I had to be or I would turn back to wood," he said.

"That's crap…no one can be selfless, brave, and true all the time. Flaws are what make us human and if she doesn't get that, then she knows nothing about what it means to be human," Emma replied. He smiled.

"She is a Fairy…and strives for perfection," he said.

"Well, she lied to my parents so she falls just as short as the rest of us in the perfection department," she replied, as he got up.

"We need to get you back to town," she said.

"I can't go back there, Emma," he replied.

"You have to…do you have any idea what's happened since the curse broke?" she asked.

"No…I haven't kept up," he replied. Emma huffed and sat down.

"Then get ready for a crash course and then we're going back to town," she said, as she proceeded to explain recent events.

~*~

Snow and David approached Granny's hand in hand, with Red following them and saw the gathering there that consisted of everyone that George had managed to whip into a frenzy.

"Well…there you are. The reason we're here at all and have been splashed all over the television and Internet for all to see," George said. Snow glanced at Granny, who nodded.

"They're breaking the story right now. That rich prick was true to his word and has some reporter showing the videos they have. With context," she explained.

"We're about to become a tourist trap and we'll be lucky if we don't all end up in a government facility somewhere," George spat.

"And it's her fault that we're here in the first place," he added, as rumbles of agreement spread through the crowd.

"Wrong…we're here, because of Regina and her curse," David retorted.

"Yet the Queen walks free, because once again, Snow White is reluctant to punish her stepmother for her crimes. She's as unfit to lead as you are, shepherd," George said.

"You mean lead like you did? Before I came along, you led your Kingdom into bankruptcy," David reminded.

"Your coffers were empty so you sacrificed your son, my brother, for gold and when he died, I took his place and you tried to marry me off to fill your coffers," he added, as he saw some of the people exchange glances. Snow placed a hand on his arm.

"We couldn't stop the curse…but we gave up everything to ensure there was an end to the curse and there was, thanks to our daughter," he added.

"What about the Queen?!" Whale shouted.

"She is free, because we have a common enemy and that's Narcissa Blake. She's the reason these interlopers have found their way into town. Only if we all unite can we stand against the danger that these outsiders pose," David said strongly.

"You can't herd us like sheep, shepherd. Why should we follow you, a lowly peasant?" George questioned smugly.

"Because I am just like the people you're pandering to. I know what it is to come from nothing," he said, as he looked to the people.

"He's manipulating you to turn on us. He's always looking to place blame on anyone but himself in a grab for power. He used to be allied with Regina, but as soon as she was out of power, he quickly sided with Narcissa. It's all he cares about, but my wife is different," he announced, as he looked at her.

"She gave up our child to make sure her people would someday get their lives back and their identities. She's your true leader," David said.

"The Blue Fairy has expressed her reluctance to follow you two again. You two are unwilling to punish the wicked and villainous," George countered. David smirked.

"Lucky for you or we would have executed you back in our land instead of just taking your Kingdom," he said, as there was agreement in the crowd with that. George frowned.

"And the Blue Fairy has proven that she may not be the best council. She lied to us about the wardrobe and it jeopardized our daughter's life. She should have had us or at least her mother to guide her, but she was alone in this world, abandoned and it haunts us every day," Snow said, as she looked at Marco and Archie, as she spotted them in the back.

"But this Blue Fairy and her sisters have proven to be far more trustworthy than Reul Ghorm," Snow added, as she smiled at Merryweather.

"I'm disappointed in you, Snow…" Blue chided, in an attempt to shame her.

"Likewise," David retorted coldly.

"She lied…because of me. I asked her to," Marco said.

"She didn't have to do as you asked," David replied.

"You would do anything for your daughter! I would do anything for my son! I was desperate! You have your daughter now…I have no son," Marco said.

"That's not true, Papa…" a voice said, as heads turned to find Emma there with a wooden August. Snow gasped and exchanged a glance with her husband.

"My…my boy…" Marco uttered, as he went to him, as Emma joined her parents, who hugged her between them, with her father cradling her head.

"It's good to finally see you, papa," August said.

"But…what happened?" he asked.

"I guess I wasn't selfless, brave, and true. The curse broke and I turned back to wood," he replied.

"I'm sorry August…but this was the price of magic," Blue said.

"You set him up for failure from the beginning!" Emma exclaimed, as all eyes turned to her again.

"No one is selfless, brave and true all the time. Being human means making mistakes and hopefully learning from them. You told him he had to be perfect, ensuring that he was doomed to fail, as any of us would, from the start," she added.

"Emma…you don't understand," Blue started to lecture.

"Oh I understand perfectly. We've heard about all the "help" you've given to others or rather all the people you've screwed over, including me and my parents," Emma said.

"She's right…and I'm just one in your long line of victims," Neal added, as he arrived with his father, who was enjoying seeing Blue be called out so publicly.

"Magic always has a price…ask the Dark One," Blue retorted.

"Yes…it does, but it always seems a bit steeper than it needs to be with you, dearie," Gold hissed.

"I know everything you've been up to…things that no one else knows," he added, as she looked a little worried.

"And I know things about you too, Dark One…" she challenged, as they stared each other down.

"Another reason not to trust the Charmings…they side with the Dark One!" George announced, creating commotion among the crowd.

"Things are never that black and white," David said.

"The scrutiny that's about to be on you and your wife will cause untold consequences, thanks to your theatrics in killing that beast," George countered.

"I fought Malachi to save my wife and anyone else that might get in his way. Have you ever picked up a sword to defend anyone but yourself? Or are you content just to send your soldiers to die for you? Including my brother," David replied. George growled and grabbed David by the collar, but Charming was far stronger and easily broke away from his hold.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…you can follow true leaders in Snow and Charming or you can follow this snake, who cares only for himself and his own power. Trust me…I'm a fairy too and know all about the disgraceful King George," Merryweather said, as she looked at Blue.

"And if you follow Reul Ghorm, she'll eventually betray you too," she added.

"Careful Merryweather…there is no magic here now, but if there ever is, it's talk like that which will give me cause to take your wings," Blue warned. But Merryweather smirked.

"Go right ahead, honey…this is a new world, as if you haven't noticed. I never should have obeyed you then when you ordered me away from Snow, but I won't make that mistake again. This family and this town will be protected by me and my sisters…especially from the likes of you," she announced.

"Well…I guess lines have been drawn. We'll see which side comes out on top," George said, as he walked away, taking a portion of the crowd with him, but a significant amount did not follow. It wasn't a complete win and meant division in the town, but Emma knew they were on the right side and they would eventually win over most.

"So…how bad do you think the world is freaking out right now?" Ruby asked the blonde. Emma sighed.

"It's hard to say. I mean…to be honest, there's a lot of people that don't believe in anything, even when it's right in front of them. I know, I used to be one of them," she said.

"So you think that they might think it's all fake?" Snow asked, with hope in her voice.

"Yeah…probably. I mean, the internet is full of fake stuff and CGI videos," Emma replied.

"I hate to rain on your optimism, but Aleister plans to open this place up as a tourist attraction. Some are going to see up close and personal. And probably soon," Neal said.

"Then we hope our little plan that's in the works soon pays off," David said.

"We need a back up if it doesn't," Gold reasoned.

"Witch Mountain…it can get us all out of this," Neal said.

"Except getting everyone there without being stopped is a long shot," Emma replied.

"So we make this place seem as normal as possible," Neal said. Emma looked at him incredulously.

"Uh…how the hell are we going to do that with Mr. Wizard over there using his wand like he's in some twisted version of Fantasia?" Emma questioned. He smirked.

"He's the only one with magic right now. He can put on his shows for the popcorn brigade, but we know that most people have the attention span of a goldfish," he said.

"Once they see that, despite the fancy magic shows at the shiny new Casino, the rest of the town is pretty normal and small, they'll lose interest," Neal said.

"I don't know…" Emma said skeptically.

"Come on…the town itself is still stuck in the eighties, including most of the technology. Our one screen movie theater is still showing Return of the Jedi, for crying out loud," he replied, making her snicker.

"Yeah…the Casino is still a problem though. It's going to attract people and he's going to keep growing and updating things around here," Emma said. He sighed, knowing she was right.

"We're forgetting something else too," Merryweather interjected.

"What's that?" Snow asked.

"This town has existed outside the country's government for twenty-eight years now. In addition to tourists, we may soon have the federal government here as well," she warned.

"Great…we are all going to end up in a government facility somewhere," David replied.

"Witch Mountain is our escape then…we have to figure it out, unless we get that wand," Snow said.

"If we can get this wand, we can cloak the town and expel the outsiders for good. We'd never be able to leave…but it's the best solution," Gold replied.

"Yeah…because the Internet is blowing up and people on social media are saying they're already planning to make their way here to see it in person," Red added, as she scrolled her phone.

"Seriously?" Emma asked.

"The video of David fighting the werewolf already has twenty millions views in just thirty minutes. This thing is going nuclear," Red replied.

"We need that wand…or you two won't be able to go outside without being mobbed," Gold warned, as he looked at the pair of true loves. Snow leaned her head against his arm. All that attention and scrutiny on her husband worried her for his safety greatly.

"Then we need a plan…and we need a good one," David said, as Maleficent approached.

"I want to help," she said.

"Oh you helped…" David retorted. She paused for a moment.

"I know…I made a mistake and that a lot of this is my fault," she said.

"You're right about that, dearie," Gold hissed.

"Lily…rejected me. She considers the Bolts her family and wants nothing to do with me. They've brainwashed her too," Maleficent said, as she looked at Emma.

"But maybe you can get through to her," she added.

"Me?" Emma asked. She nodded.

"You were best friends…she might listen if you try to make amends," Maleficent replied.

"I can try…but I brushed her off pretty harshly back then and if she decides that this is her revenge on me, I don't know if she'll listen to anything I have to say," Emma replied, as Maleficent's eyes pleaded with her. She sighed.

"But I'll give it a shot," she relented.

"Thank you," she said.

"For now…we should go eat. It might be the last time we can be in public for a while," Emma said sourly.

"Except we're going to have to still police the town," David added.

"No more foot patrols alone, Dad. It's going to be too risky for you," Emma said. He sighed.

"Em, I've slayed dragons and fought Black Knights," he protested.

"And let me tell you that rabid fans are way worse than both," she countered.

"Agree," Snow said, as he looked at her indignantly.

"Then we are going to need a couple more deputies if we're going to patrol in pairs," David said.

"I'm up for it," Neal said.

"Us too," Tony said, as he and Tia joined them.

"Welcome aboard then," Emma replied, as they went into the diner. Snow stopped him though and he turned back to her.

"Snow?" he asked, as she slipped her arms around his neck.

"I'm worried…about there being so much attention on you," she said. He smiled gently and pulled her close.

"I'll be fine, I promise…" he assured her.

"I know…I guess I'm just fighting that old instinct to run. Part of me wants to take you, Emma, Henry and everyone close to us and run for Witch Mountain," she admitted.

"Who could blame us? We gave up…a lot for people that don't seem to be very grateful," he said, as she rested her head against his shoulder and he kissed her hair.

"Ah…if it isn't my stars," Aleister said, as he arrived with Greg and a man they didn't recognize. Kurt followed them, looking none too happy.

"Go to hell," David spat.

"Oh…now that is not a very nice greeting to the man that has just made Prince Charming an action hero and a household name," he goaded.

"I don't want your fame and attention. Leave us alone," David spat, as they went into Granny's.

"You should check the Internet. They love you," he commented, as they followed them in. Greg seemed to follow his boss and when neither were paying attention, David leaned toward Kurt.

"We need that wand," he whispered.

"It's almost impossible with all his guards. But I heard something that might give us an opportunity," Kurt whispered.

"What is it?" Snow asked.

"Aleister said he wants to throw a grand ball, like the ones you had back in your land and invite everyone. Now, I know you would normally refuse to go to something like that and no one could blame you. But…it could be just the opportunity we need," Kurt answered.

"He's right…getting near him without guards would be impossible, but if he lets us right into the same room with him, we might have a shot," David said. Kurt nodded.

"Thanks for the heads up. We'll just have to surprise him and accept that invitation," he added. Kurt nodded and joined his son, before they could notice they were talking.

"The thought of going to a party thrown by that man is unappealing at best…but this could be it," Snow said. He nodded.

"We get that wand and we don't have to be the ones to leave our new home. We can get that wand to Merryweather and she can fix everything," he replied, as the man that they didn't recognize, started taking photos of them. Emma saw him and approached.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked. He smirked.

"Walsh…nice to meet you, beautiful," he replied.

"My name is Emma and you're going to delete those pictures of my parents while I watch you do it," she demanded.

"Sorry Emma…but there's no law against taking photos of my surroundings and this will be a great follow up to the groundbreaking broadcast I just reported on," he said.

"So you're the reporter…" she said.

"And so much more…maybe we can get a drink sometime," he offered.

"When monkeys fly," she spat in return.

"Granny…can we get that order to go?" she called.

"Already on it," the old woman replied, as it came up and she grabbed it.

"Let's go back to the loft," she said, as she turned to Gold and Neal.

"Are you coming?" she asked. Neal smiled and nodded, as they followed. Things had changed drastically in just a few moments and she didn't like it at all. They needed to fix this and they needed to fix it soon…

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #AU #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #Mr. Gold #Regina Mills #Henry Mills #romance #family #adventure #Clarity #A 7x15 am AU

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

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∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

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