#and different ways of writing and how to use music to inspire work and all that jazz

[somewhere-at-the-burrow]

i would LOVE to hear you talk about music in your dr, music, art, writing/poetry, etc, is one of THE main reasons i'm shifting, and i never see anyone talk about it

I also never see anyone talking about this, and it is such a big part of shifting that I have grown to love so much :,) music and media really holds us together, no matter where we are! here is my best explanation of the music in my weasley reality!

𝒲izarding ℳusic !

TO START, I have noticed that the music and the bands that are popular have a lot of scattered influence from many eras and genres. it is still popular to hear songs on the WWN with lots of classic jazz influence, and then the next song will be a witchy synth anthem inspired by muggle technology and the pop culture of the 80s--- THE RANGE IS CRAZY!

for example: in my Weasley reality, Celestina Warbeck is arguably the most popular and well listened to musician of the century, and she really paved the way for wizarding artists changing their styles and taking influence from muggle music. she had many different eras, ranging from jazz to pop to surprisingly.. witchy rock!

even in her old age (I think she is around 80 years old?), she has still released singles that push different styles and experiment with the ever changing world of music. although, some people really dislike her music simply because it is played so much.

(I remember once I was talking to my mom about her when we saw a live Celestina rendition at the Harry Potter theme park, and my mom said she sounded like the wizarding world version of Taylor Swift. IT IS SO TRUE THOUGH, because she even has a dedicated fanbase that call themselves the Banshees. crazy!)

Another very cool thing about music in the wizarding world is charmed music.

as in this reality, music has evident "energy" that can make you feel a whole range of emotions... but for musicians with magic, that can take on a whole different meaning! it is almost like subliminal messaging, but songs can be "enchanted" with spells through lyrics or have sounds and choruses that are intended to put you in a trance.

this is really common with wizarding party music! I mentioned it in another post, but one of my all time favorite songs is "Man of Midnight" by Celestina Warbeck... the song is known for being bewitching, even if it does not sound fully like a "party song". I have no idea how to describe it, but when I listen to the song I feel like the most powerful person alive? I always tell Fred that it is a siren song.. and that is honestly the closest I can describe it. He just says it makes him alive with motivation and that is why we listen to it at least once when we do work together !

Another form of charmed music is sports chants. a common theme with these chants is their appearance throughout wizarding history, often carrying ancient and intense emotion within their words.

I have only experienced this one time, and it was at the League Cup (Kestrels V Harpies). When the Kestrels were ahead, one of the Irish bands that played in the fairgrounds started singing an old Irish song that originated from the game of Aingingein. even though the game is not played anymore, everyone knows the song. it is almost like a representation of Irish pride?

so when the whole charged up crowd started chanting, it felt like there was ancient and intense game spirit coursing through the stadium. I wasn't even rooting for the Kestrels, but damn I felt like standing on my seat and declaring that I would die for Ireland or something 😭 i've never in my ENTIRE life felt so spiritual about the opposing team, and within a minute of the stadium chanting!

Something else I find very very cool about wizarding music in my desired reality is how music is distributed.

they regularly use common things like vinyls and the radio, and magical concerts happen very often.. but something I didn't expect were lyrical signatures.

these are a weird invention. as the name suggests, these musical souvenirs are similar to a signature of pages in a book... however, they are also very similar to singing birthday cards.

many wizarding bands will sell these mini booklets that showcase a song (or songs) on their pages, and when you open the booklet or flip to a certain page, the song will play. it is seriously the most genius thing ever!

many of these booklets are formatted like a CD, with the album cover being on the front, the first page talking about the album and the band accomplishments of the year, and the next pages each showcasing songs from the collection. it is also very common to have the lyrics on the left side, with song information and sometimes a themed image on the right side.

I had NO idea these would be so popular in my DR. they are given as gifts, mailed to relatives and friends who may not have access to them around the world, and even collected! it is seriously like the wizarding CD. Bill has this epic collection of signatures that he has alphabetized and organized by genre, and he even had a custom box with slots to store them. he's the coolest brother!!

this form of music is so fun.. you can just open up to the song you like and place it open on table, or you can charm it to flip from beginning to end to enjoy the whole album. definitely the most unexpected yet coolest thing that I have discovered while shifting!!

i'll probably make a pt. 2 of my favorite magical bands and musicians, as I have so much I could say and I think they deserve their own section! thank you if you have read this far, and I really appreciate how kind you all were in my absence :,)

good luck shifting everyone!!

[oshinsimblr]

hey friends! i was unable to post all of my early access content bc i'm sick. but i was able to post this video, which in my honest opinion are the major features in this 'romance' pack.

IS IT WORTH $40?

DEPENDS ON HOW BADLY YOU NEED THESE FEATURES TBH.

this review is brought to you by the ea creator network. all of my opinions are my own. i must disclose this per FTC guidelines #ad.

*i do not cover everything in the pack, only the things that stood out for me lol. i'm sorry i'm not used to doing full reviews up here

the attraction system is helpful and expands dating (which is great, but we've had mods that could do this for some time: pick your poison). the romantic satisfaction is the star here. i love being able to create one sided relationships and actually take care of our romantic relationships with sims. this is a valuable feature for me!

cupid's corner is a nice "hey i don't need this mod" anymore type of feature. prior to this i was using lumpinou's meet & mingle which allowed me to meet with sims (platonic and romantic). i dislike that you can not write custom bio's for your sims. i love the way the app functions, i love saving sims and adding them to our rel. panel - and getting to know them through the phone first. i wish we could've defined our sims favorite music/foods/color etc.

i'll admit it, i'm a sucker for dynamics. family dynamics from the sims 4 growing together are so good (minus the fact that everyone wants to be f*cking jokesters after one joke lol). but i love them! they really do impact my sims relationships. the different romance dynamics are interesting. for example: a strained romance dynamic makes it VERY hard for your sims to communicate. it's like your sims will randomly hug each other, but then 5 secs later they're upset. they want to love each other so badly but they can't lol.

now onto random things that excited me. you can go to cupid's couples counseling. i did not know we'd actually be able to answer questions. these sims had a strained romance dynamic and it was so bad - the therapist suggested we come back. but when i tried to schedule it again, they were booked and i had to wait to schedule another appt. which is great, because in the meantime your sims are going downhill fast and you have to keep the peace until then (if you choose).

there are new pop ups and invites. there's even one for a reality dating show lol. you can turn these off in game settings. (if you're wondering, mr. landgrabb never showed up at the motel he wanted to meet at. he stood my sim up. don't judge me, i thought there was simoleons involved).

new crafted dates are cool. you can choose whatever you want to do on them. there's new social interactions based on the activities you choose. you can also invite other sims to these (double dates woohoo!) you can also create crafted hangouts. i like these, i got this cute picture as a reward after a succesful crafted hangout. if you're familiar with mws weddings, it's the same idea. except this works well and isn't as glitchy lol..

another random feature i never needed, but now i find it useful. you can create your own relationship label that will appear in the rel. panel

it's unfair how gorgeous this world is... because there's nothing to do. this is all set dressing.

you can declare your love here.. at the wall of love.

you can buy flowers or edible sweet treats at this shop in the background.

you can get local food here. there are 3 new dishes and spicy hot chocolate. now, i'm not mexican (the world is inspired by mexico) BUT 3 new foods isn't cutting it for me. technically only 2, because one is a vegan option. no pozole, enchiladas, guacamole, tamales?? i'm a foodie, so i take full offense to that.

you can woohoo or sleep at the motel.

you can travel.

go fishing or enjoy a swim.

sit here and chat.

view this for a moodlet.

travel again.

check in a penthouse.

there's a nightclub, gym and lounge. but you get the idea.. there's nothing culturally unique about this world which makes me sad. no festivals? i'd love seeing a mariachi band play at the lounge. something. otherwise, keep the world and add more features right? i would've loved table proposals (sims 2 anyone?). or frisky couch makeouts. so many missed opportunities here.

there's more i could say but i feel like this post should be a little helpful in deciding wether this is a pack you need right now, or wait for a sale! i personally love having a complete colection, so i've always wanted every expansion. though i recieve the pack for free, i owe you my honesty and i want to start doing blog/written content because it's easier to process my thoughts through the excitment. i will enjoy this pack, i do like it, and only time will tell as i integrate it with my current gameplay. i hope this was helpful!

* if you remember, use my code OSHINSIMS at checkout if you decide to purchase this pack. that way, at least i get a % of your purchase and EA doesn't get all your coins 😉

thank you! just keeping simming, always stay wavy, peace x

[requiemforthepoets]

always be my baby 𖦹 CS55

PAIRINGS: carlos sainz x singer!reader

SUMMARY: It was seven years ago when you last saw each other, it was also seven years ago that you had made a mutual decision that it is best if you both go your own ways. But in those seven years, you never expected that he’ll be leaving you half of him, making it harder for you to completely move on, but jokes on you, you’re still pretty much in love with him. Seven years later, you never expected you’ll be meeting him again, bringing back unresolved feelings and repercussions of the past decisions back to the forefront.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first time writing an f1 imagine, so I hope you guys will like it. this is just a product of brainrot at 3am. i’m sorry if there will be a typo and I also used mariah carey’s (which whom I love so much) song heh

TERMS: solntse - sunshine/ray of sunshine ; schast’ye - happiness ; dyadya - uncle

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: typos and angst

LAS VEGAS

The place where you had been residing for the past seven years, and where you had decided to raise your lovely twins, Thiago and Gabriela, after you and Carlos had parted ways.

Seven years ago, you had been in love with the Carlos Sainz. During that time, he was already starting his F1 journey, with his dreams as big as the tracks he conquered. Though your passion for each other was certainly undeniable, but so were both of your ambitions. So when you had discovered that you were pregnant, you had hoped that it would further cement the bond that you both had. But instead, it shattered your dreams. Carlos had flat out rejected the thought of you being pregnant, and admitted that he wasn’t ready for fatherhood, not now that his racing career is starting to take off. The heart-wrenching decision to part ways had been mutual, yet very agonizing for you.

After your split, you had cut off everyone that is connected with Carlos, even his family—Carlos Sr., Reyes, Blanca, and Ana, whom that had loved you very dearly. They had always been teasing both you and Carlos on how you two would certainly end up marrying each other, but apparently the opposite had happened. Leaving you all alone to navigate the challenges of single parenthood. But you didn’t have to worry of being alone your entire life, your parents, brother, and your sister-in-law had been there for you, helping you every step of the way.

The pregnancy had also prompted you to have a seven year hiatus from the music industry, leaving your fans to wonder when you’ll be coming back. You had focused all of your energy in being a hands on parent to Thiago and Gabriela, but not forgetting to write a new song in your free time when you got a new inspiration for a new album that you had been setting aside. This routine has been going on for seven years, until you had finally released your comeback album last month, where it had taken over the world by storm and had an incredible amount of success that peaked number one in different countries. No one had expected you to drop an album out of nowhere, not when you had been radio silent for over seven years, with a little bit of life update on your instagram account.

Not a week later after your comeback album had been released, you had been offered to a concert residency at Caesar’s Palace, which you had gladly accepted. The prospect of touring scares you as of the moment, so you had decided that doing a show every weekend in the same place and time would much suit you better for the time being. You prefer to have an intimate time with your fans right after your seven year hiatus—which they rightfully deserve of not seeing you for how many years, instead of diving head first at the thought of touring.

So here you are now, it’s the opening night of your concert residency in Las Vegas. You are waiting at the backstage of the Colosseum, watching the dimmed lights of the Colosseum glistened off of the opulent decor. You can hear the buzz of excitement of the eager fans that are excited to see you perform live again after seven years had filled the air. Your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. It has been years since you had last performed on stage again, you’re praying to the gods that you don’t embarrass yourself, like forgetting the lyrics and tripping on stage.

As you took the stage, your powerful voice that you had always been known for had filled the colosseum, captivating everyone that is present. Your eyes had scanned the crowd, reconnecting with your fans that had waited for you in so long to see you again. For a fleeting moment, your eyes locked with with those familiar eyes that you would never forget in your life. Your heart skipped a bit, but you quickly regained your composure, acting like it did not affect you at all, telling yourself that it’s just your pure imagination, simply a ghost of christmas past, that it’s a different person and not him, and continued your performance, pouring all of your emotions. Singing songs from your new album, where it entails what you had been through for the last seven years, and performing a few songs from your old releases. Which had been a real treat for your fans.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the audience, an F1 racer sat among with his friends, his face showing admiration and a touch of nostalgia. Carlos had come to your show out of respect and curiosity, also because his friends are a fan of yours. When the first notes of one of the song in your setlist played, Carlos had felt a strange sense of familiarity. His mind took him back to a memory of you playing the same song on the piano for him, where you had just began drafting the lyrics for your supposed to be new album that time. But he shook it off and convinced himself that it can’t be you. His memories of yours had been a blur to him, especially when he had lost contact with you. Seven years has been a lot of years for him, and he was sure that you had changed a lot during those years.

During the interlude, before you perform the next song, you had decided to connect with the audience. Entertaining them a little bit. Since it was your opening night, your family came with you in full support, including the twins. They are currently in the private area of the venue, and not forgetting that you had planned something special for your opening night. Hoping that everyone in the audience will like it.

“Las Vegas, how are you doing tonight!” You asked, causing the audience to cheer. “Wow. A whole seven years, huh.” You laughed as the rest of the audience laughed with you as well.

“It feels really good to be back again and performing in front of you all. To be honest, I was so nervous of performing again with a live audience. But once I stepped onto the stage, everything had flowed in naturally, like a muscle memory.” You smiled.

“I must admit though, the past seven years had never been really easy for me. During those years, I can say that there was a LOT going on at that time.”

It was indeed a never easy seven years for you. The entire world had gotten a whiff of your pregnancy, and you had been a cover of various gossip magazines and topic of various podcasts. You and your family had been trying to fight off paparazzis that were following you around and wanted to get some scoop. When it was time for the twins to come out into the world, you and your family made sure that no media or paparazzis will profit off of it. You are very strict and serious when it comes to your twins’ privacy, and not letting the world know of their identity. It’s also a lie when you say that those gossip headlines does not hurt or affect you at all, headlines like—

‘greatest female powerhouse singer of this generation had been knocked up?! No wedding ring visible…could it be a one night stand?!’

It really hurt and pissed you off.

Your pregnancy was never a secret to the world. It was private, but never a secret. But you cannot say the same in your and Carlos’ past relationship, your whole relationship had been a secret from the start, you both don’t want the media nor the paparazzis to meddle in your relationship, and it was a mutual decision. So when you got pregnant, the media couldn’t link you to anyone that could’ve gotten you pregnant. Up until now, the media doesn’t have any clue as to who the twins’ father is, and you inted to keep it that way.

But you know very well that you can’t hide the fact that Thiago is slightly starting to look like his dad, Carlos. While Gabriela took on your features, that there is completely nothing denying that Thiago and Gabriela are both you and Carlos’ mini me. For sure the media is bound to form a speculation as the twins grow up, but you intend to keep the obvious fact hidden for as long as you can. This exposure of the twins in your concert will be a really big one. Hoping that you’ll be able to contain the aftermath of it.

“This next song is from the new album, and as you all know, if you listen to the whole album, it’s basically all about my journey, of what everything that had happened during those years.” You smiled at the crowd.

“I know that there are a lot of people that has different interpretations of the song, which I really loved reading, by the way! I had read some of it and it was all really nice, thank you!” You chuckled.

“I intentionally did not want to include this one on the setlist, because its a personal one. I know what you’re all thinking, why put it on album if it’s a personal song. For me it’s okay to be included in the album, but performing the song…it really hits home.” You explained, “but I had changed my mind and added it the last minute, and thought about how I wanted to just turn it into a positive one.” the crowd cheered.

“I also have a special guests with me, that will help me sing this song because I’m dedicating this to them. This is their song.”

You had turned back your attention towards the backstage and check if the twins are all ready to make their special appearance, but the crew had signaled you that the twins will be joining you in two minutes top since they are still getting ready.

“I want to make this opening night of my concert residency a bit special, so that’s why I’m having a very very very special guests with me.” You smiled widely.

“They had been really begging me to join on this one, which even caught me by surprise because they had already practiced for it even before they could ask if they could join me! Can you guys believe it? They are actually really prepared for it!” You said in disbelief, as the audience laughed.

“Then they explained to me why they want to do it, they said that it’s because I will be performing again for the first time after seven years, and they wanted to make it feel more special.” You put your hands over your heart, with a soft expression showing in your face. So touched on what the twins had told you the reason they wanted to perform with you live on stage.

You turned your attention again backstage to see if the twins are already, and they already are, they are just waiting for your queue for them to enter the stage. You had signaled the band to start playing the song and your fabulous four, which is what you call your backup singers, started harmonizing the intro of the song.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you announced, “I’d like to introduce my two very special guests tonight. My twins, Thiago and Gabriela!”

Everyone in the Colosseum cheered very loudly, they couldn’t believe that your twins would make an appearance in your opening night. It is the first time that your fans, rather the world have seen your twins, considering that you are a very private person and you wouldn’t want your twins be exposed, you wanted them to grow up and have a normal childhood. But considering your status, you are making triple efforts to safeguard your twins.

The twins bounded onto the stage, being guided by your mom, jumping up and down, their overall energy just being so infectious as they joined you for a rendition of your song. You looked at your twins in awe, pure happiness radiating off from the twins, their eyes sparking as the audience cheers loudly for them.

“Thank you so much, momma!” You thanked your mom as you gently grabbed each of their hand and guiding them to the center stage.

“Mommy, there’s so many people!” Gabriela whispered cutely onto the mic, and the audience awed.

“Woah!” Followed by Thiago, completely fascinated.

“There are indeed a lot of people, isn’t it schast’ye?” You said, “They are really excited to see you both tonight!”

The twins squealed in excitement, the thought of people wanting to see them had made them jump again out of excitement.

“Theo, we’re famous!” Gabriela shouted happily, causing the audience to have another laugh.

“When can we sing mommy?” Thiago asked, as the audience cheered.

“We’ll be singing now, solntse.” You laughed, as the band started to play the music a bit louder. “This next song is called Always Be My Baby, and I dedicate this song to my wonderful angels that is with me here tonight on the stage. Solntse, schast’ye, this is your song. I dedicated this to both of you, mommy loves you so much.”

“We were as one, babe, for a moment in time,” you began singing, looking at the twins lovingly, “and it seemed everlasting, that you would always be mine. Now you want to be free, so I’m lettin’ you fly.” You looked at the audience.

“‘Cause I know in my heart babe, our love will never die—okay my loves, here comes your part!”

“You’ll always be a part of me,” Gabriela started, “I’m part of you indefinitely.” Thiago followed.

You are looking at them lovingly, with a proud smile etched on your face.

“Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me, oh darlin’ ‘cause you’ll always be my baby.” They both sang together.

Truth be told, you had written this song for Carlos, an ode to your relationship. It would be a lie if you said that you had completely moved on from him, but you truly did not, it still pains you every time you see him with another partner, and knowing how you both had children out of wedlock. How can you even move on when he left you half of him, he blessed you with two beautiful angels that you would never trade anything for the world, and would always choose to be their mother in every lifetime. Though for you, it doesn’t matter if you had already split up, Carlos will always own your heart.

“I ain’t gonna cry, no, and I won’t beg you to stay. If you’re determined to leave boy, I will not stand in your way,” at some point, you had made an eye contact again with those familiar eyes, but quickly avert your attention to the audience, “but inevitably, you’ll be back again, ‘cause you know in my heart, babe, our love will never end no.”

The twins sang the whole chorus, and you let them. They really love the chorus of your song, so it’s fitting that they are ones who sing it, but sometimes you harmonize with them. As the end of the song is approaching, you and the twins had sang it altogether.

“‘Cause you’ll always be my baby.” Spreading out an arm to the twins, as the twins rushed to give you a tight hug.

Your and the twins’ giggles had been heard from the mic, you gave both them a kiss om their foreheads, and the whole audience errupted in cheers and stood up for a standing ovation.

“Give it up once again for the twins, ladies and gentlemen!” After the twins’ performance, they were guided back by the crew backstage.

“Bye mommy!” The twins said in unison.

“Bye my babies!” You said, as both of the twins blew a flying kiss at you, and you returned back the sweet gesture.

You continued on performing, and you finally reached the last song of your setlist before you conclude your opening night.

“Okay, the last song I’d like to sing for you, it’s called Dreamlover,” you smiled, “and I just would like to thank everyone for being here with me, and tell you that I love each and everyone of you! You can all stand up and dance if you’d like!”

As the band started playing the notes to your song, everyone stood up and danced. You decided to go down the stage and interact with your fans. A security guided you to get around the venue, once you are comfortable, you walked around the venue and hugging some fans, and taking selfies with you. You also shook hands with some of them.

“Hello there!” You said into the mic as you looked up to the people that are seated in the balcony area of the venue, “yes, I see you all up there and you all are looking very lovely tonight!”

You continued interacting with your fans, when a little girl come up to you and gave you a hug. Touched from the little girl’s action, you immediately hugged her back, and she gave you a cute little bear.

“Is this for me?” She nodded, “thank you so much! This is a very lovely gift!” She then went back to her parents and you waved at them.

As you continued walking and singing, handshaking fans and hugging them—you did not recognize that you’re getting closer at the section where Carlos and his friends were seated. There was a brief panic in your eyes, when you saw Carlos—literally there standing, flesh and blood, the father of your children, standing and enjoying the show with his friends. Simply you cannot ignore Carlos, as the media can conjure a bunch of speculations with the interactions and can use it against you. Media people can be ruthless if they want to and create unnecessary drama if you choose to try and ignore Carlos.

So you continued singing and decided to interact with his friends by giving them a smile and each of them a handshake, Carlos will be the last one you’ll interact with since he’s seated at the last seat of their row. Some of his friends are familiar faces with you, since your brother is a huge F1 fan and had been to many grand prix before. You can identify some his friends—Charles, Lando, Max, Lewis, and Daniel. You also just noticed that they also brought their girlfriends with them, since they had took a photo with you.

Then you had finally reached Carlos. It felt like everything was in slow motion and your heart was beating rapidly, felt like it’s gonna leap our of your chest anytime, but you kept your cool. You smiled at him and briefly shook his hand. Apparently he’s the last one you’ll interact with before going back to the stage. As you went back up to the stage, a fan had called out for you, wanting to give you a rose, the fan is a bit far from you and you wanted to accept the rose from the fan, you went back down of the stage again, but you had never expected that Carlos will be the one that will give you the fan’s rose, he had helped the fan get the rose to reach you. You never got to thank him, since the security is already ushering you back to the stage.

At this very moment, Carlos was internally scolding himself, telling himself why the hell did he just do that. In his defense, he just acted out of impulse, and wanted to help a fan. Charles slightly slapped his back and wiggled his eyebrows at Carlos, and Carlos just rolled his eyes at him. His action did not go unnoticed by his friends and everyone in their section.

“Smooth operator, huh.” Charles teased him.

“Shut up.”

“Thank you so much for the rose.” You said to the fan and wave at them. As the song ended, you thanked everyone again for coming.

“Thank you once again for coming, see you again next weekend. Good night!” You said and had exited the stage.

After the show, celebrity and personal friends of yours that had attended your show was invited backstage, as a special privilege for them now that you’re now back in the music industry. In which Carlos and his friends were also invited backstage. You began talking to everyone, and how they congratulated you for a successful opening night of your concert residency.

“We are really glad that you are now back in the industry, and here’s to many more successful concert residency!” A celebrity friend of yours said, followed by cheering from others.

You had excused yourself to look for the twins. The twins are sitting on the couch with your mother, playing on their ipads as your mother watches over them. As you make your way towards them, a hand had stopped you, a soft grip on your wrist. Turning back and looking at the hand that grabbed you, you saw that it was Carlos. He never fails to make your heart skip, at any given moment, you’ll have a heart attack because of him.

“(Y/N),” he breathed out, “it’s really you.”

“Carlos…hi.” Your reply came more of a whisper, but he still heard it. “What are you doing here?” There’s a surprise, mixed with wariness in your eyes.

Seeing and interacting with Carlos out there is one thing, but him in backstage and talking to you right now is a whole different thing. The gods have not fully prepared you with this encounter, you know that sooner or later you’ll face him, but not when you had just came back from your hiatus.

“I came to see the show, with my friends. They’re a fan of yours,” he said, his eyes shifting to the twins. “They were incredible…you’re incredible.”

“Thank you,” you replied, your voice becoming steady, but your heart still pounding.

Carlos took a deep breath, he noticed that he’s still gripping your wrist, so he softly detached his hands on your wrist.

“(Y/N), the twins…they look so much like you. There’s something…” he breathed, “I can’t help but feel there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Your gaze hardened slightly, but before you could respond, you felt small hands tugging your gown. As you looked behind, you saw Thiago staring at Carlos intently.

“Mommy, who is this man?” You put a hand behind your son’s back and caressed his back softly.

“This is uncle Carlos, solntse. Mommy’s old friend.” You smiled.

“Hey there, bud.” Carlos crouched down to Thiago’s level and greeted him.

“I know you!” Thiago blurted out, “you drive a fast car! My dyadya dislikes you!” He looked at Carlos with eye wide of fascination, but very blunt as ever.

“O-oh, yeah, I drive a fast car.” Carlos chuckled, dismissing what the other thing Thiago had said.

“Solntse, why don’t you go back to schast’ye for a while? Mommy will be right with you in a minute.” Thiago nodded.

“Bye uncle Carlos!”

“How old are they?” Carlos asked.

“Seven. They’re turning eight in a few months.”

Carlos�� heart skipped a beat, looking into your eyes, the weight of seven years of secrets and decisions hanging between them. You wanted to tell him so bad, but it is not the time yet, but you are sure that by now, just looking at Thiago, he has an idea that the twins are his.

“Never knew that you got married.” He blurted out, just for the sake of talking to you a little bit longer.

“I never married. It’s just me and the twins, marriage is not really in my roster at the moment, having the twins is already enough for me. I have a lot of things going on…yeah.”

“They must be a handful.”

“They are,” you said with a chuckle, looking back at the twins, “but they’re worth every second. They are my life, they’re the ones that saved me from losing myself.”

There was a long pause, the air thick with unspoken words. Carlos wanted to ask more, to understand the life that you had built, but something held him back.

“I wish you all the best.” He finally said, his voice tinged with sadness he couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you, Carlos.” You replied, her eyes searching his, “likewise.”

Just in time, one of his friends, Charles, informed Carlos that they’ll about to leave.

“Thank you so much for inviting us backstage of your show, we really had a great time tonight.” Charles thanked you.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You smiled as you shook his hands.

As they both walk away, Carlos couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. That something does not sit right with him. You watched him go, a single tear escaping your eye. The truth, and the twins’ parentage had been remained unspoken of. Hoping that one day both of you would get to sit down and have a proper talk, and when time permits, Carlos formally meets the twins.

[yoonia]

Ever A Never After — story masterpost

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Summary | Growing up in the fairy tale land, your whole life seems to have been written perfectly in the books, with the picturesque life and the Prince Charming that you can see yourself having your happily ever after with. But your entire world turns upside down when you are suddenly sent into a whole new world, a different kind of universe where happily ever after doesn’t exist. Thrust into a new challenge and shown a new side of life, you find yourself standing in a crossroad. When the moment arises, would you find your way back home to your true love, or is the universe trying to show you that sometimes happy endings don’t have to be written so perfectly?

⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Angst, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; specific warnings will be added accordingly on each published chapters ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Ever A Never After: Act 2 - Part 2 (Oct 7th, 2024) - 51,865 words of n/a words  ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion ⟶ Cross-posted in AO3 and Wattpad

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). In place of the coding, you’ll find a blank space as her name. Please also note that our main character/reader insert for this story has her own nickname that will be used in the scenes. While the story is adapted from the movie, Enchanted, with some characters and places that were mentioned in the movie added into this story, I will be adding changes in the story settings, characters’ names and background stories to fit the plot. That being said, as someone who has never set foot in the land of America, forgive me if there are some inaccuracies in the details that are being added here. I hope that doesn’t change your reading experience with the story.

⟶ Chapters

⇢ Act One. Andalasia, The Maiden, and The Dream Prince [“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” “It’s me. Your Prince Charming.” | Word count: 19,688 words | posted: May 21st, 2024 | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Two. The Alter World and The Saviour [“I need to find my way back to the castle.” “What castle?” “Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” “Huh, right. Why don’t I just call you an Uber?” | Word count: 32,185 words | Chapter Teaser]

— Part 1. Welcome to the Alter World [Word count: 15,410 words of 32,185 words - posted on: Sept 16th, 2024] — Part 2. The World Without Magic [Word count: 16,755 of 32,185 words - posted on: Oct 7th, 2024 ]

⇢ Act Three. Fairy Tales and Bittersweet Endings [“You forgot to say the part where you lived happily ever after.” “Happily ever after? That thing doesn’t exist, not in the real world.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Four. The Ball for The Kings and Queens and Dragons [“There is a ball for the Queen and Kings at the start of spring. Shall we go together?” “As your Prince Charming, I’ll be happy to escort you.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Five. Prince Charming and a Happily Never After [“Look at how the tables have turned, as now I have in my hand the Prince who is supposed to protect the princess.” “Come along now, dear. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⟶ Fic talk & references

⇢ image reference

⇢ readers feedback & discussions

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual inspiration board

⇢ fic commentary (coming soon)

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | It’s finally here! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one. Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your endless support. As mentioned in our last talk, there will be some changes from the original prompt/details that I’ve made to make the story work better, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it still. I have decided to release this one as a mini-series to present the timeline more appropriately and make the storyline work. Have fun reading!

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[julietsbody]

ultraviolence

words : 2,261

tags : gun kink , fucked with a gun , predator / prey , reader has a prey kink , peacekeeper ! snow , light sadism , size difference , size kink , obsessive behavior , power play , creampies , orgasm delay / denial

a/n : idk what came over me whilst writing this im gonna be so honest…. semi inspired by Cherienymphe‘s “everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer” fic!!! its so good

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!!! ( divider by pommecita )

snow barely had any empathy for people, let alone any districts. he was a man who fell into poverty himself, but he got out of it, he was a capitol and he’s friends with those that come from the highest statuses. normally people felt pity for those in the districts, they scavenged for food, or proper clothing. not snow, he thought it was a game to watch them snatch up fresh bread and run like their lives depend on it. because it does, they survive, they live another day and satisfy their hungers, if they get caught, they’ll be dead in seconds— especially if coriolanus catches them. 

he liked the power he had, the fact that he could do almost anything he desired and get away with it because the districts had been committing a crime anyway, he just stopped them from doing it any more. he liked that they would cower underneath him, beg for their lives, he liked that he had the power to give them a simple warning, to let them off the hook, but he never did. 

not until now. 

he found himself chasing yet another bunny, heavy boots padding behind your thin, poorly made shoes. 

something about the adrenaline rushing through your veins had a heat developing in between your legs, like it was a primal reaction, an animalistic urge. he nearly noticed in the way your steps staggered, but that could be lack of spacial awareness, which he noted that you had. you were so busy running in straight lines you didn’t even bother to juke him or to hide. 

easy prey, aren’t you? 

he thought that at first, until your steps suddenly changed, turning to the right. 

and you had disappeared between the greens and tall trees, his wild eyes raced around the all too silent forest. he tuts, a low taunt, “where are you, bunny?” 

his voice came out sing - songy, having your breathing shake from the tree you hid behind, your thighs pressed together. 

how was a hunt so intimate, so sexual? 

“why are you hiding from me, bunny?” his voice is softer, as if he’s pouting. 

you hear his boots snap twigs with ease, crush leaves into fragile pieces, dip through mud. he was getting closer, like a wolf stalking it’s prey, like he knew where you hid. you tried to hold your breath, to keep yourself hidden, but it was no use. he rounded the corner, and you ran into a sprint again, nearly dropping the bread you had taken. 

if you hadn’t dropped it then, you were sure to now. 

his arms took you into a threatening hold, at first pushing you into a tree, then slamming you against the floor when you wriggled at his grasp. his panting breath, your fearful whines, the begging that sat on your tongue silently, it was as if sex had been happening even with your clothes on. your tears well with tears at being slammed on the hard ground, and he feels the fabric of his pants tighten at the sight. 

“please,” here comes the begging, music to his ears, “it’s my first time stealing, i’ve never done this before—“ 

“is that so?” his head cocks to the side, holding down your wriggling hands, “i’m sure i’ve seen you before, doll.” 

“you must be mistaken,” your puffy lips part, breath heaving as you try to pull away from him. 

it doesn’t work, he just simply holds you down, he easily could with one hand if he wanted to, “are you calling me a liar?” 

it was embarrassing, truly, being so turned on by the way his voice deepened with firmness, by the way he held you down with such ease, “of course not, i would never—“ 

“you just did, though,” his tone is biting, typically he doesn’t let conversations last this long, but something about you was different. his eyes catch on to the way your thighs are rubbing together, not in a way to try to free yourself from him, but where you crave friction. “my, my, what do we have here?” 

his hand taps against your thigh, pulling up the hem of your dress, his eyes land on yours, waiting for confirmation. 

you immediately nod, it’s so quick, impatient, he adores it. 

his long fingers lace around both of your wrists whilst the other pries your thighs apart, noticing the way fluids soil your panties. 

“how cute,” he observes out loud, allowing his hunger to show in the way he nearly rips your panties apart whilst harshly tugging the, down, watching how your legs immediately fall apart into a spread, panties hanging off your ankle for dear life. you were so desperate, you were willing to do this in the woods, present yourself to a peacekeeper just because you had gotten horny merely off a chase. 

his hand smoothes against your right inner thigh, feeling goosebumps form in prickles, and the way you shiver underneath each touch. his hand is large against your cunt, a single finger moving through it to feel the wetness, your hips immediately buck, desperate for more. 

his chuckle is soon silenced by his hand raising to his mouth, just so he can taste your slick. 

removing it with a pop, a curt smile tugs at his lips, sweet, like honey. 

his hand smoothes down your inner thigh again, and you realize he’s teasing you, “officer—“

his thumb is threateningly close to your cunt, “hm?” 

“touch me,” you breathe out, “please.” 

how funny is it that the last time you said please to him you were begging for your life? 

“like this?” his eyebrow quirks, pad of his thumb moving to swipe against your clit, your back arches ever so slightly. 

the whine that emits from you is far too loud for his liking, so he hushes you with gentle shhs, thumb rubbing slow circles on the bundle of nerves. 

“you don’t want people to hear us, hm?” he hums, “to find out you’re letting a peacekeeper touch you in such ways, truly scandalous.” 

he can imagine it being front page of the district newspaper, girl caught fucking peacekeeper in woods! 

your fingers twitch in his grasp, finding his movements far too slow, and he finds your movements and whines far too annoying. 

he moves to plunge a finger into your cunt, making your whines hush to whimpers, unintelligible words. 

“real impatient, aren’t you?” his finger moves slow at first, watching the way your hips move against it in response, “maybe i should just put you in your place.” 

he removes his finger, watching the way you desperately clench around nothing. his hand moves to grab his machine gun, which he had ditched as soon as he threw you to the floor, he finally releases your wrists, you have a chance to run if you wanted to, but you didn’t— because you didn’t want to run, because the fear that filled you when he aimed his gun at you had even more of your fluids escaping the oyster between your legs. 

he moves to cock it, taking it off the safety. 

“fully loaded,” he reminds you, but also seems to be reminding himself. 

he seems to believe you don’t believe him in the way you look up at him through glossy eyes, and he moves to aim his gun at a nearby tree, one to your right, directly behind you. and he shot, birds cawed as they flew away from the loud shots, he noticed how you flinched, immediately moving to the safety of his grasp, and he only smiled, how adorable that you find safety in the man who had enough power to kill you in seconds. 

he hushes your fears, not reassuring anything about your safety as he moves the gun tip your legs back apart, one of his hands leaving it as he wraps it around your wrists once more, holding you back down in a missionary position. the hand on his gun was less steady now, finger tight against the trigger, it had you biting your lip. he traces along your inner thigh with the tip of the gun, “you’re gonna be a good girl, right?” 

he watches you immediately nod, so eager, “yes, yes, officer.” 

his gun passes a trail down to your cunt, pressing against your clit, he could shoot right now, the finger on the trigger was so tight, so unsupported. he could slip once and shoot directly into you, something about that thrilled you more, made your hips buck against the gun, practically riding the weapon. he admires your desperation, the way your face twists with pleasure as you move against the cool material that built the gun. 

he eventually pulls the tip of the gun down, until it’s at your entrance. 

he watches your eyes widen as the metal dips inside of you, spreading you open with ease. 

your hands flail in his tight hold, “it hurts— officer, wait—“ 

“hm?” he pauses for a mere second, “sweet bunny, you can take it.” 

the pain soon subdues to pleasure as he begins moving the gun again, pumping it in and out of you and coating the black of the weapon with your milky slick. whimpers of pain soon become moans of pleasure, the tears that had built a gloss over your eyes dipping down your cheeks as your eyes close, hips bucking against the weapon. 

“easy, bunny, easy,” his voice is strained, like seeing you cry awakens something within him, when your hips stop moving against his gun he continues to pump it, faster this time, “good girl, gonna cum all over my gun?” 

you nod, more tears escaping as the thrill of your possible death and the pleasure from the weapon that may cause it becomes all too much. a deep groan vibrates from his chest at the sight of you crying, lips parting to continue, “that’s it, good, good.” 

it’s as if you crying is enough to have him reaching his climax already, as if seeing you cry felt like jerking off. 

the gun widens the more it goes into you, stretching you until you’ll be nothing but a gaping mess from his gun when he’s done. 

so filthy, to be easily stretched out by something that has killed many, how terribly cruel of you, to be cumming on it. 

and the man who had done it is merely watching, admiring you like this was an art gallery, and you were the center piece. he notices the way you near your orgasm, as your hips can’t help but grind down on the gun, moans escaping past your nearly bitten to bleeding lips. and you start calling out to him, “officer, officer, please— can i cum— please.” 

a mere plead, and if snow was a good man, he would say yes, but he wasn’t one. 

“no, bunny, you ran from me,” his finger slides against the trigger, staring at you with a new tint glossing over his eyes, “do you think you deserve to cum?” 

“yes, i need to, i want—“ your breath quickens, mindlessly grinding down onto the gun. 

“no,” he pulls the gun out, depraving you of every wish. he notices the way you whimper, thighs pressing together and rubbing in desire to form friction. there was none, and soon he was tossing his gun to the side, tugging his pants and boxers down ever so slightly to free his cock, then prying your legs apart once more. 

he carefully moves himself between your legs, his hand around your wrists finally freeing them, admiring the red ring he left from how tight his grip was. the same hand moved to fall against your throat, fingertips dipping in to your delicate skin as he guides his dick to your entrance, carefully pushing into you. he feels you tense underneath him at the feeling of him filling you once more, the length and girth enough to reach your intestines, you were sure of it. 

once he bottoms out, he notices the way a bulge appears at your pelvis, popping up against the skin then falling to a settle with each thrust. his other hand moves to your mouth, his fingers spreading your pillow lips apart, your salty taste pressing against your own tongue. 

“taste yourself, bunny, so sweet, hm?” he grunts with each thrust, practically manhandling you with each snap of his hips, fingers dipping down your throat. he watches your eyes roll back, mumbling pleas for the satisfaction of your orgasm to finally come, your bodily fluids sticking to his pelvis and his dick, your walls pulsed around him, drooling onto his cock. 

he nears his climax almost immediately, nose scrunching slightly, “cum, cum for me, sweet bunny.” 

“officer—“ your back arches off the earthy ground as you finally reach your climax, moans vibrating against his flesh and he continues to thrust, riding out your orgasm, overstimulating you until he’s practically fucking you dumb. eventually, he bottoms out, pumping you nearly full of his cum. he moves his hand from your mouth, sticky from your saliva, and takes your panties off your ankle, pulling out and plugging your hole with your own panties. just so you don’t lose any of his cum. 

“there, now you can walk around with my cum inside of you, how sweet.” he takes his hands off of you, moving to tuck his softening dick away and standing. 

he offers your limp body a wink, swiping up his gun, and following up with a, “don’t let me catch you again, doll.” 

[rose-lunaire]

music box | hannibal with a musician!S/O

dedicated to all the beautiful artistic souls reading this, i hope you like it!

pairing: hannibal x gn!reader

warnings: yandere behaviour, unspecified age gap, my lack of knowledge of musical terms

you met in the backstage of your first recital

hannibal was mesmerised by your craft, such mature and fresh interpretation of his favourite piece

“that was an excellent performance you gave us”

you nearly dropped your music sheets from shock

“o, oh, thank you so much, sir. to be honest, i was worried the nerves came through too much and ruined it…”

“i assure you, the concerto was flawless. mahler requires this uncertainty and you portrayed that beautifully.”

the way he said it seemed to lift all the weight from your shoulder; there was no room for question in his voice, just pure respect

“pardon me, where are my manners. my name is hannibal lecter and i would like to become your patron”

and that’s how it started: your relationship emerged from this contract and eventually evolved into friendship

in the end blossoming into something more

you always appreciate his remarks while practicing until late at night

he’s your biggest supporter!

always carrying your stuff from practice, saying he can’t allow you hurting yourself

he would massage your hands after long practices, kissing the tips of your fingers like the most delicate of flowers

don’t be shy about your callouses, hannibal sees them as a token of your hard work and dedication

they’re beautiful, just like your mind and heart

he would do anything to protect you from critique

once upon a time someone dared write an unpleasant review of your performance and it was the end of their career

their body was found in the trash behind the opera house the next day and on their blog posted an apology to you, saying they were paid and coerced to say those abhorrent things to you

you never found out about this case, hannibal took you on a retreat to a national park, free of any distractions to “gain inspiration”

he admires you as a connoisseur but also as an artist

he was a bit shy to showcase his work for the first time

but then he fell for you all over again when he heard you playing his pieces

they sound so different yet so familiar, he can’t focus on the notes and instead stares at your hands, mesmerised

you’re his porcelain doll, the most precious treasure he will cherish until the end of his days

displayed only for his deserving eyes, inside a beautiful box, dancing to his tune, twirling around laughing, his applause is the only thing you can hear

too beautiful for others to truly appreciate, you’re hidden away in his study

bound to be perfect

[lucyandalexiafan]

blow off steam | Alexia Putellas x reader | part 1

summary: since Alexia got injured two weeks ago, it's obviously that she needs to blow off steam; so, after the umpteenth attempt by her to have your attention, you ask her to take control, to completely dominate you.

Warnings: dom!Alexia, sub!reader, kneel at Alexia's feet, Alexia' fingers that fuck reader's mouth while reader in kneeling in front of her, humping shoe, face slaps (three times), humiliations, degradations, use of pet names / slut, light jelaous!Alexia, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.

words: 3131

Do not copy, translate or claim my works and fics as your own; if I find out I will report them and block you. Instead, write to me, my directs are always open, and ask me if you can publish your work/fic inspired by one of mine. However, you can reblog them!

Nb: English is not my first language and I’m not sure if it’s “blow off steam” or “blow of some steam”. I searched online but I didn’t understood, so I’m sorry if it’s wrong the way that I used

I turn off the TV interrupting the program that Ale is watching, the umpteenth trashy program.

Since she was injured two weeks ago, she has become unbearable.

She doesn't come to the field during training hours anymore, she doesn't go out, she doesn't cook, and she doesn't do anything other than be on the phone and watch stupid programs on any TV channel or streaming platform.

It doesn't bother me that she behaves like this or, at least, I understand her, I try to understand her; so I do everything for both of us without protesting, without emphasizing how to take care of the house, shopping all the different type of food required by our diets, cooking different dishes for me and her every lunch and dinner (due to the variation of her diet), do not combine well with the study for my master's degree, with the research I am doing, and with my training with the team.

I don't protest, I don't snort, I don't say anything. 

I accept any comment about how overcooked the chicken is, about the fact that the bread had to be soft wheat and not whole wheat, about how messy the kitchen is.

I didn't even comment on the fact that she delegated the care of her dog to me alone, even though she can walk.

I accepted to study all night and write those essays at unreasonable hours, risking not completing my homework or showing up not prepared enough for meetings with university tutors, as well as showing up for training tired, exhausted and with less and less energy.

But today... today it's too much.

I had started studying in the kitchen, on the counter, because I had started cooking dinner and lunch for tomorrow; Ale was watching television. She knows, she knows, how much I hate having too much noise around, how much the overstimulation is a problem for me because of my ADHD, how much I go into crisis when there is too much chaos around me, no longer being able to concentrate and control myself, always ending up looking around, trying to figure out where all the voices are coming from and, when there are too many, ending up on the verge of tears.

She knows it.

But, despite this, she had started using TikTok at maximum volume at the same time as the television, creating an annoying chaos that could not even be masked by the music that passed through my headphones.

I had asked her to turn down the volume several times, I had even texted her asking her to stop because I had to study, telling her that it was important that I end that essay within three days, before the last game before the Christmas holidays.

After half an hour of trying I couldn't take it anymore, I got up, took the remote control and turned off the television.

"What are you doing?" she asks irritated.

The sharp voice.

I bite my lip.

We haven't had sex in two weeks and I haven't had an orgasm for three, and seeing her so angry floods my belly with sharps of pleasure.

Ever since we had started experimenting with sex, since Ale had started to be dominant in bed and I had started to feel free enough and trust her enough to be completely submissive, we had established 'rules'; one of the ones we started experimenting with first was about orgasms. 

No orgasms that aren't given by her or that she doesn't allow me to have.

It had not only increased libido and feeling in bed, but also communication. Since we had established this rule, we had begun to talk much more about sex, to describe how we felt and to provoke ourselves; I had begun to no longer feel embarrassed to express my sex urge or tell her what I needed. 

Begging her for what I needed.

So, after exactly three weeks since my last orgasm, I'm extremely needy.

Ale, at the same time, is extremely angry, disappointed, and resentful, about the injury and I know, I'm sure, that she would like to blow off steam on me, on my body, but she is afraid to ask for it, to do it. She's afraid because she's never done it before, because she's always afraid of hurting me and because she knows what I've been through in the past.

So now, because she doesn't want to express this need, she is short-tempered, rude, arrogant.

I kneel on the ground, in front of her, my legs slightly apart.

I look into her eyes.

She swallows the saliva, the phone still in her hand, as she jams her eyes into mine.

"I would like you to take control – I say, my voice trembling with embarrassment – I need you to blow off steam on me and I need to be dominated, to let you be in control"

I bite my lip.

The fear that he will refuse, that she will say no, that she will think I am crazy, increases when she does not respond immediately.

"You don't know what you're asking for, little girl" 

The low voice, the seraphic tone.

"I want you to take control Reina, I want you to punish me, I want you to use my body"

She lay her phone on the couch.

"You don't have to do it for me, i-"

"I want it, Ale, I need it as much as you do" I whisper, pleading, looking into her eyes.

Nails playing with a little skin on my index finger.

She nods.

"Are there any things you don't want me to use or do?" the tone is the one she uses on the field when she's the team captain.

That confident tone, which admits no reply.

"No, Reina"

I touch her right calf with one hand, the need for physical contact advancing in me; I play with her skin, just massage her.

She grins, looking at me.

She looks at me, her face slightly tilted.

She bites her lip, as if pondering my request.

"Now I'm going to make you a list of items or practices and you have to tell me with safewords which ones are green, which ones are yellow, and which ones are red, okay? – I nod – What are your safewords?"

"Green to continue, yellow to slow down, red to stop"

"Good girl - I twitch my thighs, a knot in my belly, as her hand brushes my cheek, a satisfied look as she looks down on me – then let's get started"

After a few minutes, I had established green orgasm denial, spanking with hands and belt, the use of the collar with the leash, the use of ropes or more generally in bondage, penetrative sex with both fingers and dildos, the use of plugs and strap-ons, degradation; yellow overstimulation and preventing me from speaking by putting objects in my mouth; red blindfold. However, I asked her if she could use pet names from time to time to reassure me, so the degradation and humiliation were not the only channels of communication during a scene we were experiencing for the first time.

I clasp my hands on my thighs, my belly invaded by contractions of pleasure.

"Have you had any orgasms since the last time I got you one?" the tone is so low that it gives me goosebumps.

"No, Reina" I hurry to answer; a marked blush colors my cheeks and neck because no matter how much we talked about sex, how much we started experimenting in bed more than a year ago, I will never stop being embarrassed when we talk about these things.

She grinns with satisfaction.

"Something as needy as you hasn't had an orgasm in three weeks, hm? – she asks as she strokes my cheek with her thumb, a fake smile of pity adorns her face – Does your need to be a good girl, to please me, also beat your need of an orgasm?"

I look down immediately, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

How can she make me so submissive, so needy, with just one question?

The panties are soaked, I feel them being uncomfortably attached to my intimacy.

"Yes, Reina, I just want to please you"

She moans openly at my answer and I see the muscles in her legs twitch.

I close my eyes to the sound.

"I don't think I told you that you can not look me in the eye"

I look at her, eyes slightly wider, position more rigid as I try to hold her gaze.

"I'm sorry Reina," I whisper guiltily.

We haven't even started and I'm already breaking the rules?

She looks at me for a moment and then her gaze, that sadistic, excited look, softens; a sweet, loving smile replaces the grin that had begun to adorn her face since she began to list what she could and couldn't do tonight.

"Amor, this is the last chance I'll give you to stop everything before we start, before I start punishing you and then take you to the bedroom, where only the safewords will make me stop – the suddenly cautious, sweet tone, like it's never been in the last two weeks – I'm not going to get angry, resentful or irritated if you tell me you don't want to go on anymore or that you're not sure anymore, baby, but I want you to tell me before you start because I don't want to start without being sure that you want it as much as I do; we will cuddle and maybe watching a film, order some takeaway food"

Her hand on my cheek, the back of my index and middle fingers caressing my skin.

I look at her, every fear gone, every tension leaves my body. 

She is always her, the sweet, caring, loving girlfriend who would never hurt me or continue something I don't want. 

No matter how much she needs to blow off steam, she would never hurt me.

I shake my head.

"I... I want to do it Reina, but-but only if you want it completely too" I answer, my voice trembling with embarrassment, but my gaze fixed on hers.

She smiles.

Her beautiful smile.

"I love it when you call me Reina, I'll never stop saying it" she whispers as she runs her thumb over my bottom lip, as she frees it from the grip of my teeth.

I open my lips allowing her to stick it past my teeth, into my mouth; she pushes it all in, until she hits my chin with her palm. I lick it slowly as I look straight into her eyes.

After a while she replaces it with her index and middle fingers, pushing them into my mouth slowly, and then she starts to move them, as if to fuck my mouth.

I go along with it, licking her fingers, opening and closing my lips against her skin. 

She groans looking at me.

"So submissive, at my feet, while you call me Reina – she pushes her fingers harder into my mouth, until she touches my chin with her palm again, and touching the back of my throat, gagging me – My dirty filthy slut"

I gasp.

I place my hands on her knees, as if looking for a support to hold on to while she fucks my mouth with her fingers.

She sneers.

I look at her from below, her lips slightly open twisted into a grin, her eyes veiled by sadism, her cheeks flushed, her tongue occasionally caressing her lips, her brow furrowed, the hair of her forelock escaping the grip behind her ears.

"Hands behind your back, I don't think I told you you can touch me" 

I groan in surprise as I hurry to do what she says, squeezing one hand into the other until my nails are in my palm.

The tips of her fingers touch the back of my throat with each thrust, and with every moan I make, she grins; She tells me to breathe through the nose when she realizes that, due to gagging, I struggle to breathe through my mouth.

She continues like this for some time that seems like minutes, she fucks my mouth with her fingers, her gaze alternating between my eyes and my mouth, a sadistic grin, until she takes them off completely.

I moan, finally free to breathe through my mouth.

She wipes the fingers against my cheeks, the back on one cheek, the inside on the other; the trickle of saliva that still connects them to my lips.

She puts her hand on my right cheek and I know what's going to happen.

"Disobedient little girl – the first slap is light against my skin, more for the scene than for anything else – Twice you disobey my orders and I didn't even touch you"

I gasp looking at her, her lips still slightly parted.

Then, as she walked away, her hand hits my cheek.

We both moan at the same time, her greasing and lowest, mine louder.

No matter how much I expected it, it's getting more and more exciting every time.

"Color, little girl?" she asks, an attentive look on my face trying to understand what I think about the slap.

"Green... green Reina" I moan.

"Dirty little," she whispers as she caresses my face, "So needy just because I fucked your mouth, hm?" she asks, as she runs her fingers over my lips, but without pushing them any further.

"Yes-yes Reina," I say cautiously in response.

Then, suddenly, she moves one leg between mine until I feel her foot, covered by her favorite and most expensive pair of shoes, in contact with my intimacy.

"Hump my shoe, slut" 

It's an order said as she leans back on the couch. She opens her arms, resting them on the headboard of the sofa.

I wade at her, my eyes wide open with the request, but my pupils probably dilated with excitement. I'm incredulous.

"Color, little girl?" she asks when, after a few seconds, I don't move, her voice warm, lovely.

"G-green Reina – I whisper hesitantly, realizing the time that has passed, realizing that by doing so I was disobeying – I'm sorry"

She moves her torso toward me, her hand grabbing a hand of my hair. "Do you want to add a third punishment to the two you've already earned, hm? – I answer with a faint no, Reina – Then, move" she continues, her tone suddenly more authoritative and dominant, no longer disguised as feigned pity, her back coming back into contact with the sofa.

I bite my lip and moan when I feel her shoe move slightly against my clit.

"C-can I put my hands on your leg Reina?" I ask, my voice faint, the need to touch her, for physical contact.

"Aw, little girl, can't you even keep your balance? Okay, grab my leg. You can lean against it however you want," the mocking tone.

My hands grab her calf.

My torso is against her shin as I slowly begin to move.

I'm wearing thin shorts and panties made of almost non-existent fabric, so with every movement I feel the relief of the shoelaces against my clit.

I moan, I whine, unashamed.

I squeeze her leg as I rest my head on the lower part of her inner thigh, just above the knee, breaking eye contact. 

As soon as the tip of her shoe starts to move against me, putting pressure on my hole, I start moving faster and faster; I'm not sensual, I'm not pretty bent over her, my back arched out, my head down.

"Dirty little slut," she says while her hand scratches my scalp "How does it feel to hump against a so expensive shoe that I've been looking for months in any shop in Barcelona, to be so slutty that you seek satisfaction and pleasure by rubbing yourself on a shoe without shame?"

I whine in humiliation.

"Please Reina, can I... can I-"

Her hand clenches in my hair, forcing me to look at her.

"Don't even try. This is just the beginning – she hits my cheek again – Did you think it would be so easy after disobeying me?"

I bite my lip, looking at her with the most puppy look I'm capable of; my vision slightly clouded by excitement and tears.

I open my mouth a couple of times, attempting to speak, but no sound other than a moan comes out.

When she notices that I am not responding, she stops moving her foot. "Color?"

"Green" I answer immediately, as I continue to move on her shoe, hoping that she will move again.

The shoelaces against my clit.

The contractions of pleasure in the lower abdomen.

She grinns as she looks at me.

She reaches down to kiss me, her hand still in my hair.

Then, as it all began, she moves the shoe away from my intimacy.

"How do you feel, hm? What would people say if they could see you like this, at my feet, desperate after humped my shoe like a slut, hmm? What would our teammates say if they saw you like that? – she grins, the hand that makes pat pat on my head – How do you think Aitana and Ona would react, mh?"

I close my eyes.

"None of them will be able to make you feel like that, reduce you like that, like I do. Not even Lucia. It doesn't matter how hard they try"

"Please, please," I whisper as I tighten my fingers around her knee.

The humiliation becomes pleasure, contractions of pleasure stronger and stronger, when she starts talking about the team, about my friends, about Lucy.

Of her jealousy of Lucy, caused by the fact that we are so close friends and that she is also dominant in bed; the eldest is openly dominant in bed, while Ale is much more modest in making her sexual performances public to the team. Modesty for which I am grateful, but which makes her feel clearly in competition with the English player.

"Please what, little one?"

Cheeks that burn when I hear the pet name.

Her fingers forcing my chin to look at her.

Her blonde hair is tousled.

"Touch me, please Reina... I-I need to-"

Humiliation breaks through my legs, which I immediately clench.

To be at her feet, to call her Reina, to be so desperate.

"I just want you, Reina... I... on-only you. No one else," she moans, "I beg you."

"Get up, go to our room and strip. I want you on the bed, on hands and knees. In less than ten minutes I'll be there."

[reidsbabyhoney]

hi love!

saw that you write for hozier, and was wondering if you could write something fluffy. maybe since the tour is ending soon, maybe him coming home for the first time in a while?

xx

in which andrew is finally back from tour and you couldn't be happier.

pairing: hoizer x fem!reader category: fluff cw: tiniest bit of angst if you squint. he walks out in a towel and reader has some interesting thoughts. no use of y/n. wc: 1.3k a/n: thank you so much for requesting! this was so much fun to write, I was listening to 'unknown' when this request came in so it is very lightly inspired by that. and by very lightly I mean I took inspiration from the line 'you know the distance never made a difference to me'. this is my first time writing in a while so please be kind. lots of love!! (also he looks so cute in this picture, I can't get over it.)

You were basically buzzing with anticipation. Having to stay in Wicklow for work had its ups and downs. One of the most notable downs was that when Andrew went away for tour, there were long gaps you would go without seeing each other.

You had seen him two months ago when he had the smallest break from tour, and you called almost every night updating each other on your days. Usually, you'd fall asleep on the phone due to the time difference, but he had the habit of carrying his phone with your sleeping face covering the screen until you woke up. Recalling the time you woke up when he was in the middle of a concert, his phone being propped up on a stand off to the side of the stage.

But today Andrew was finally coming home. No more music festivals to perform at, no more concerts to hold, no more award shows to attend. He would finally be all yours.

You felt a bit guilty, knowing how much he loved performing and seeing his fans, but you were counting down the seconds until he walked through the doors of your shared home.

The clock was inching closer to 6pm, which was the time Andrew said he would be home. Never being someone who had patience for much, you were sitting outside on the porch swing you insisted he install a few years ago.

Finally a black car pulled into the driveway and Andrew stepped out. Sprinting to him like there was an Olympic medal to be won at the end of your journey you jumped into his arms once you reached him.

"Missed you so much love." he says into your hair as he holds you up, making sure you don't fall from his tight grip around your waist.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're finally home." you say as hugging him tightly as if he would disappear from your hold.

Letting go, you get a good look at him and see his hair seemed to grow a bit longer in the two months you were apart. Though, he also seemed to have given up on the routine you've tried to have him stick to since you started dating.

"You're hairs grown." You admire how beautiful he looks, but that might just be because your boyfriend is a 6 '6 Irish man that looks like he came from the woodlands of a fairytale.

"Hm, you like it?" he questions looking into your eyes for a second before putting you down onto solid ground.

"I love it." With that, you make your way up the steps of the house, one of his lighter bags in hand.

Andrew follows close behind you into the house, not missing how every inch spotless and nearly reflective.

Andrew knew you well, too well sometimes. He knew that you got anxious when he was away, and that made him feel both relieved and guilty. Relieved because he was finally home and could hold you in his arms. Guilty because he was away for so long.

Sneaking up behind you, he rests his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arm around you.

"Y'know I'm home for good right. Got my studio right here and the label already knows I won't release a new album for a few years. I'm all your’s angel."

At his words you melt into him. "I know, but you know how I get when you're away. Especially when you're flying. Was just worried is all."

He plants a soft kiss at the top of your head at your response. Turning around in his arms you look up at him and see how tired he really is.

"Y'know I love you with my whole heart, but you really should get in the shower so we can eat."

He lets out a huff, releasing you from his grip. Turning to make his way upstairs you get the ingredients out to make a simple pasta dish. Something you know will be filling for you both.

You're nearly done with dinner, the sauce being the only thing that needs to be seasoned and you realized Andrew still hasn't come from your bedroom. He isn't one to take long in the shower so you begin to worry. Quickly throwing in the final seasoning of oregano and thyme into the sauce, you lower the heat on both burners being used, and make your way up the stairs to look for your boyfriend.

Stepping into your shared bedroom, you're met with a cloud of mist as the connecting door to the bathroom opens. Seeing your boyfriend walk out in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist made your two months of celibacy very known throughout your body.

"I see some drool slipping past your lips, love, best wipe it away before whoever it is you're lusting after knows." he teases lightly, before he walks to the dresser to grab some clothes to change into.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head as an embarrassed blush grows over your face, you clear your throat quickly as a recovery.

"The food’s done downstairs whenever you're ready?" It comes out as more a question than a statement, still flustered over your boyfriend's appearance.

Andrew turns his head slightly and gives you a knowing smirk, "I'll be down right after I change."

With that you leave him to change and quickly make your way downstairs.

Still a bit flustered once you get to the kitchen, you make a plate for each of you, putting them down in your designated spots at the dining room table, sitting next to each other.

You hear Andrew before you see him, softly humming the tune of ‘Unknown/Nth’.

Taking a seat next to you, he rests his hand on your thigh before digging into the food.

Acting like a man starved, he basically inhales his food before you've even finished half of yours.

"Do they not feed you properly in America or what." you ask, eyes basically popping out of your head, surprised he's already finished his plate

"Nothing could beat a home cooked meal of yours." he says, giving you a brief kiss on the cheek before getting up to rinse his dish.

Finishing your own plate, you walk over to the sink where Andrew stands.

"Leave your plate angel. I'll clean the kitchen, you can go get ready for bed. Know you're tired." he says as a yawn slips from his mouth.

Going up on your tiptoes, you leave a sloppy kiss on his cheek with a smile and head towards the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Nearly falling asleep while rinsing out your hair, you quickly wash your body. and finish your shower. Stepping out, you cover yourself in a towel before opening the door to grab some pajamas to wear. Pajamas that consist of one of Andrew's shirts and a pair of sleep shorts.

Climbing into bed you wait for Andrew to come up to bed.

Closing your eyes for what you think is just a second, you're woken up when he crawls into bed, obviously trying not to disturb you and failing.

"Sorry love, was just coming to sleep."

Rolling over so you’re facing him, you wait for him to get comfortable in the bed before crawling into his arms. If you could crawl into his skin that's what you would be doing right now.

"Missed you so much, 'm so glad you're finally home."

Releasing a small breath, he brings you closer to him, -if that was even physically possible- and plants another kiss on your forehead. "Me too, angel, me too. Next time I'm dragging you on tour with me."

With a small laugh, you let your body rest against his and sleep consumes you.

Feeling the exhaustion finally hit him, Andrew gets a good night's rest for the first time in what felt like years. His love in his arms. He's sure that not even oceans away performing in arenas he would dream of selling out as a child, could beat the feeling of having you fast asleep in his arms. 

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

[lemoncrushh]

Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[strawhbrrries]

Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music. 

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did. 

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt. 

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter. 

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week. 

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire. 

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support. 

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house. 

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers? 

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend! 

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable. 

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special. 

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that. 

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you. 

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears. 

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.” 

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs. 

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed. 

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe. 

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god. 

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head. 

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”

[likeadevils]

Midnights Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on Midnights in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing Midnights and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process.

If you don't want to read all that, check out this playlist of the album in order, or this playlist of her entire discography. WARNING: there is a very large chunk on the playlists that I have no information on (Maroon-Dear Reader).

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date: 

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based off pure vibes and guesswork and is highly likely to change.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices

Renegade: March 7-15, 2021 (Confirmed)

Aaron: “I wrote the music [for Renegade] at some point after we finished [evermore], and sent it to her, because she was inspired by a llot of the Big Red Machine stuff we were working on. And she had already sung on Birch, a song that hasn't come out yet but is one of the major ones on the record. And I think she wanted to write a song for Big Red Machine. She very much feels like part of this community to me. So I wrote Renegade, the music, and sent it to her. And not unlike a lot of the things we've done together, one day I woke up to a voice memo from her and she had written this incredible song about how anxiety and fear get in the way of loving or being loved. And she was clearly thinking about Big Red Machine. And then we recorded her vocals and everything the week of the Grammys, when I was there in LA, and it was really nice to have something to think about that wasn't related to the Grammys - just to make music because you feel like making it." (transcript from jaimie)

High Infidelity and Would've Could've Should've: March 7-15, 2021 (Confirmed)

Aaron: [Would've Could've Should've], we wrote that song together, and recorded it while we were together in LA for the folklore Grammys. It goes back that far. And the same with High Infidelity. Those songs, we actually recorded in her house, the vocals, we recorded them then. And I just kept making music, and it was kind, after we had made folklore and evermore, I started to have ideas which I would share. And eventually, she obviously made most of Midnights with Jack, and it became something different. But High Infidelity, and Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve, and The Great War, and we made Hits Different with Jack and Taylor and I also, and it was great to be part of that record in that way. (transcript from @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes)

The Great War and Hits Different: between April-October 2021 (Speculation)

In the above quote talking about his songs on Midnights, Aaron says "Eventually, she obviously made most of Midnights with Jack, and it became something different," implying his stuff was written before the bulk of midnights in fall. He also says High Infidelity and Would've Could've Should've "[go] back that far," which implies they were some of the earliest stuff on Midnights, so it's safe to assume TGW and Hits Different come sometime afterwards.

Summer 2021: Jack has a session with Sounwave, Sam Dew, and Zoe Kravitz, where the instrumentals for Lavender Haze and likely Glitch are written

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: Before Antonoff began to work on Swift’s tenth album, he was cooking up tracks with Spears, Dew, and Zoë Kravitz [...] During a brainstorming session, the quartet put together a track that would eventually become “Lavender Haze.”

November 3 2021: It was announced that Joe has been cast in Stars at Noon, alongside Margaret Qualley, Jack Antonoff's then girlfriend now wife. Since Joe was parachuted into the film last minute, filming had already started, making it likely he left as soon as possible.

Taylor: We’d been toying with ideas and had written a few things we loved, but Midnights actually really coalesced and flowed out of us when our partners (both actors) did a film together in Panama. Jack and I found ourselves back in New York, alone, recording every night, staying up late and exploring old memories and midnights past.

November 8: Jack gets back from touring with Bleachers. Let the games begin.

Vigilante Shit: November 2021 (Speculation)

Vigilante Shit is the sole solo writing credit on the album, which implies it was written before her and Jack were holed up together 24/7. Also Scooter and his wife divorced in July. Beyond that there's no evidence this is early in the process, besides it making sense that Taylor wrote this alone, brought it to Jack, and then fell into a creative inferno.

Maroon, Anti-Hero, You're on Your Own Kid, Midnight Rain, Bejeweled, Labyrinth, Mastermind, Paris, and Dear Reader: November/December 2021 (Inferring)

I don't have enough info on the making of any of these songs to give them each their own little blurb, but if anything pops up I will update this post and reblog it letting y’all know.

Question..?: After November 21, 2021 (Inferring)

We know Rachel Antonoff, Dylan O'Brien, and Austin Swift were there the day they recorded it thanks to this behind the scenes footage of them recording the cheering vocals. Dylan was filming The Vanishings at Caddo Lake in Louisiana sometime between October 5 and November 20. I don't know exactly which dates he was filming-- he was in New York for All Too Well filming in late October and to attend the premiere on November 12, but since we know for sure he was in Louisiana on the 20th, I'm just gonna Occam's Razor it and say Question was written sometime after he got back from that.

You're Losing Me: December 5, 2021 (Confirmed)

December 17, 2021: Filming wraps on Stars at Noon, and with it the bulk of recording for Midnights.

Lavender Haze: Early 2022 (Speculation)

Lavender Haze, Snow on the Beach, and Karma are the only songs to have Henson Recording Studios credited (I can't find studio credits for the 3am tracks so there is possibly more on there). This could point to them all being recorded around the same time time, or it could be in reference to Jack and Sounwave's original recording sessions taking place at Hensen. I lean towards the former, since 1) it seems like the Winter 2021 sessions were mostly between Taylor and Jack, and the spring sessions have other collaborators, and 2) the tabloid rumors about Taylor and Joe getting engaged really started heating up in February 2022. On the other hand, Sounwave implies that there was a notable stretch of time between Lavender Haze and Karma, so I totally understand if you want to put it with the rest of the Winter 2021 sessions. Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: A few months [after Jack and Sounwave wrote the instrumentals], Antonoff reached out to Spears, Dew, and Kravitz to see if he could pitch [Lavender Haze] to Swift, who loved it immediately. She wrote lyrics inspired by a Mad Men scene, numerous tabloid rumors and online gossip about her relationship status, and “1950s expectations.” “When Jack brought us in the hear for the first time, all our mouths dropped. She took it to a whole new world and made it her own. She created different pockets we did not hear.”

Glitch: Early 2022 (Speculation)

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: "Glitch,” one of the bonus songs on the Midnights (3am) edition, was born from the same studio session as “Lavender Haze.” I don't know if this means the instrumentals to Lavender Haze and Glitch were done in the same session, Taylor wrote the lyrics in the same session, or both. For the same reason as Lavender Haze, I lean towards this coming later in the process, as well as Glitch mentioning being together for six years, and in November 2021 Taylor and Joe had been together for a little over 5 years. That being said, Taylor could've assume the album was going to come out in 2022, and that she would stay with Joe until then, and bump up that date a bit. It's still very up in the air.

February 5, 2022: Taylor is photographed leaving Jack's house holding a keyboard.

Sweet Nothing: Spring 2022 (Inferring)

Joe is a co-write on this, meaning they likely wrote it after he got back from filming. It also mentions their trip to Ireland in 2021 and refers to it as "last July", implying it was written in 2022. While I was writing this timeline Taylor liked this post on twitter, implying that at least the second verse is in reference to Paul and Linda McCartney. The quote is from his poem Blessed, which you can read in this interview (TWs for death and cancer)

Bigger Than The Whole Sky: March 2022 (Inferring)

Claire Winter, a close friend of Taylor's, posts on Instagram that she miscarried. (I toyed with whether or not to add this, but seeing as Claire Winter made the information public herself, I decided to put it in. If she ever takes that Instagram post down, let me know and I'll delete this part.)

Snow on the Beach: April 1, 2022 (Inferring)

On April 1, Lana Del Rey posts a video on Instagram of Jack in the studio with an unidentified female voice in the background. Two days later she posts this photo, which Taylor and Jack both include in posts about Midnights/Snow on the Beach. Lana: Well, first of all, I had no idea I was the only feature [on that song]. Had I known, I would have sung the entire second verse like she wanted. My job as a feature on a big artist’s album is to make sure I help add to the production of the song, so I was more focused on the production. She was very adamant that she wanted me to be on the album, and I really liked that song. I thought it was nice to be able to bridge that world, since Jack [Antonoff] and I work together and so do Jack and Taylor. Taylor: And with Snow On The Beach, which features the genius Lana Del Rey, very lucky to have collaborated with her on that. And Dylan [O’Brien] was actually in the studio with me and Jack, because a lot of the time we record at his place, and Dylan was just hanging out, drinking wine with us, and listening to stuff, and he was just trying out the drum kit there. He wasn't serious. But we were drinking wine, and we were sort of like, 'We haven't recorded the drums for this one yet! See if you want to...' and he played the drums on the song. Sometimes it just happens like that. (transcript once again from jaimie)

Karma: Spring 2022 (Speculation)

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: The bubbly “Karma” came later [than Lavender Haze and Glitch], when Antonoff reached out to Spears for any other ideas he may have to contribute to the album and its synth-pop vision. “‘Karma’ was just a last-minute Hail Mary,” Spears says. “I remembered I was working with my guy Keanu [Beats] and had something that was too perfect not to send to her. As soon as I sent it, Jack was instantly like ‘This is the one. Playing it for Taylor now. We’re going in on it.’ The next day, I heard the final product with her vocals on it.”

April 19, 2022: Elle's interview with the Conversations with Friends cast is released, and when Joe is "asked if he hopes to continue writing songs, Alwyn simply says, “It’s not a plan of mine, no.”" It's possible this means Sweet Nothing was yet to be written, but I think it's more likely Joe was just denying in order to not create hype around a song that wasn't officially announced yet.

May 2022: Taylor teases Labyrinth lyrics in her NYU Commencement Speech and says m i d n i g h t very prominently on this instagram post, meaning by early summer she was likely confident in the album's name and which songs would make the tracklist.

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

[writingquestionsanswered]

Do you have any advice for writing with adhd? I can craft these elaborate storyline in my head, but the minute I try to write any of them down I get bored. (Or is that just regular writer block?) It's really discouraging, because I feel like my mind is moving faster then my head, and any time I try to bring any of my ideas to life it just disipates.

Writing with ADHD: 5 Game Changers for Me

Here are some things that have been game changers for me as a writer with ADHD: [Edit: everyone's ADHD is different. This is just what works for me. It may not work for you...]

Planning: It's different for everyone with ADHD, but for me it's essential to spend time planning my story before I start writing. I like to flesh out as much as possible concerning plot, timeline, setting, world, characters and arcs, subplots, and themes.

Summary, Outline, and Scene List: Three items that are critical for me to have in hand before I sit down to write are a beginning to end summary of the story detailing all plot events as far as I know, an outline loosely based on the story structure template/s that feel right for the story (for example, I may use elements of Save the Cat! and some elements of of the Six-Stage Plot Structure), which helps me navigate my plot and hit the relevant plot points. And finally, I need a detailed scene list/timeline combo which lists chapter, scene, date/time, POV character, location, and a one to two sentence summary of what happens in the scene, including the character's goal in the scene, the scene's conflict, and the scene's resolution or how it carries into a later scene.

Gamifying: When I'm struggling with a particular time period or project, it can help me to gamify things. You can do this using a game board strategy, the Yahtzee Method, making a list of bench marks that serve as "levels," race against yourself by trying to bet the previous day's goal, etc. The key to gamifying is to set reasonable benchmarks and give yourself periodic rewards. Rewards can be anything from buying yourself a boba, watching a favorite TV show episode, an hour of playing your favorite game, or going to a movie. Some people like to go to the dollar store and buy a lot of small fun things and use those as rewards. Whatever works for you! Sometimes, turning it into a game with tangible progress and rewards can keep you motivated.

Setting Up a Routine: Although I have my general daily routine, I am without a doubt more productive when I can stick to a more specific routine that includes writing time. For me that works out to writing early in the day before other distractions start ramping up. When I put on my music, sit down with some coffee and a snack, and pull up my manuscript, my brain knows it's time to get to work. That doesn't always mean the work happens, but it's much more likely I'll get something done.

Minimizing Distractions: Anything that can be a distraction when I write is problematic. For that reason, I only listen to music without words and advertising. I turn off my phone or leave it in the other room. If possible, I try to use placeholders for things I need to look up. If I absolutely have to look something up and I get distracted by headlines, interesting articles or videos, or other things, I bookmark them in a special folder and immediately close the window. That way, I know I can go back to them later (I almost never do...) And, for me, as much as I love Scrivener and the ability to organize by chapter, have quick access to character profiles and photos, toggle between scene cards and my story... it's just too distracting for me. I'll sit down to write a chapter, then decide I need to re-do my scene cards, or cast characters, or do mood boards for every location in my story.

For that reason, writing in Word works best [for me] It's simple and there's nothing to distract me. Any story references I might need while writing, such as character profiles and photos, mood boards and aesthetics, setting inspiration photos, etc. are all organized in a special folder, categorized into sub-folders, so I can go straight to the required reference.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[vivalabunbun]

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret. 

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error. 

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy. 

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes. 

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.  

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better. 

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench. 

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door. 

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward. 

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes. 

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.” 

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?” 

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests. 

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing. 

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined. 

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance. 

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room. 

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.    

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above  accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall. 

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past. 

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally. 

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer. 

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said. 

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago. 

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room. 

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument. 

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes. 

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame. 

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice. 

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off. 

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents. 

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water. 

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard. 

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore. 

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays. 

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget. 

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes. 

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month. 

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display. 

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now. 

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read. 

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers. 

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening. 

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison. 

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room. 

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied. 

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you. 

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really. 

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense. 

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak. 

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again. 

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble? 

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open. 

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped. 

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue. 

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence. 

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue. 

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it. 

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun. 

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him. 

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away. 

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair. 

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next. 

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature. 

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time. 

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him. 

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name. 

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him. 

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista. 

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood. 

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts. 

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb. 

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys. 

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight. 

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you. 

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air. 

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple. 

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson. 

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. 

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you. 

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now. 

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated. 

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this. 

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. 

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand. 

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense. 

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation. 

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. 

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week. 

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy. 

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all. 

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead. 

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised. 

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences. 

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on. 

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text. 

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies. 

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break. 

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern. 

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance. 

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.  

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’. 

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness. 

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before. 

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness. 

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet. 

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano. 

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery. 

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward. 

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration. 

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??” 

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.” 

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face. 

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling. 

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer. 

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano. 

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano. 

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes. 

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”  

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?” 

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture. 

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face. 

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon. 

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths. 

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer. 

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response. 

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind. 

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock. 

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination. 

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble. 

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read. 

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity. 

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight. 

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him. 

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library. 

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response. 

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision. 

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks. 

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch. 

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply. 

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter? 

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity. 

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass. 

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression. 

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?” 

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

 Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner. 

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs. 

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts. 

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended. 

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him. 

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle. 

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down. 

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip. 

 His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine. 

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing. 

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you. 

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. 

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes? 

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him. 

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer. 

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.”  Came his flat reply.  

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted. 

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in. 

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk. 

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet. 

“Is that a piece by Debussy?” 

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?” 

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight. 

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them. 

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back. 

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind. 

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system. 

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them. 

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way. 

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything. 

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house. 

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face. 

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ���hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.” 

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face. 

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. 

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion. 

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you. 

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.” 

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice. 

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor. 

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch. 

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you? 

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight. 

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself. 

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries. 

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely? 

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started. 

Another miscalculation on his part. 

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note: 

“Don’t Bother Me”. 

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back? 

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side. 

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings. 

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.  

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers. 

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you. 

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet. 

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue. 

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself. 

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!” 

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom. 

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”  

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind. 

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well. 

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.” 

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all. 

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle. 

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette. 

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora. 

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie. 

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he. 

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up. 

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times? 

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex. 

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.” 

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs. 

“I have a reason to seek you.” 

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle. 

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply. 

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity. 

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it. 

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion. 

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face. 

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more. 

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return. 

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges. 

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend. 

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed. 

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized. 

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off. 

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display. 

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet. 

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor. 

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.” 

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed. 

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks. 

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth. 

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch. 

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it. 

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face. 

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.  

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym. 

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is. 

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow. 

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.  

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities. 

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision. 

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment. 

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is. 

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts. 

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands. 

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed. 

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame. 

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts. 

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time. 

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents. 

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together. 

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her. 

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you. 

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller. 

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan. 

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff. 

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his. 

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand. 

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued. 

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look. 

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face. 

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had. 

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry. 

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now. 

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her. 

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face. 

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo. 

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls. 

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things. 

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again. 

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing. 

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him. 

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses. 

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts. 

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis. 

Acceptance, the last stage of grief. 

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it. 

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind. 

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths. 

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you. 

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own. 

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away? 

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211. 

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival. 

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air. 

“Number 211.” 

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano. 

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss. 

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands. 

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical. 

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight. 

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round. 

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.” 

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams. 

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void. 

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands? 

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain. 

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. 

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain. 

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards. 

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” 

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’. 

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan. 

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes. 

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down. 

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly. 

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him. 

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move. 

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message. 

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee. 

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt. 

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head. 

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them. 

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn. 

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders. 

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request. 

“Ah! Ah! AH!” 

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed. 

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm. 

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. 

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face. 

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions. 

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle. 

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

 In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member. 

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within. 

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet. 

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead. 

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again. 

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings. 

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything. 

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish. 

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air. 

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow. 

It was a grand piano. 

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well. 

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step. 

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand. 

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid. 

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted. 

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano. 

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you. 

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests. 

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook? 

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by. 

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor. 

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house. 

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day. 

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart. 

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears. 

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry. 

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.” 

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky. 

“… Of course.” You let go of him. 

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again. 

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago. 

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change. 

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat. 

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly. 

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile. 

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it. 

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature. 

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part five

part six: with the wilt of the rose

With the success of Eddie's Steve single as his bandmates had started to call it, the label had basically told Corroded Coffin in no uncertain terms to channel that energy into the rest of their album. It wasn't that Eddie didn't like the attention his song was getting and Steve absolutely deserved it, the lying piece of shit, but it was like getting permission to write angsty music about Steve took all the fun out of it. He was fully out of inspiration of the angst variety and had taken a hard left turn into moping, feeling sorry for himself, and being one thousand percent convinced that he was going to be single for the rest of his life and die alone.

Eddie was reclining in his giant beanbag chair (his nest as Steve used to joke with him), occasionally humming lines, strumming on his guitar, and writing more and more pathetically dramatic lyrics for most of the day until he reached his limit and pulled out his phone. It wasn't like Eddie was purposefully keeping track of people in Steve's life but over the time they were together his little gaggle of gremlins wormed his way into Eddie's life too. Unfortunately when he opened his phone it was to tweets of Dustin going low key feral over Steve's new role in some indie biopic but at the same time being crazy upset that Steve would be incommunicado as Dustin so helpfully added in his tweet. The kid was such a dweeb. Eddie flicked out of twitter and opened instagram hoping that his feed would be mostly possum memes. He scrolled idly for a while seeing new tattoo ideas and of course many cute furry animals doing many silly things until suddenly he was reminded of a particular face Steve made and Eddie (although he would never admit this) searched for Steve's public profile only a little disappointed that he hadn't posted anything more recent than when the two were together.

Because Eddie may or may not be a massive masochist and can't leave well enough alone, he decides to tab over to Steve's tagged pictures to see if there is anything recent. In between several tags of Steve being unfairly good looking in whatever movie he was currently filming, Eddie was taken aback by a post that was just of Robin and Nancy. They looked a little closer than just gal pals or whatever it was the tabloids called them while speculating how they could be friends while "fighting" over Steve. So much for modern feminism.

Before Eddie got distracted enough to go through a full rant that might include a fairly long section about how Ronnie was treated differently than the rest of his bandmates, Eddie focused back on the issue at hand. Why was Nancy who he highly suspected of stealing his fucking boyfriend posing like she was getting engaged to Steve's best friend. And why did they fucking tag him it it? Robin was snarky sure but she didn't seem like that level of bitch. Eddie took a deep breath and opened the fairly lengthy caption to see:

nancywheeler Hello World! It's been a long time coming but I am so excited to publicly announce that me and Robin (@buckster) are going steady. I know I don't post a whole lot about my person life on here (seriously, the rest of the world is so much more exciting) but you've always been so supportive of my coming out and sexuality related posts as well as understanding when I needed to set a boundary between my personal life and my online persona. I've been unable to share my most recent relationship for a really long time because of the public pressure of coming out and being a "marketable asset." Steve (@sharrington) could not have been a better support during this time and took a lot of public flak to keep Robin and I safe and comfortable until we were ready to be out publicly. He always offered up his home while I was visiting and kept me company while Robin was working. I guess us bi guys have to stick together, huh? Anyways, that's all for now. And no, we aren't engaged (yet 😈)

Eddie was floored. He had spent all his time since leaving Steve's apartment feeling very holier than thou and smug about everything that happened with Steve and the success his band was experience because of it. Although if one Miss Nancy Wheeler was telling the truth (which like as a journalist Eddie thinks she has to), Steve was actually helping his platonic soulmate find love with his exgirlfriend. If Eddie hadn't already felt kind of shitty for assuming the worst about Steve, this had to take the fucking cake. Eddie was truly done for. Put a fork in him. He's the worst person ever. Fuck. He needed reinforcements.

devilededs: uhm hi friends, i think maybe i am the asshole in the whole steve situation can u come to mine?

ronnie: you saw it? i can finally give you shit about being a total drama queen?

devilededs: what do you mean? why would you not tell me if you knew it existed.

ronnie: precisely because of this vibe right now.

devilededs: okay, everyone but ronnie pls come over i need snacks and maybe some really b grade horror but you have to indulge me in my sadness.

garbear: already on the way with your emotional support jeff and frank. we'll pick up snacks.

ronnie: if you let me problem solve for you can i come for snacks? i don't think i can handle moping eddie without trying to show you its very fixable.

devilededs: YES! FIX! ME! HOW! GET OVER HERE!

Eddie flopped back into the beanbag chair and let his notebook flop out of his lap. Thankfully his friends all had keys so he could continue to rot in place until Ronnie forcibly withdrew him from his hovel.

part seven

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast @mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 @adealwithher @practicallybegging @lunaraquaenby @stripey82 @lexyvey @goodolefashionedloverboi @mothmamhasyourlocation @mugloversonly (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

[grimm-writings]

HIIII i LOVE your blog!! could i request a bard reader performing a song in front of the party, and it slowly dawns upon chilchuck that the song is about loving him? 🥺

a way with words

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, reader is a bit of a poetic shit <3, reader plays a string instrument (envisioned a lute or mandolin but i don’t specify!)

…wc! 1092

…notes! OH MY GODDDD this is so cute. what the hell. we need more bard representation in this got damn dungeon. (i know thistle could technically be one but one in a party i beg)

To me, some parties employ a bard if they plan on going on ‘legendary’ outings into dungeons.

Somebody needs to be there to document their exploits through the written word – how else are legends made?!

You probably stumbled on the party with the intent to write a song of legend.  Eating the dragon that ate one of you sounds pretty legendary after all, right?

Safe to say if you’re not exactly humble about your profession you get on the nerves of a certain union man.

Even if your reason for joining the party was… less than virtuous, you did bring a certain joy to the party that they all appreciate.

If journeying is getting tiring, all you need to do is pluck a few strings of your instrument and hum a travelling song.

Sometimes you’d make a little ‘game’ out of it.  You know using the drunken sailor melody to make your own songs?  Well…

“What shall we do with a big red dragon, earl-ye in the morning!”  Your voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon around you.  You eye the party around you before your gaze lands on the half-foot seeming disinterested in your performance. Well, that simply won’t do! You lunge, dragging him back by the shoulders, eyeing him expectantly.  He only gives you a wide-eyed look of surprise for a second before realising everyone is watching.  He’d hate to interrupt the song, so… “Tie it down and eat it for dinner?” he suggests, only guessing the rhythm vaguely.  To his surprise, you seem to really like it.  You laugh and pick up the music once more to sing his lyric once again. He has to admit, at least you’re having fun.  He doesn’t realise until you reach a stop that he’s been singing along at the end.

I imagine half-foots have a cultural appreciation for music.  It’s a big scene!  They have drinking songs, travelling songs, work songs…  I wouldn’t be surprised if most bards are half-foots!

And Chilchuck is no exception.  Have you seen his little jig?  Of course he likes music!

He has great hearing so he’ll also pick up on little accents in your music and singing others wouldn’t really get.

If you’re performing a campfire song, Chilchuck will likely join in (especially if he had a bit of drink).

It’s nice.  He seemed to be relaxing around you, and you seem to be becoming more of a friend to the party rather than a glorified biographer.

You have to admit that the half-foot has been growing you a considerable amount.  What a complex individual.  So much to read into and inspire… 

It would be one night when you’re on night watch that Chilchuck’s sensitive ears end up waking him up. ..

The half-foot was going to hiss and complain about you being too loud at this time in the night, when he realises you’re playing a melody and mumbling words to yourself. …Huh.  Are you writing a song?  Chilchuck tries to remain still with his eyes closed and listens closely.  It’s handy having such keen senses sometimes. He could only pick up a few words; brown, warmth… something about a kind soul? Chilchuck figures you might be setting up for the party’s “legendary” song.  Maybe you’re focusing on Falin.  Her hair is a very pale brown, and she’s a kind soul if a bit of a people pleaser. He rests easy, listening to your gentle plucking of your strings.  It’s a different melody from usual… he likes your softer side he can identify through your music.

He never tells you he listened to your little jam sesh.  If you knew he’s using your music as a way to fall asleep easier…  He can see your smug smile now, and it makes him endlessly frustrated (or flustered rather).

Chilchuck’s feelings are something he never really… knew.  They just sort of existed, and he let them.  It’s not like anything will happen.

Sure, he gets more red in the face around you… and MAYBE he gets a softer look in his eyes as he looks at you… and perhaps he thinks your singing voice is one of the prettiest sounds he has ever heard…

So what?

It’s a colder night when you take out your instrument and announce you finished writing a song.  It took you a long time to complete it, you admit, but you put a lot of heart into it.

A unique starter, the party might think.  Usually you write for fun.  Specifying putting heart into your music is something that rings an alarm in their heads.

You start playing a melody.  It’s a type of sombre, deep sound.  It resonates a less folksy mood and something more… personal. With eyes closed, you don’t notice Chilchuck perking up in familiarity.  That’s the tune he heard you playing weeks ago.  You only just refined it?  At least he can actually hear what the words are. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you sing about a character that has a kind soul, with deep brown eyes.  His warmth is something that you find yourself wanting to bathe in once a journey ends.  Chilchuck listens with a small smile. It’s only when you start mentioning things like silver strands of hair you wish to weave through your fingers, things start to fall into place.  Wringing his hands too often for a well-prepared man is a lyric that is too specific to merely be about some fictional character. He doesn’t say anything even as he joins in the applause at your finished peace, pretending the heat in his cheeks is from the frosty temperature.

That night, he catches you alone refilling your waterskin.  The atmosphere is thick with a kind of calmness.

Where Chilchuck is usually so stubborn, he finds the words escaping his lips in a soft voice.

“Are you in love with me?”  You don’t respond instantly.  He expected as such.  He follows your form with his eyes as you widen your eyes and glance away with a small laugh. “Wow.  Wasn’t as subtle as I thought,” you dryly tack onto your chuckle. He laughs along, approaching you.  He doesn’t do anything drastic, instead offering his own to you. “It’s okay,” he tells you, surprised at his own lack of embarrassment despite the situation.  “The fact you notice all that about me is… flattering.  You really have a way with words.” You return the grin he gives you and take his hand, squeezing it. “How could I not notice, when you are my intimate muse?”