#and his life always played like an orchestra which is why the line it's the only thing i knew that was true kills me

[shadystranger]

Sometimes you gotta sit back and remind yourself everything dean does is because he belongs to sam and sam belongs to him and everything sam does is because dean is the only thing he can truly call his and he will not let that change & will cling to it till his death

[mourningliliesmorningglories]

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace, and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves.

“Leaving, brother? Without even so much as a goodbye?” Sirius turns to see Regulus perched on the stairs of Grimmauld Place. There was a reason Sirius didn't say his farewells. Neither brother had any discernible expression on their face, nothing that any stranger could ever pick up on. Regulus' brow was furrowed, only just, an expression of despair, of disappointment. Sirius' mouth was set in a thin line. Regulus knew that this was his resignation, shame even, in leaving this place and not even extending a hand to his little brother. Regulus knows why Sirius chooses to leave quietly. You cannot blame a ghost for haunting a house in the opposite way to which it once lived there.

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same.

Regulus stands, he chooses to do this face to face. "Goodbye." Sirius' voice is rough around the edges. His skin is sallow in the candle light, hair limp and tangled. He looks like a Black. He looks like every Black that ever had their face burned off of the tapestry. Maybe this is their curse, not the actions of the leaver but the suffering of the one left behind. “It was always my life for yours.” Regulus' voice is cool, collected. He will not acknowledge his brother's inner tempest, simply because it isn't his. “So naive brother. This is not her letting you go. This is her telling you, never come back. This is her telling you, I knew I’d have to have a second son.”

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed, you turned into your worst fears.

Regulus sees Sirius shudder. He cannot falter, he must play his part. Everything in their lives is an orchestra. Regulus was no better than a puppet, but this act of the play matters. “I paid for your freedom, Sirius Black." Regulus' voice was almost melodic, mocking. Sirius stares directly into his brothers eyes. He tries to understand this parable but he cannot reconcile his brother into the role of both the punisher and the punished. He turns and his footsteps echo down the corridor. To Regulus, the slam of the door sounds almost like the snap of marionette strings. The deed is done. The demon is free of the body that once controlled it.

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years.

Sirius would always be Regulus’ first and last word. It echoes around the cave like salvation. Sirius. Saved. Sirius. Saved. Sirius. Saved. Regulus knows their eyes are identical. Regulus knows he will die. Sirius will always carry a part of his brother, and Regulus will die with a part of his. Regulus finds only relief in the knowledge that he would be free from his punishment. He thinks it to be natural, this yearning to be his brother's other half again. Regulus hopes Sirius can understand him, that one day he'll revere him as an oblation. He hopes he is his brother's favorite sacrificial lamb.

And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed. Look at how my tears ricochet.

The Daily Prophet arrives at Sirius Black's window like it does every day. Remus is making breakfast. This isn't routine and this isn't normal. It's 1979 and the first time in months neither he nor Remus were doing something for the Order. The normalcy, the domesticity almost puts him on edge. He skips to the best part of the Prophet - Obituaries. He's always had a morbid obsession with betting on which Black would go next. He sees his brother. He reads his name. He watches Regulus blink up at him from the portrait with the exact same eyes Sirius thanks him with.

[hlficlibrary]

hey!

I need, need, NEED your favourite longer fics who take place in London! please.

thank you!

Hi, anon! You're very welcome! This was hard to choose because there are so many, but these are the favorites that immediately came to mind...

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.

Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Light, Spark and Fire (series) by  green_feelings / @greenfeelings

Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by @100percentsassy, gloria_andrews / @gloriaandrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

Eight Cakes and Two Eulogies (Make a Happy Marriage) by yesllliam

The Honourable Louis Tomlinson, heir to the Earldom of Colbury and the multi-billion pound family business, RLA Enterprises, often feels under pressure to conform to the expectations of those around him. The 30 year old, nerdy and rather homely physicist part of himself feels he ought to be getting married and carrying on the family line – as does his formidable Grandmother. The only problem is, after his last disastrous relationship, seven years ago, he has little desire to get intimate with another woman, let alone marry one. Of course, Harry, his famous actor of a best friend, always likes to pip in that he is free to marry him and while Louis loves him to pieces, the joke is getting a bit old now.

Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart by mcpofife

Louis is ready to find the love of his life, but first he has to stop falling for the punk rocker next door.

A Thousand Miles From Comfort by @littlelouishiccups

It wasn’t like Louis was Lindsay Lohan or Justin Beiber. He’d had one fucking meltdown and a handful of public drunken accidents. And now he could never screw up ever again. He hit the STOP button on the treadmill and matched his pace as it slowed to a stop.

“It’s not break time yet!” Harry told Louis, tapping his watch with a stern expression. “Come on, you were doing so well! Don’t quit now! Ten more minutes and then you can have a break!”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Louis spat. “It’s not anything you did, okay? I just… I don’t know. I can’t do this. I hate playing the stupid media game. That’s what all of this is! There’s no point.”

  In which Louis is a closeted gay actor and a recovering addict with a troubled past. Harry is the personal trainer who helps him get his life back in shape.

With Liam as Louis' childhood best friend, Zayn as a famous R&B artist, and Niall as a fanboy.

(aka the trainer au)

[rhapsodynew]

#everything you need to know about rock

Britain's first guitar hero who influenced everyone 

Hank Marvin was born in Newcastle upon Tyne on October 28, 1941 and grew up in a two-story family home with an outdoor toilet and no running water. From an early age, he showed an insatiable craving for music: he tirelessly mastered the banjo and piano.

But the fascination with blues, folk and skiffle inevitably led the young enthusiast to the guitar: 

"I was trying to learn how to play skiffle tunes, copy what I heard on the radio, learn how to play the melody that the singer was humming, as well as any saxophone or orchestral phrases."

At the age of nine, Hank Marvin was upset that he was prescribed glasses:

 "I was a skinny, pimply, insecure kid. And I got the big round glasses of the National Health Service in a tortoiseshell frame."

But then a cool author and performer Buddy Holly appeared from across the ocean, who forever changed the opinion about bespectacled people. Soon after, Marvin's life changed. His glasses suddenly became a fashionable rocker accessory. He got a job at an electrical engineering firm to earn money for a train to London.

Events were developing rapidly. Hank Marvin left in April 1958, in September he met the young vocalist Cliff Richard in Soho, who was trying on a jacket in an atelier, and immediately joined him on tour. When Hank returned to his native Newcastle, he was already a star and performed in front of an audience of screaming girls.

Cliff Richard's band was named The Shadows. Their music is instrumental rock classics, which to this day has not left the current repertoire. It is the "Shadows" They released the legendary hit "Apache", written by English songwriter Jerry Lordan and influenced a legion of aspiring guitar heroes. Including on the VIA "Singing guitars".

After becoming a star, Hank Marvin absorbed everything the music world had to offer: 

"I wouldn't believe it if I was told at the age of 16 that we were going to have incredible success. We played concerts all over the world. We performed in African villages. They caused riots in Germany when there were so many people on the streets that the limo almost overturned. It's an incredible experience, some frightening, and some just wow!"

Cliff Richards and The Shadows have created quite a few era-defining hits. Hank's band continued to come out and record. The line-up broke up between 1968 and 1973, but was reformed. In 1975, The Shadows took second place in the Eurovision Song Contest with the song "Let Me Be the One".

Hank Marvin began his solo career in 1969 with an album of instrumental compositions, in which guitar parts were accompanied by arrangements for the orchestra. He experimented with styles and materials, recording instrumental records, albums with vocals, acoustic guitars.

Hank Marvin's guitar can be heard in the recordings Roger Daltrey and Jean-Michel Jarre. Its unique sound has always remained instantly recognizable. Hank did not seek to increase the volume, preferring a light vibrato and giving his parts vocal qualities.

In the late 1970s, The Shadows impressed even punks: "During the release of the album "20 Golden Greats", people came to our concerts who looked completely out of place. When we asked why they were here, they replied, "We like the economy of your music. It's like early punk." I didn't quite understand what they were talking about, but it was nice."

With his melodic playing style and expressive "singing" phrasing, Hank Marvin inspired George Harrison, Eric Clapton, David Gilmore, Brian May, Tony Iommi, Pete Townshend, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page. One of the most loyal fans is Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits. Hank Marvin's red Strat struck his imagination as a child. They subsequently performed together.:

Even the patriarch of Canadian rock paid tribute to the leader of The Shadows as one of the architects of modern music Neil Young. No wonder one of his songs is called "From Hank to Hendrix."

He was one of the first to bring instrumental GUITAR music to the top positions. Before that, there were cool guitarists, even pioneers, some by sound, some by melodies. But The Shadow (and Marvin, as a lead guitarist, of course, occupied a dominant position) were, if not the first, then at least one of the first to bring the guitar instrumental to a leading position.

The epoch!

[autisticempathydaemon]

Have never done anything like this before but I wanted to participate because why not!

Hope I'm doing this right- this is for the RedactedAudio Match-up :)

1 - Ok so I have 2 song fixations, first one is "Used to the Darkness" by Des Rocs and the other is "Morning Coffee" by Chevy and Nalba

For Used to the Darkness the specific verse is the chorus, it's a bit long for tumblr but I'll give my reasoning. I've always loved this kind of rock because it reminds me of the 90s rebellion kind of era and this verse strikes me as 'society has forced me down by its standards and is leaving me in the dust because I've "made a mistake", but I'm going to fight because my life hasn't started yet and I'm too young to simply give up'. Every time I hear that chorus it gives me a second wind of sorts and reminds me to just keep going, to keep being stubborn and to keep being me unapologetically.

For Morning Coffee there is no specific line because I resonate with the whole song lol. I'm a very big coffee addict, like I need coffee or tea every day to make it feel right. The reason being is that it's a small comfort treat to help me feel better especially when some days just aren't the best and I need a pick me up to feel better, even if it's a little bit. I listen to this every morning on my commute and every afternoon on the way back home, it's such a big comfort song that I keep on repeat.

2 - 6! (subtype sp) 3 - I love a good video essay! My favourite ones are a bit niche but I especially love SovietWomble's essay about "The Forest" because it's a deep dive critique and explanation of what happens when lore is added to a game post-release and why it's so important to develop it as a whole rather than doing it in bits as it can be the difference of an amazing or completely underwhelming experience. As someone who writes for fun and loves to play games soley for the lore sometimes, I found it useful to develop and hone my skills in world-building and making my stories more coherent. Also because he did a face reveal at the end BUT THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT!

4 - Gosh I haven't talked about my imaginary friend in a bit, her face evades me but I remember she would always help me sleep or play with me when no one else did (so everyday basically). She always wore a yellow dress and had her hair up in pigtails. I never gave her a name because she never needed one, I just called her 'friend', I miss her

5 - Put on a redacted audio vid and fall asleep to that lmfao (usually a david vid)

6 - I honestly don't know what I'd change my name to, sometimes I just wish I didn't really have a name because my self identity fluctuates so much

7 - Favourite redacted audio, hm, tbh any of David's audios. I find myself always returning to one of his videos but I think I like his camping one the most, I cry every time but hearing the stories makes my heart so full and like I genuinely want to comfort him.

8 - Huxley maybe? I love his pairing with Damien but I've never really liked or gotten into his story much, might just be a me thing- but hey he's gay so that's fun

9 - RWBY! Specifically volumes 1-3 because they're so iconic, love the entire series though, I quote it a lot to myself.

10 - Guy, he's as much as a dumbass and gremlin as I am and I THRIVE off of the chaotic energy so much. Plus he can make me pizza while we hang out so that's fun!

11 - Memes, I will start quoting memes. Either that or "Which character would win in xyz situation? A or B?" 12 - 7-11 hot chocolate but instead of milk I put a latte in it

13 - Karu's "How To Train Your Dragon" orchestra cover playlist 14 - smutty audios... idk I just find it fun to scour for a good audio on reddit lmfao

15 - I'm very argumentative and will debate anyone on any topic (I've been a debater for years), but I'm also very much a people pleaser because I like to give people gifts and do acts of service. Uh- does a plushie addiction count as something that'll tell you who I am? I like dnd and Critical Role

Thank you!

Ooh, I love you; you gave me so much information to work with! There were a good amount of possibilities I was working with, but if you’re an argumentative Six, who else can I pair you with but Avior?

You’re both similar in a lot of ways- a love of debate, prone to Acts of Service, Type Sixes who are loyal, thoughtful, and reliable. It’s these similarities but also the differences that make me think you’d be compatible. Avior and his sarcastic, sharp nature would be good at keeping your people-pleasing chaos in check. Your love of storytelling and narratives would be new and so refreshing to him as he’s never put so much thought into fantasy and fiction. He learns to accept your gifts graciously because he wants you to be happy even though he’s not used to it.

Your life together would be so fun; you’d make his life so fun. Avior does not understand your plushie collection, but he tolerates it and comes to terms with their watching eyes every day because he loves you. He also doesn’t understand any of your memes either; he pretends he thinks they’re insipid and pointless, but he actually thinks they and you are cute and silly when you quote them. Also, you’re totally coffee/tea addicts together, and you’ve got the best stocked caffeine cupboards in all of Dahlia.

Song:

Just tea for two and two for tea/ Me for you and you for me alone/ Nobody near us/ To see us or hear us/ No friends or relations/ On weekend vacations/ We won't have it known, dear/ That we own a telephone (oh, I hate telephones) (yeah, me too)

I couldn’t help it; you gave me a coffee song, so I had to give you a tea song in return! I also like it for you, because it’s cute, it’s sweet, it’s singable. It’s not just about tea but love and being together, having tea side by side for the rest of your lives. It’s the kind of song you could sing at Avior, and he’d have to try really hard to not be charmed.

Runner-Ups:

If you’re a DnD fan, I’ve got to give you Lasko as a runner-up; my brain would not allow otherwise! The two of you could write together and be so cute. Asher is your other contender because you’re similar in a lot of ways that would be really fun but more in a platonic, best friend way than romantic like Avior.

note: thank you so much for waiting~! I hope you like your match-up!

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[korya-elana]

Long post ahead, no tl;dr provided. Music has been one of my saving graces through all the hardships in our life. It started from a very early age. I learned the guitar when I was very young. In 5th grade I began the flute. When I was in high school, I self-taught myself the piano. I've made plans to study the cello when I can afford it.

The piano is what really struck a chord. I don't even know why my parents bought the thing in the first place. No lessons were planned. None of us knew how to play. I don't know what drew me to it at first. I self-taught myself which means I had to translate the left hand into the right-hand notes I was so accustomed to. It definitely wasn't easy. But eventually I grew into a rhythm. I translated or I looked at chords and songs on YouTube until I could play them, every single one, by heart.

I would lose myself in the music. Whenever I was triggered or stressed or anxious or something horrible had happened, that piano bench is where you could find me, lost in the weaving colours and sounds of whatever song I was playing at the time. Sometimes I think it's the only reason we really survived as a teenager.

I haven't played in a very long time. My piano is at my parents' house two states away and they won't let me take it because my brother plays too. But he plays and lets them listen.

I never could. My piano was my lifeline. It was for me. It wasn't for any audience. It was my piece. I always resented the way my mother made me perform. The way she'd sneak in to try to listen to me play. I understand. I've been told I'm a talented musician and considered playing flute professionally when I was considering my careers. I’ve performed in band, orchestra and choir.

But it wasn't for her. It was for me. It was my safety and my comfort and my salvation.

Years and years down the line, I'm cleaning my bedroom, listening to music as it always does and one of my favourites by Ludovico Einaudi called "Life" (PLEASE go listen! Einaudi is so, so stunning and often mixes media with his pieces, he was a HUGE inspiration and I used to know so many of his songs by heart) and as they typically do, my fingers started playing in the air. And then I realized I ... couldn't. It wasn't working. My two hands couldn't sink into the graceful tandem movements that let me lose myself so often when I was younger.

I cried. A bit. It was so much more of a gut punch than I was expecting. It feels like I've lost a key part of myself and I haven't felt such an aching desire to return to those lovely ivory keys in a very long time. I have a shit tonne of things to save up for and unfortunately they are more of a priority but maybe someday. Or maybe someday I'll convince my parents to let me have my piano back. I have my flute and my guitar but the guitar doesn't allow me to sink the same way and my health issues make playing the flute for longer than a few minutes immensely difficult.

What a strange way to feel on your 30th birthday. Maybe I'm just reminiscent and afraid of the time I've left behind.

~Em

[simpforsix]

first of all, to my fellow emetophobes there is a lot of vomit in this season, especially episode 2. luckily i'm not as bad with it as i used to be, but if you struggle with emetophobia i recommend skipping past the car scene after five says he's going to be sick because it's... a lot.

now,

BIG SPOILERS INCOMING

SERIOUSLY I'M ABOUT TO SPOIL THE WHOLE THING DO NOT CLICK READ MORE IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE WHOLE SEASON

here's the things i liked the most about this season:

-the aesthetic. tua always has it's aesthetics on point so it's no surprise, but i really liked the look of this season.

-the soundtrack. again, an obvious one, but i was jamming to the music the whole time. AND i really liked their use of viktor's apocalypse suite, especially with how it backed the whole final fight. it was a cool return to the first season. they also used one of his orchestra songs for what abigail is playing when they walk in, which was a cool touch. and i loved how the whole season ended with 'i think we're alone now'.

-the sibling bonding. i especially liked the car ride (before the excessive vomiting) because it's exactly like every road trip i've ever had with my sister.

-viktor getting to yell at reggie. that old bitch had it coming.

-the scene with all the fives from alternate timelines was funny, even though i wasn't a fan of five at that point because of what he did with lila. i love whenever there's a bunch of alternate versions of the same character and they give them nicknames like 'drunk five' and 'brisket five'. plus it explains the whole old five from s3.

-klaus was fantastic as always. i'm glad he got to chew out allison and have some of his comic powers, and i loved seeing him do tarot. very relatable that he was pulling cards and then putting them away when he didn't like what he got.

-this is more because of elliot but i LOVED seeing viktor be comfortable in his skin for once. his voice is so deep now, and the fact he's a trans character just living life brought me so much joy.

-luther and diego being a himbo & himbo duo again.

-ben's death. it's not what i was expecting but i liked how it answered why none of them talk about what happened and why reggie would be invested in the plot.

-i like the mechanism of the subway. the subway lines are timelines, and it acts like the portal from s3 (even with the colour references when the subway is travelling).

-diego's reaction to getting his powers back is hilarious. everyone else was having a shit time and he was overjoyed about throwing packages.

-it is very funny to me that sparrow ben is canonically a cryptobro because that it so in character for him.

and now for the things i really didn't like:

-LILA/FIVE. the age gap makes me uncomfy (both ways) but the biggest thing is how is impacts lila's relationship with diego. it just makes both of them unlikable, which considering we've been following five since s1 as a main character is bad. she cheats on diego with HIS BROTHER who was clear about being unattracted to her the previous season and puts his family above all else. five just abandons his principles, lila cheats on her husband, and it's all left unresolved forever.

-klaus being forced into prostitution to pay his debt. absolutely unnecessary and not given the weight it deserved, especially since him getting possessed by a ghost to have sex is definitely sa.

-allison's actions in s3 go pretty much unaddressed. i could understand that with how the family is but the fact she sa'd luther should've been addressed.

-why did ray walk out? they were happily married for years in the 60's, and then he left her for some unknown reason and is only mentioned in a throwaway line by klaus.

-ben's death. yes it's on both lists. this point is because of the plot holes it makes. his ghost is unmarked but reggie shot him in the head, which doesn't make sense considering klaus sees the wounds on ghosts. he's wearing the wrong clothes which is an obvious continuity error since umbrella ben had literally ONE outfit. and he doesn't have any more hatred for reggie than the others as a ghost, which doesn't make sense because obviously his memories weren't impacted. and if he doesn't know because he died immediately, why doesn't he ask klaus about it when he summons him at his funeral? it's just a lot of inconsistencies.

-also, how does the whole 'jennifer incident' work in the sparrow timeline? there's sketches of her on ben's desk, which doesn't make sense if he never opened the container and therefore didn't die.

-not a plot thing, but rather that i found the use of vomit a little excessive in this season. i have emetophobia so others might not have this issue, but i do wish it hadn't been shown as graphically.

-again, i really don't like how unresolved they left lila/diego. they're the only remaining couple, they were married for five years, and it ends with us having no idea where they stand. i also really hate the whole bit where diego thinks lila is cheating (when we know she isn't) but then she DOES cheat. the fact she's bored with suburbia is interesting but left unexplored. these issues should've either been explored earlier or not written in because they aren't dealt with in a satisfying way. i know real life relationships don't often end in a satisfying way, but this is the last episode of a tv show for a three season relationship. it should've been better.

-viktor doesn't play the violin. this has been a grievance of mine for s3 and s4. it's such a major part of his character in s1 (literally helping bring about the apocalypse) and as a musician myself it's such a missed opportunity. musicians live and breathe music, and it just doesn't make sense that viktor, a professional violinist, would stop playing even as a hobby. i got so excited when they played his apocalypse suite and showed his (abigail's) violin, but he never even touched it.

[hansensgirl]

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

[cynicalmusings]

Camille ‧ Wondrous Symphonic Orchestrator

Ardent Pursuer of Musical Enlightenment

“Music is a gift to be shared with everybody, no matter our differences nor tribulations in life.”

——————

◆ Camille

◆ Wondrous Symphonic Orchestrator

◆ Ardent Pursuer of Musical Enlightenment

◆ Hydro

◆ Canticum Cordis

——————

A wealthy composer from Fontaine, known for both his eccentricity and creativity.

(voicelines under the cut.)

Hello…

Why hello there, my good friend! I am Camille, a valiant pursuer in the most wonderful art of music. The whole world sings countless songs of your deeds. Come, let me compose a piece in your honour. Would you rather it be a concerto or a sonata? No… that is not nearly grande enough for a person of your magnificence… ah! I have it! For you, my friend, I shall compose an opera.

Chat: Sudden Inspiration

Oh. Oh, goodness. A wave of the greatest inspiration has struck me. I must make note of these ideas immediately…

Chat: Tunes 

*humming* Ooh, my… that is quite the lovely melody. Now, where have I put my pen…

Chat: Discovery

Let us stop for a moment, my friend, and admire the splendour of our surroundings. I feel that there is a tune just aching to be discovered here…

When It Rains

The sound of raindrops upon the ground is akin to a quiet, rhythmical drumming… it is truly incredible how nature can form such effortless music, no? 

On a Clear Day

Birdsong, the rustle of leaves in the trees, the wind whistling by… this reminds me of a piece I wrote once, in which the world was invaded by malicious sentient flowers who grew, deceptively beautiful, in the sun, waiting to spread their spores into the unsuspecting souls who picked them… To this day, I am very proud of that one.

When Thunder Strikes

Eek! I mean, uh— n-nothing to worry about, of course. Just a little lightning is all… although, it does remind me a little of a cymbal crash, wouldn’t you agree?

When It Snows

Is it not remarkable how each snowflake is perfectly unique, simply by nature? Almost like an instrument… not a single one is identical to another, yet each is so incredible in its own right…

Good Morning

My, how the sun breaks over the horizon, bringing with it such songs of joy! May this splendid day bring you much mirth. 

Good Afternoon

The birds sing so beautifully, like the most skilled choir… I must compose something in the name of their wonderful songs. Oh, my good, wingéd friends, how your talent shines today…

Good Evening

The sun begins to dip in the sky, and everyone returns to their homes… when all other people are quiet, it is easiest to hear my own thoughts. Under the fading oranges of the setting sun, I will compose my latest concerto.

Good Night

Hush, now. Listen. Do not fear the dark, for the chorus of crickets is more than enough to fill one’s heart with joy. I wonder if there may be a way to recreate their most fascinating sound…

About Camille: Instruments

I play many instruments: no doubt enough to compile together a one-man orchestra. However, I find working with others is what truly makes the brilliance of music shine, and I would never dream to forsake another’s talent in the name of my own: for a composer is nothing without his instrumentalists, no?

About Camille: Violence

I do not much like violence as a solution to problems. Why must we fight each other when there is so much beauty to be found in each and every soul in this world? It is true that notes may be dissonant and harmonies may clash, but there is always the potential for a major resolution.

About Us: Inner Melodies

There is a song to be found in every heart, and yours is most curious… your song is driven yet tedious, in a minor key yet so hopeful for what is to come, and so intricately woven together through rich experience, yet feels like it is missing a crucial line. If you do not mind my asking, this missing line would be your twin, no? Oh, how difficult that must be… My friend, I do not know how your symphony will conclude, but I sincerely hope you manage to find them, and your melodies can reunite once more.

About the Vision

A vision… such a mysterious, beautiful thing, and so powerful, too, sitting in my palms like a magical gemstone… oh! That could make a fantastic basis for an operetta! Say we have an unsuspecting protagonist, unhappy with their life, who is suddenly graced by the presence of a god, who hands them a glittering jewel that contains the power to change their future… I can already hear the aria of the protagonist in my mind’s eye as they sing of all the new possibilities…! Hang on for just one moment; I must note this down…

Something To Share

Remember, my friend, that when life is tiresome and the world seems to stand against you, you must keep moving and continue the melody of your dreams. For you can only linger on one note for so long: it is the change in notes that makes a song.

Interesting Things

Did you know that the oldest known piece of music in Teyvat is estimated to have originated over three millennia ago? Is this not a sign that music has been around with humanity since their very creation?

About (Other Characters)

About Yun Jin:

Oh, Madame Yun Jin of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe? She is indeed a spectacular performer whom I admire with all my heart… I have seen a couple of her operas, now, and I found each to be even more stunning than the last. The way she commands the audience’s attention to her, her stage presence, and of course her talented voice… she is truly captivating. Someday, I dearly hope to meet her in person and exchange some ideas. I feel there is a lot I can learn from her.

More About Camille: I

I am a firm believer that there is inspiration to be found in all things, whether it be the whisper of the wind or the war cry of a hilichurl. It really only matters where you look: if you should focus on the emotions of turmoil and rage beneath the war cry, you may find the inspiration for a passionate tune, but focus on the wooden club being swung at your face, and all you will gain from the experience is a sore bruise and a painful memory. *wistful sigh* There truly is nothing quite like the rush of exhilaration and excitement in your veins when faced with an impending club to the face… 

More About Camille: II

In my eyes, music is not only an art form, but a language, too. I have come to discover that there are many emotions that cannot be expressed in writing or words, but a simple melody with some carefully placed notes can flawlessly convey what is meaning to be said. Whereas spoken languages can only be understood by some, music flows between these barriers and speaks not to the ears, but to the hearts of those who hear it, and unlocks emotions within us we never knew existed. This is why I believe it to be not only the language of the heart, but also of life itself.

More About Camille: III

I often travel around Teyvat to gather inspiration for my music. I have found that combining different cultural instruments together can make the most fascinating sounds… for example, the erhu from Liyue and the nagado daiko from Inazuma create a beautiful contrast in tone when played together. Not only this, but travelling has allowed me to meet the most incredible people on my journeys… such as you, my dear companion.

More About Camille: IV

I consider myself an extremely fortunate person in life: I am lucky to have inherited a family title of such wealth and hold such a prestigious role in society. Though this fame has never concerned me, it would be terribly arrogant of me if I were to take it for granted. My hope is that the music I bring to the world can help lift the spirits of those who are less fortunate than me, and bring a smile to their faces in the darkest of days.

More About Camille: V

It is… true that I am not the most adept at looking after myself and keeping up with current events… but how could I ever focus on such irksome matters when I could be traversing the world, making music and lighting up its dark nights with ballads and symphonies? There is a melody for everything in this world, and someday, I will discover them all.

Camille’s Hobbies

My hobbies? Oh, let me see… there is the matter of the nine instruments I learn, my collection of historical sheet music, the novel I’m currently writing about the aerodynamics of a flute, my herb garden, my endeavour of playing classical music to my goldfish, my current project of inventing a new instrument which harnesses boiling water to produce different pitches— oh, and my conducting, of course… hmm, it does seem that I have quite a bit on my hands, doesn’t it?

Camille’s Troubles

Oh, how troublesome it is when inspiration strikes me and I have left my quill and paper by my desk, and by the time I return home, the idea has slipped away from my poor mind’s grasp…! This is truly the most difficult part of my career. 

Favourite Food

There is this creamy soup from my hometown knows as ‘bisque’… it truly is delicious, and feels like the softest of silks on the tongue. I once wrote a ballad about a wonderful crayfish bisque because my heart was so overwhelmed with bliss at the rich texture and delicate flavouring… it still remains one of my favourite compositions to this day.

Least Favourite Food

Oh, do not make me speak of blue cheese… even the very thought of it makes my knees weak and stomach twist… I have never understood why some poor souls put themselves through the wretched experience of consuming this vile cheese.

Receiving a Gift: I

This dish alone is deserving of a sonata itself. No— make that two. The world must know of this wondrous recipe, and sing songs of it for decades to come!

Receiving a Gift: II

You are truly a master of the culinary arts… should you ever wish to retire as an adventurer and open a restaurant, I will gladly provide you with any funding you need.

Receiving a Gift: III

Was, erm. Was that blue cheese in there? Yes? Oh, dear lord… I may need a bucket, and quickly…

Feelings About Ascension: Intro

Oh, how does that saying go again…? ‘With great power comes great musical backing tracks’? Ah, yes, that’s it. I must begin writing such a thing myself to tell of our adventures to come.

Feelings About Ascension: Building Up

My heart soars with the wings of inspiration! This is turning out to be such a beautiful piece!

Feelings About Ascension: Climax 

My composition has almost neared its end… I simply cannot wait to share it with the world upon its completion!

Feelings About Ascension: Conclusion

And so the piece finishes with a triumphant, major flourish! Thank you, my good friend, for allowing me to share this most magnificent of journeys with you.

[rubysunnday]

your song | c.b

Summary: Being in love with Colin Bridgerton is hard when the man keeps running off to different continents for months at a time. But the letters he writes and the songs he sends keep the romance alive.

It had been six, long months since Y/N had last seen Colin Bridgerton.

He had gone off travelling again, disappearing off one night with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek goodbye and a promise to write.

The romance between Y/N and Colin had struck out of nowhere. One night they'd been dancing as nothing more than friends and the next moment, there was something more. The way his hands tightened on her waist whenever Cressida said something mean felt different. The way he wrote her notes with every bunch of flowers he sent read differently.

The way he took her hand as she stepped out a carriage, his fingers gently entwining with hers, felt different.

Y/N had fallen head over heels for a man who hated staying in the same place for more than a week. And it was annoying.

He'd written to her more than he had his own family. He wrote to her everyday, judging from the dates on his letters and they arrived in bundles from the postman, all tied with a ribbon that somehow managed to match the dress she was wearing that day.

In the dozens of letters Colin had sent her, he wrote down every detail of the place he was in from the sunsets to the colour of the postboxes. The friends he was traveling with were both music students, desperate for either a career break or to find a new purpose in life.

One of them, Freddy, has been teaching me about the beauty of song writing and how all great pieces of music begin. I'm nowhere near the grandure of Mozart or the beauty of Beethoven or any musicale we've ever attended, but I'm enjoying it nonetheless.

I've found that in my writings there's always one thing I can never quite describe correctly. I search through books for the right words that could even begin to do you justice, my dear Y/N, but I find none. There's no word for describing the way you watch a musicale, or the way you talk about art and reading. There's no word on earth that could do you justice.

So, I hope this poor man's attempt at a song, written under strict guidance and a watchful eye, will begin to convey, just how much I love you.

Y/N had read the letter over and over, her eyes scouring each and every line, taking in the sloppy slant of Colin's handwriting and how he smudged the ink in his desperation to write and write and write.

She pulled out the final sheet of the letter and let out a small surprised gasp. It was a piece of music, the notes written precisely and intricately, the lyrics written messily and scrunched up underneath it. It was obvious which part Colin had been trusted with.

To Y/N

Your Song - by Colin Bridgerton

Y/N stood up from her desk and walked over to the pianoforte that sat in the corner of her room, covered in a thin layer of dust. Y/N wasn't an expert on the pianoforte, her and Colin had bonded over their failed attempts at playing. Colin could sing, though. And as Y/N read through the lyrics, tentatively playing a couple of notes on her dust keys, she could hear him singing it, his hand in her hair as they watched the sunset from the garden bench at Bridgerton House.

Their romance had been kept quiet. The ton was used to the two being openly affectionate with each other, constantly hugging or holding hands and none of them realised when it turned from friendship to romance.

Y/N and Colin had sat in the rose garden of Aubrey Hall one summer night, the sounds of the ball drifting over to them along the gentle breeze. Colin had quietly begun singing along to the song, his hands gently tracing a dance on Y/N's bare arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes shut.

Colin's singing voice was beautiful. And as Y/N played the song he'd written for her, she could imagine him sitting beside her and singing along, his hands over hers as she slowly played the notes.

Attending the opera without him felt bizarre. They'd begun a routine of sitting next to each other in the box, sharing the opera glasses and softly commenting on the music, the costumes, the lighting.

Y/N sat down in the box, scooting her chair close to the balcony. Her mother sat down next to her and sighed happily as she took in the view.

"Isn't this lovely?" She asked, picking up her opera glasses and looking through them at the stage. "I do love a concert."

Y/N said nothing, merely nodded. She kept thinking back to Colin's letter, of his promised return home in time for the concert. In time for him to sit down next to her, take her hand, and whisper about the music.

Y/N glanced up at the box the Bridgerton's sat in and tried not to let out a defeated sigh - still no Colin. Francesca caught her looking and gave her a sympathetic smile along with a shake of her head and Y/N turned back to the stage, trying not to let the disappointment sink in.

The orchestra began warming up, the music notes blending in with the quiet chatter of the audience. Y/N couldn't stop her eyes from constantly scanning the audience, the stage, the boxes, for any sign of Colin.

An excited whisper went over the audience as the lights were dimmed and the lights on the stage that illuminated the thick, red curtain were turned on.

For a minute there was silence. And then the orchestra began playing as the curtain flew up, revealing the actors on the stage.

My gift is my song, and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody

Y/N felt her heart do a bizarre skip. She recognised those words. She'd read them over and over again each night before she went to sleep. The piece of paper they had arrived on was now well worn and creased and she'd meticulously copied out the notes and the lyrics for fear of loosing them.

She scanned the audience again and felt her heart stop. The concert faded away as she focused on the man standing in the corner near the side door, a tiny smile on his face.

Colin Bridgerton stood with his hands behind his back, smiling up at her, his chin covered in the stubble of a beard. He was tanner then before and his hair had gotten lighter but it was still Colin.

Her Colin.

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue Anyway the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Y/N giggled and felt a smile appear on her face as she gave Colin the smallest wave possible, not wanting to attract attention. Colin waved back and nodded to the door that led to the auditorium. Y/N nodded in return and watched Colin disappear out the side door.

"Go on, then," Y/N's mother said, tapping her daughter's knee. "Go find him."

Y/N quietly slipped from her seat and pushed open the curtain, blinking at the bright lights in the corridor.

As she made her way down to the auditorium, she could hear angry voices that were trying not to yell. She rounded the corner and saw Anthony, Violet and Benedict Bridgerton all standing in front of a bemused looking Colin.

"You said you'd be back by the concert!" Anthony hissed, clearly irritated by Colin's lateness.

"It's hardly my fault the train got stuck by a tree, is it, Anthony?" Colin asked, sighing. "I'm here now, however, am I not? Stop fussing."

Anthony went off again, flailing his limbs around as he tried to knock some sense into Colin, his mother trying to be the peace maker between the two as Benedict tried, and failed, not to laugh.

"This isn't funny, Benedict!" Anthony snapped, turning to face his other brother as he snorted.

Benedict's smirk faded as he realised he was about to be on the end of Anthony's rant. He sighed and crossed his arms, physically bracing himself as Anthony went off again.

Colin, looking both bemused and annoyed at his family, turned and spotted Y/N, hovering at the stop of the stairs. His face fell from an annoyed smirk into a stunned smile as he stared up at her.

"They're actually both," Y/N said to Colin, her voice quiet enough that the three other Bridgerton's present had yet to realise she was there.

"What are?" Colin asked, walking up to meet her, taking each step slowly.

"My eyes," Y/N replied, smiling, dropping the skirt of her dress. "They're both colours."

Colin chuckled and looked like he was blushing. "I told you I wasn't good at song writing."

"Everyone else seemed to enjoy it," she replied as she heard the audience applaud loudly.

"Because Freddy worked on it for months until tonight," Colin replied. "Even then he wasn't sure about performing it. If he'd performed the version I'd written the ton would be complaining. I'm not very good at it."

"I think you're better at it than you believe, Mr Bridgerton," Y/N said as she continued walking down until they were both on the large step that broke up the stairs. "I'm not sure about the beard, however."

"Why?" Colin asked, a hand subconsciously flying to his chin and running across the stubble.

"Well, it just means that every time I go to kiss you, I will have to be tickled and scratched by it," she replied, her hand covering the one resting on his chin. She entwined her fingers with his. "But I can live with that."

Colin laughed and leant forward, kissing Y/N with the passion and desperation of not seeing her for six months. His hand rested on the back of her head, carefully minding her hair as his thumb stroked her skin.

"I think I'm going to stay here for now," Colin said softly, breaking apart from her, resting his forehead on hers. "Stay with you."

Y/N looked up at him, feeling his breath on her cheeks. "Colin Bridgerton, are you -"

"Yes," Colin said, cutting her off. "I am. Because it took being apart from you for six months to realise what I was missing. To realise that I travel the world searching for purpose and reason, when, in reality, my reason is you. The purpose of my entire being is you.

"Without you, I'm half a man. Without you, the travelling begins to feel like running away and I don't want to run from you. I want to take your hand and run with you. Forever if we wanted. I can run until you can't run anymore. And when you can't run anymore, I'll carry you."

Y/N smiled, pressing her lips together as she savoured the taste of his kiss. "Words are your forte, Mr Bridgerton," she said softly, stroking the side of his head, threading her fingers through his curls. "I'll run with you to the end of the world and back again. I'll take your hand in mine and I will never let you go. Not again."

Colin pressed his lips to her and Y/N smiled against his lips before returning the kiss. He smelt of his cologne, the sweet caramel biscuits he loved and, somehow, the floral, homely scent of Bridgerton House

He smelt of home. He was her home. Simply being in his arms was enough.

"I've just realised something," Colin whispered in her ear.

Y/N looked up at him, staring into his eyes. "What?"

"My family is watching us."

Y/N glanced behind him and saw the three Bridgerton's pretending to occupy themselves with anything else. Benedict was investigating a painting, Anthony was admiring the ceiling and Violet had been reading the program but glanced up at them with a smile.

And despite it all, Y/N let out a snort of laughter and dropped her head on to Colin's shoulder. "Of course they are."

Colin giggled, actually giggled, and rested his head on top of hers. "Better get used to it, love, I doubt they'll ever stop staring."

[buffintruder]

BESTIE WHAT IS YOUR PEPPERHARROW FIC I AM LOOKING

(oh right that's what your main blog was, sorry i forgot haha)

Pepperharrow fic is basically Watchmaker modern au from Pepperharrow's pov in which she follows the main characters on social media and judges them all from half the world away

Here's a snippet (for context, Pepperharrow was looking at the instagram of an English theater company she likes and saw a picture of Mori and Thaniel)

Takiko switched over to her Line app, opening up her chat with Keita. The last message on there was from just over a year ago when he informed her that he was adopting an orphan in England. Takiko had spent so long trying to figure out how to respond that she ended up not saying anything at all. He was a psychic; he could figure it out. Besides, Keita did not interfere with her life anymore, so she might as well show him the same courtesy.

“Joy, don’t you dare get involved with my favorite British theater,” she sent, typing the first word in English. It was her nickname for him, having grown more and more ironic over the years.

“I don’t know what you think I’m getting up to, but I assure you, I only encouraged Thaniel to pursue his passion. He signed up on his own.”

So Keita had met the boy before he had gotten into theater. Takiko had no idea why Keita would get some random British man to join an orchestra, but most of his actions were unfathomable in the short term, and she had long given up the privilege to watch most things play out from up close.

“What do you want from him?” she typed.

“Who says I want anything at all?” Keita replied, which was a ridiculous enough question that Takiko ignored it. He clearly wasn’t going to be forthcoming, and there was no point in arguing with someone who already knew all the arguments you would already make.

It wasn’t any of her business, Takiko thought. She didn’t know these people, and just because Keita had the power to ruin lives, that didn’t necessarily mean anything tragic was in store for this Thaniel Steepleton.

It was just that in the past, Keita always seemed to interact with people who he could manipulate in some way to ensure history would go the way he wanted it to go. The only real exception to that was Takiko herself, who had been an obscure actress in a dying art, and even then it had benefited him to be married. He had told her outright that he needed someone in his debt, who trusted him but did not care about him—some safeguard for a future she knew nothing about.

Could this Steepleton be the same? A random nobody who would serve some purpose to Keita, a pawn to be used and sacrificed if necessary?

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU  Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor  and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.  

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

 The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present. 

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.  

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.  

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

 When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal. 

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies. 

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be. 

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers. 

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed. 

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain. 

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered. 

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests.  You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?” 

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you. 

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self. 

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee. 

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now. 

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless. 

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine. 

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more. 

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement.  He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare. 

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you. 

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh. 

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies. 

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss. 

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”  

[corisanna]

More of @catboy-von-seckendorff's Domestic Witches AU

in which Oktavia-Sayaka struggles with "self" in the early days after turning

~~~~~~~~~~

After the week of intensity in which their alliance plans to and does defeat Walpurgisnacht, things simmer down to a lesser tension. The danger is past but Oktavia-Sayaka cannot escape the consequences of her turning into a witch.

She is stuck as a large monster. She had thought herself inhuman after finding out the truth of Soul Gems, but now it is visually and physically obvious with her transformation and the loss of her human shell. Even her mind has changed, giving her new perspectives on and willingness to do darker things that she knows her sane human self would have been appalled by. She knows she is now willing to kill and doesn't feel too bothered by what she had done on that train when she was perched on the brink of witchy insanity. That is not normal. The fact that she is unbothered bothers her some, but she tries to avoid that feeling. This is just what she is now. She is not human anymore.

She can't go home. She will never see her parents again. She has mixed feelings about that. Her parents will never see her again; that may not be such a bad thing to them, though. Her human self had been a disappointment so maybe they'll be glad to not have her around. And maybe not being a disappointment will be good for her. But still. She can't go home, where she had at least some belonging. She's lost all the little trinkets of her life, all of them locked in a place she can't go.

She will never go to school again. She can't go to the mall with friends and listen to song samples at the music shop then drop by the food court for a burger. She can't go to the arcade. She can't go to the symphony to hear Kyosuke play violin with his healed hand like she had so wished to do.

She is able to leave Mami's apartment after she learns to make herself invisible to normal people from Charlotte but it often feels worse than staying inside. Seeing the humans doing everything she can't anymore is like being taunted. There's also the risk of running into a magical girl who will attack her without knowing the situation. Oktavia-Sayaka starts using that as an excuse to not leave the apartment when she really wants to stop torturing herself. She mostly stays within the walls of Mami's apartment, moving carefully to not knock things over because of her large size. She can't get down the hall and the kitchen makes her claustrophobic. She is mostly limited to the living area. She has much more room to move around in her labyrinth, but it is also an enclosed space. She spends a lot of time there, anyway. It's more comfortable for her witch instincts. But still. It is always the same.

Oktavia-Sayaka's world has become very small.

She pines for her humanity at times but ruthlessly buries the feeling in her new witch mindset as much as possible. It is difficult; it is in her Nature to fall in love and yearn. She had never realized that she was in love with the human world.

"I wanna be where the people are--"

"Wanderin' free-- wish I could be-- part of that wor--"

She smothers her humanity with her orchestra's music to escape the loss. Her familiars play intense and strange symphonies that seem to disturb her friends when they visit. She pushes and pushes her witch instincts to strengthen until "Sayaka" weakens and she is more "Oktavia".

She can't erase her core of "Sayaka". Something tells her that would be dangerous even if she could. She feels she is toeing a fine line. But "Sayaka" is a source of despair for what she has lost and despair is also dangerous for her if left unchecked.

So Oktavia tries to leave "Sayaka" in her hidden depths and focuses on "Oktavia," who is more content with what she has. A witch's labyrinth is supposed to be her entire world, after all. Why should she need the outside world?

It is safer if she thinks Sayaka Miki is dead.

Being addressed as "Sayaka" reminds her of what she has lost. She doesn't have "Sayaka's" life anymore. Sayaka Miki is dead.

"My name is Oktavia von Seckendorff now."

"My name is Oktavia now."

"My name is Oktavia!"

"Sayaka Miki is dead!"

.....

....

...

..

.

("Sayaka Miki" cries in the deep.)

[turnaroundroundround]

Morimyu in Classical reference

So, as for the fact that music in Morimyu Op. 3 resembles classical music in both progression and musical technicality, it's interesting how it's possible to keep coming up with different interpretations after re-watching the musical again and again.

I've made a thread on twitter about this before, but 1) word limitations and thread will never be enough to list all that I have to say lol 2) I'd prefer to have a fuller version noted down, especially one that I can edit and keep coming back over and over again when ever I come up with something new.

Either way, I am still (lol) not a pro in music theory and music history as well. All that is written here are based on my very very basic knowledge on music as well as something that I've picked up (and discussed) with my friends after watching Op. 3.

What's the point of this?

Why is it important? Lol I always need this to keep myself from writing off-topic but anyways. Why do the music sound good (except for the fact that because it does lol), and what do they represent? Surely there must be, and there always are, other things that are implied not only through the lyrics but also the music, and the flow in general.

Apart from the lyrics and the lines, it's also quite interesting to have a close look at the music - melody and harmony itself - to see how they portray the stories.

Most importantly, the continuality. How did Morimyu manage to insert so many songs and still managing to connect them as a whole? And how did they use music to go beyond what's on the pages? That's the most important thing about musicals - beyond the pages. We don't see stage or anime doing so very often, as they mainly focus on what's already there, bringing them to life as close as possible to how we imagine things might happen.

As for musical, they have the music. They have the arias and the songs. At some point, a character starts singing, and other characters followed suit. They have their very unique way of expressing the plot, and they have the orchestra, the arias where characters get their solo song, and the duets between characters with strong relationships, and the ensemble which emphasizes the plot, and so on.

A funny thing about duets in classical opera, they're often meant to show lovers' relationship because of the harmony but can also use opposition and all to show enemies' relationship. And in SherLiam's duet it's just both of them at the same time - thoughts connected while engaging in a chase, a hide and seek game of mystery. We'll go into that later.

Back to the topic. Morimyu follows the main plot strictly, but also uses their advantage with music to add all the side details that wasn't told in the manga to create a "complete" view of the plot. It is always available for musicals to do something unexpected (like how we never expected Lestrade's puppet show to be a whole 5 mins long piece lol). And where they did that they added arias and duets, they allowed moments where characters express and developed their emotions as well as going with the plan (yes Albert yessss). Of course there's both a good and bad side to this all the while.

💛 The good thing is they went all the way to show us sides of emotions that we don't see much in the manga or stage, the sides of the story that all of them have kept hidden while focusing on their grand plan. 💛 But then it does get too emotional at some point, especially those who came for the plot and the mind games behind all of it (like me - although I won't deny that I had a lot of fun picking out all the emotions behind the music here lol).

Musicals can always go beyond what we knew. As for Morimyu, their music is heavily influenced by opera and classical music, and it's shown quite clear. There is live music playing (instead of the entire orchestra we have a violin and piano duet), and they have distinctive arias and recitatives throughout.

So thanks to that, it's also possible to use a reference from classical music to interpret their songs.

A Sonata formation - The Narrative Series of SherLiam

Yes, songs arranged and analysed with reference to a Sonata formation, especially in the way they progress through the play.

Some notes before getting into the point

1 - Sonata = a piece of music consisting of several movements - very often 3, sometimes 4. First movement-Allegro: With the quick tempo, introducing the theme of the entire Sonata Second movement-Adagio/Largo: Slow tempo, can be emotional sometimes, as well as leading more towards the final movement Third movement-Rondo Vivace: The ending, quick-paced and vigorous, leading the Sonata to a close. A Sonata always has a general theme, a topic. The theme that I chose to write about is Mystery - the Hide and Seek game between the Detective and Lord of Crime

2 - Aria and Recitative = different types of songs used in an opera Recitative: Lines within a song that happens like a real conversation, as the characters sing they are also talking to each other Aria: A solo section where everything else is a freeze frame, while one actor remains and sing their own song about their thoughts, feelings, etc. In this post we're mainly discussing the arias of Sherlock and Liam, and the duet between them. But there's also some mention of recitatives here and there.

3 - Videos used To make it easier to understand which songs I'm talking about, I also arranged them in piano. And also to have a listen at how they might connect. Just in case the videos beneath don't work (they didn't work on my phone), the three songs discussed are Nazo, Liam's solo, Kokoro no Rondo, all piano arrangements.

All of the songs noted in this section are arias and duets from Op. 3 - the Ghost of the Whitechapel. The additional "series" that Morimyu has added spreading throughout the play, Sherlock and Liam's narratives, which portrays both their emotions and the chase between the detective and the Lord of Crime.

First Movement - Allegro: Nazo(謎) song

Starting from Lestrade's exit after his puppetshow and proceed to the scene, Sherlock's aria introduces the theme of the imaginary hide and seek game that the Lord of Crime has started. The song repeats the word (mystery) over and over again with a continuous rhythm.

Ends with Sherlock just mumbling the word Nazo (mystery) and exiting the stage - no conclusions, just like a mystery that leads into further mysteries with no answer.

♛♛♛ In regards to a Sonata formation, this is the beginning of the entire piece. Quick in tempo, written in 3/4 time and introduces the theme of the entire piece - Mystery.

Uso ka Shinjitsu ka - Lie or Truth song

Starting after Sherlock learns the truth behind Jack the Ripper, wondering if Lord of Crime is a good person after all.

Now I had a really hard time thinking whether this piece should be included or not. For one, it's not an aria. It can be viewed as a Da capo Aria, a development section of the Nazo song, repeating the theme that is introduced, coming and going rather quickly. So, for continuality.

It also does not fit into the series as a whole, being 1) a recitative. The lyrics focus entirely on Sherlock's deduction and whether he should expose the truth or not, etc. so on. 2) The lines in here, unlike the other arias, are taken directly from the manga, so it's not entirely an 'added' element to this chase. 3) Also because if we compare this to a Sonata form, this doesn't really fit anywhere

However, among Sherlock's arias, this song can also be seen as an interesting development as I have mentioned above, so I've decided to have it here, still.

There's another thing about almost all of Sherlock's arias throughout the 2 stages - they never have a conclusive end. The detective's mind is always running, mysteries after mysteries.

Most of the other characters' songs ends with some kind of closing lines, and piano continues to conclude the piece with a strong end, and then goes on to start another piece. All of their problems in the songs are concluded. They made up their minds in some ways.

But Sherlock, his songs always end with him repeating the melody, a capella, and exiting the stage. Piano waits for him to exit, then starts a new song. Or in Op. 2's Mindgame case going straight into the next conversation. We never get to know how Sherlock's songs end, because they didn't really end at those points. There's a hanging sense of waiting for a resolution, a conclusion. Sherlock never seems to have his problems solved within the songs, they just go on and on.

An idea initiates, then something happens and he is once again in the dark. And he spins around within his own mind.

Screenshot from Op. 2. Even if we look back to his aria Mindgames from Op. 2, this song doesn't really have a conclusive ending as well. He just starts singing, the music stops and he starts shooting and going on, resuming the play. It kind of has been a thing for Sherlock's arias?

Second Movement - Adagio/Largo: Liam's solo

♛♛♛ The "second movement" - the 'slower' piece - of the series, Liam's aria lol but actually the piano part of this song isn't slow at all but ok. The other side of this hide and seek game. The "development" section of the sonata series, where we see things in a much more emotional way.

This aria is much richer in harmony and melody. Not only Liam's melody, but also the piano's part which plays a beautiful melody in harmony.

I recall an interview where the stage director mentions how the "orchestra" - piano and violin are representations for Liam and Sherlock. It kind of applies here, where his music is created mostly by piano.

There is modulation, emotions rising and elevating quickly and strongly. But the harmony is beautiful, overflowing and rich with emotions. The song repeats certain lines, emphasizing aspects within Liam's thoughts.

Unlike Sherlock's train of thoughts that circles with no destination, Liam's solo has a definite ending in harmony -> Even with all his emotions in mind, Liam still has a goal already set before him. He has a brief moment of slowing down, pausing and sung about his feeling, before resuming the story.

Leading us to the final stage - Kokoro no Rondo.

Third Movement - Rondo Vivace: Kokoro no Rondo

Rondo formation: Rondo is a type of dance that revolves around a pattern, often ABA, ABACA, or ABACABA - where A is the ritournello ("meguri - kimi ni omou - meguru kokoro no rondo" section) that is repeated over and over with B, C parts in between. Rondo can also be combined with sonata form - this case applies to this song which begins with a key other than the tonic (Fm) before resolving to the tonic key (Fm) to put an end to the entire sonata series. For reference purposes, the last movement of Beethoven's Pathetique or the very typical Fur Elise is also written in a similar format. I also referred to Pathetique quite a lot when brainstorming this post.

♛♛♛ The "final movement" of this Sonata, the final scene of their "Hide and Seek" game. The song's tempo is vibrant and rapid, combining with the dancing sense, all the while strictly following the structure of a Rondo as mentioned above.

This is the stage where Liam and Sherlock's line interacts and reply to each other, as if in a real conversation - just like how the connection between them are now much stronger than what they had before.

In the ritournello, we have Liam and Sherlock's lines intertwining and chasing after one another, emphasizing the "Hide and Seek" element between the two of them.

The song comes to a definite ending, concluding with a strong tonic (Fm) chord. At this stage, there is no more question to be left open, for Sherlock at this point has already made up his mind to take the next step into solving the mysteries regarding the Lord of Crime.

Their imaginary game of Hide and Seek is coming to an end, as Sherlock came to a decision to take the next step - going to Durham.

That's the end of my first draft.

So far that is some of my thoughts noted down right after watching Op. 3 stream a while ago, with some edition made just now.

On the side note, at some point during my discussion with a friend, we also came up with the idea that a Suite may be a better reference. A Suite consists of 4 parts and a prelude, each of them having their specific characteristic. But we didn't go all the way analysing that idea, as 1) we couldn't find a 5th piece that can be added into the series. 2) Even if we did, the Truth or Lie song still would not really fit into the "aria" vibe of this series, as mentioned above.

But then quite interestingly, after a while, I've found another interesting fact that should have been quite obvious but I've missed for (lol) like ages.

The game of Hide and Seek between the detective and the Lord of Crime has begun ever since after Hope's case - that being said, ever since the end of Op. 1

And what is it that we have in Op. 2? "The Mind games of the Lord of Crime". The one where Sherlock went maniac rapping about all the thoughts he has and end up shooting randomly into the wall.

At first it begins like another recitative, but in the later half, the harmony starts to become more harmonious, written in 3/4 time flowing like a dance.

In that section, the melody of the piano and violin part resembles the one we have in Kokoro no Rondo, the Ritournello section, only that the melody of the violin in Op. 2 and the melody that SherLiam sung in Op. 3 are kind of reversed.

Coincidence much?

So now we have a collection of songs from both Opus, it becomes tricky. How do we connect them? And what's the story?

At this point, all these recitatives, aria and duets all in the theme of the Hide and Seek game. And they all connect to each other through harmony, progressions in harmony.

We know that the Mind games of the Lord of Crime has begun from ever since the end of Op. 1. We know that Sherlock keeps wondering about that in Op. 2, and then he wonders even further after he has been tested by the Lord of Crime. "また俺だけのメッセージなのか?" - Is this a message just for me?, as he wondered in the Truth or Lie song. We knew all of that. But Morimyu didn't let that stop them from emphasizing on this subplot even further.

They didn't let the gap between Op. 2 and Op. 3 stop them from making a smooth flow in plot either.

Correction, they didn't simply create a flow. They established a connection, all the while showing a strong progression of Sherlock's thoughts that goes on from Op. 2 straight onto Op. 3.

Very often, what makes a good plot is how their plots and sub-plots intertwine with each other. Morimyu has a main plot that follows Moriarty gang in the plan of changing society. And they have a smaller plot told from Sherlock's side of things. And they have this sub-plot told by harmony of how Sherlock is connected to Liam, or the Lord of Crime, by an invisible thread. A connection that is only expressed that clearly in Morimyu.

We have so many things going on, so many songs throughout the play. But each of those elements are all connected to something else, creating a sub-plot that enriches the main plot.

There is no loose connections. For everything that connects to the main plot, they're also linked to other elements. Each scene and every song has their own meaning not only in regards to other songs, but also to the plot as a whole.

Also, did I mention how Morimyu feels like a grand piece of music?

Opus -> What classical songs had that basically shows the order in which they are written. Morimyu - a title piece itself - has 3 Opus, 3 different parts with the same theme.

Classical music very often had all the different elements in it -> Morimyu had an overture, the song they sing just before the main theme song, just before introducing the stage. Then arias, ensembles and choruses. All of them are connected by similar harmony.

Classical music always had a big general theme, with each section having a smaller sequence connecting to each other. Subplots within a big plots. A Sonata piece has 3 movements, each having their own "sections" of development - expositions, development, recapitulation. -> Morimyu does the same to their plot and subplots, as discussed above.

Also, Opera reference

While Opus 2 used an opera reference to tell the story, I feel like Opus 3 has become an Opera itself. During Op. 2 the arias were mostly very loyal to the manga, taking their lines from the original work, like the Mind Games song. Their story progresses steadily but logically.

However starting from Op. 3, the aria became more independent. They developed and expressed even further what wasn't said in the manga. For instance, the 3 songs mentioned in the "Sonata" above. And there's also Albert's solo, and Patterson's solo and Milverton, which I haven't got the chance to discuss all.

But either way, they spring out of the original story, adding more emotions and "colours" to the characters. The aria became more original, all the while also much more expressive. We get to see new sides of the characters that we haven't seen anywhere before.

Anyways, it's probably time to go back to the main question: How Morimyu used music to go beyond what's on the pages.

-> Musicals aren't simply about music added to acting. The characters on stage don't just simply starts singing for no reason. All the songs are meant to express something, and while they do they also establish various connections to the plot's progression.

We don't get to see much of the characters' emotions in the manga. And we don't see much of the side story, the finer details behind each arc. Every time, Morimyu adds something original to enrich their plot. They express and develop what's already known to all the viewers, especially regarding the emotional and motivational side of the characters.

-> The manga shows us the entire plot, with details related, back stories that lead to the present, and all. But it doesn't give a lot of hint into how characters might feel. Surely, reading between the lines, it's up to the readers to interpret them.

But Morimyu gives us all of that, and they leave it to us to read between the music.

And even if we didn't, that's fine. Then the purpose of all of them linking together would be to create a performance where everything is connected harmoniously, allowing us to be emerged in the world of Yuumori.

-> The purpose of having a stage, primarily, is to allow the audience to engage in, experience and feel the emotions along with the characters they see on stage. The point of having a live stage, a plot, and the music, are all to let us emphasize with the characters on stage.

In Morimyu, we aren't just watching a plot between our favourite characters happening as we know it from the manga. We see a combination of mysteries unveiling slowly, the stories on the side of each characters as they slowly progress forward, as well as emphasising with their emotions in the story.

That's what I really like about Morimyu.

So, WHAT'S THE POINT OF THIS?

So I had to scroll back to the top (lol) to quote this and make sure I haven't gone too far from the main theme.

Regarding musical Yuumori, there's always so many things I'd like to talk about. And if I start going on about it then it only gets harder to focus on one single topic.

Since the topic here is Morimyu and their music, especially in classical reference, I've tried to keep everything I've discussed relevant. But whenever I start on something, there would always be something that comes to mind. Like how other songs might also have certain connections, or how they used stage directions and lightings, etc. I really want to look more into stage directions in Morimyu as well, but that would have to wait...

Anyways, I tried to keep this as simple as possible. When I sent the first version of this to my friends, I keep having the feeling that I got too technical with all the theories about harmony and structure lol

And once again, this is only some of my own interpretation of the series that I've picked up.

If something else came to mind... well. Either way, for the purpose of engaging in their wonderful music or for the purpose of watching a beautiful stage just for enjoyment, Morimyu definitely is worth watching. And to watch over and over again. I've said this for Op. 2 but I'll say this ten times as much for Op. 3. Truly magnificent.

And, that's pretty much it that I have for today, I guess.

Thanks a lot to all my friends who gave me lots of inspiration and motivation to complete this ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ Lots of love to @rikaaki as well ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

[phroyd]

Charlie Watts, whose strong but unflashy drumming powered the Rolling Stones for over 50 years, died on Tuesday in London. He was 80.

His death, in a hospital, was announced by his publicist, Bernard Doherty. No other details were immediately provided.

The Rolling Stones announced earlier this month that Mr. Watts would not be a part of the band’s forthcoming “No Filter” tour of the United States after he had undergone an unspecified emergency medical procedure, which the band’s representatives said had been successful.

Reserved, dignified and dapper, Mr. Watts was never as flamboyant, either onstage or off, as most of his rock-star peers, let alone the Stones’ lead singer, Mick Jagger; he was content to be one of the finest rock drummers of his generation, playing with a jazz-inflected swing that made the band’s titanic success possible. As the Stones guitarist Keith Richards said in his 2010 autobiography, “Life,” “Charlie Watts has always been the bed that I lie on musically.”

While some rock drummers chased after volume and bombast, Mr. Watts defined his playing with subtlety, swing and a solid groove.“As much as Mick’s voice and Keith’s guitar, Charlie Watts’s snare sound is the Rolling Stones,” Bruce Springsteen wrote in an introduction to the 1991 edition of the drummer Max Weinberg’s book “The Big Beat.” “When Mick sings, ‘It’s only rock ’n’ roll but I like it,’ Charlie’s in back showing you why!”Charles Robert Watts was born in London on June 2, 1941. His mother, the former Lillian Charlotte Eaves, was a homemaker; his father, Charles Richard Watts, was in the Royal Air Force and, after World War II, became a truck driver for British Railways.Charlie’s first instrument was a banjo, but, baffled by the fingerings required to play it, he removed the neck and converted its body into a snare drum. He discovered jazz when he was 12 and soon became a fan of Miles Davis, Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus.By 1960, Mr. Watts had graduated from the Harrow School of Art and found work as a graphic artist for a London advertising agency. He wrote and illustrated “Ode to a Highflying Bird,” a children’s book about the jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker (although it was not published until 1965). In the evenings, he played drums with a variety of groups.

Most of them were jazz combos, but he was also invited to join Alexis Korner’s raucous rhythm-and-blues collective, Blues Incorporated. Mr. Watts declined the invitation because he was leaving England to work as a graphic designer in Scandinavia, but he joined the group when he returned a few months later.

The newly formed Rolling Stones (then called the Rollin’ Stones) knew they needed a good drummer but could not afford Mr. Watts, who was already drawing a regular salary from his various gigs. “We starved ourselves to pay for him!” Mr. Richards wrote. “Literally. We went shoplifting to get Charlie Watts.”In early 1963, when they could finally guarantee five pounds a week, Mr. Watts joined the band, completing the canonical lineup of Mr. Richards, Mr. Jagger, the guitarist Brian Jones, the bassist Bill Wyman and the pianist Ian Stewart. He moved in with his bandmates and immersed himself in Chicago blues records.In the wake of the Beatles’ success, the Rolling Stones quickly climbed from being an electric-blues specialty act to one of the biggest bands in the British Invasion of the 1960s. While Mr. Richards’s guitar riff defined the band’s most famous single, the 1965 chart-topper “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” Mr. Watts’s drum pattern was just as essential. He was relentless on “Paint It Black” (No. 1 in 1966), supple on “Ruby Tuesday” (No. 1 in 1967) and the master of a funky cowbell groove on “Honky Tonk Women” (No. 1 in 1969).

Mr. Watts was ambivalent about the fame that he achieved as a member of the group that has often been called “the world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band.” As he said in the 2003 book “According to the Rolling Stones”: “I loved playing with Keith and the band — I still do — but I wasn’t interested in being a pop idol sitting there with girls screaming. It’s not the world I come from. It’s not what I wanted to be, and I still think it’s silly.”

As the Stones rolled through the years, Mr. Watts drew on his graphic-arts background to contribute to the design of the band’s stage sets, merchandise and album covers — he even contributed a comic strip to the back cover of their 1967 album “Between the Buttons.” While the Stones cultivated bad-boy images and indulged a collective appetite for debauchery, Mr. Watts mostly eschewed the sex and drugs. He clandestinely married Shirley Anne Shepherd, an art-school student and sculptor, in 1964.

On tour, he would go back to his hotel room alone; every night, he sketched his lodgings. “I’ve drawn every bed I’ve slept in on tour since 1967,” he told Rolling Stone magazine in 1996. “It’s a fantastic nonbook.”Similarly, while other members of the Stones battled for control of the band, Mr. Watts largely stayed out of the internal politics. As he told The Weekend Australian in 2014, “I’m usually mumbling in the background.”Mr. Jones, who considered himself the leader, was fired from the Stones in 1969 (and found dead in his swimming pool soon after). Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards spent decades at loggerheads, sometimes making albums without being in the studio at the same time. Mr. Watts was happy to work with either, or both.

“Never call me your drummer again,” he told Mr. Jagger, before grabbing him by the lapel and delivering a right hook. Mr. Richards said he narrowly saved Mr. Jagger from falling out a window into an Amsterdam canal.“It’s not something I’m proud of doing, and if I hadn’t been drinking I would never have done it,” Mr. Watts said in 2003. “The bottom line is, don’t annoy me.”At the time, Mr. Watts was in the early stages of a midlife crisis that manifested itself as a two-year bender. Just as the other Stones were settling into moderation in their 40s, he got hooked on amphetamines and heroin, nearly destroying his marriage. After passing out in a recording studio and breaking his ankle when he fell down a staircase, he quit, cold turkey.Mr. Watts and his wife had a daughter, Seraphina, in 1968 and, after spending some time in France as tax exiles, relocated to a farm in southwestern England. There they bred prizewinning Arabian horses, gradually expanding their stud farm to over 250 horses on 700 acres of land. Information on his survivors was not immediately available. Mr. Doherty, the publicist, said Mr. Watts had “passed away peacefully” in the hospital “surrounded by his family.”

Eventually the Stones settled into a cycle of releasing an album every four years, followed by an extremely lucrative world tour. (They grossed over a half-billion dollars between 2005 and 2007 on their “Bigger Bang” tour.)But Mr. Watts’s true love remained jazz, and he would fill the time between those tours with jazz groups of various sizes — the Charlie Watts Quintet, the Charlie Watts Tentet, the Charlie Watts Orchestra. Soon enough, though, he would be back on the road with the Stones, playing in sold-out arenas and sketching beds in empty hotel rooms.He was not slowed down by old age, or by a bout with throat cancer in 2004. In 2016, the drummer Lars Ulrich of Metallica told Billboard that since he wanted to keep playing into his 70s, he looked to Mr. Watts as his role model. “The only road map is Charlie Watts,” he said.Through it all, Mr. Watts kept on keeping time on a simple four-piece drum kit, anchoring the spectacle of the Rolling Stones.“I’ve always wanted to be a drummer,” he told Rolling Stone in 1996, adding that during arena rock shows, he imagined a more intimate setting. “I’ve always had this illusion of being in the Blue Note or Birdland with Charlie Parker in front of me. It didn’t sound like that, but that was the illusion I had.”

Phroyd

[theinfinitybucky]

Undercovers (Bucky Barnes x Reader) - Part 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are on an undercover mission as husband and wife, but she hates him and by accident begins a game of “Who Can Fake Better”.

Warnings: none?

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

You sat at the dinner table uncomfortably, eating the shitty hotel served food. What kind of an extravagant hotel was this if the meal was this mediocre? They had a orchestra for this thing, but the food was subpar? Some show. You glanced to Bucky who seemed to have no complaints about the food. Of course, he was practically starved when he was the Winter Soldier. A pang ran through the center of your heart as the though crossed your mind.

The man who sat before you was nothing like the “person” you had met months ago… Before Wakanda, before everything… Before those horrific interactions began. Prior to the days, you had gone at each other in the training room until one of you was bleeding on the floor. Why did it have to turn out this way?

You were staring off into the distance with these thoughts running through your mind when Bucky pinched your knee hard. You jumped for a second and remembered the predicament that found both of you together.

Your target sat across from Bucky at the circular table. You tried to pick out the words he was saying to his childhood friend, Eric. It would only be a few days until he would exchange the nuclear hacking codes with Marcus. You stared at your target with an unrelenting glare. Marcus did not notice your eyes or the way you listened to every intel-less word he said. This monotonous dinner was far worse than any preceding mission you had taken part in.

            Bucky’s eyes met your own bored glance. He looked more enthused with the predicament than you, entertained one may say. You noted that he had not removed his hand from your knee since pinching you. It would be too blatant to throw it off with the businesswoman situated too closely to your right. This many people in a room was unsettling to people like you and Bucky. People who lurked in the shadows and made the best of nightmares that plagued some’s dreams. You were the nightmares that they whispered about to children who stopped sleeping for weeks.

            You were about to break the unbearable silence between you and Bucky about how you hoped the dinner would end soon when your target spoke up. He called your “name” and you thankfully tore your locked eyes from Bucky to the target.

            “Sarah,” the name rolled off his tongue. “What is your work? I know all of us here work for Biotelligence Incorporated, but what about you?”

            The question called you at like a gunshot into the dark abyss of night. Think on your feet. You attempted to create a story quickly even though you had studied your profile for hours, this was not part of it.

            You had begun to speak, “I-.”

            Bucky cut your words short, “She is a pharmaceutical representative for Biotelligence’s sister company Wellness Core. She is very good at what she does.”

            “As good as anyone can get at selling drugs that don’t work.” You lied skillfully in hopes of dropping a line for a more serious subject. Smalltalk being the bane of your existence. Bucky smirked at the response.

            “Interesting.” Marcus purred simply. “I’m surprised I’ve never met either of you before.”

            Bucky’s eyes were widening because he knew that your cover was about to be blow. His hand reaching slowly into his jacket as if he was pulling out a handkerchief. Below the fabrics, a handgun waiting in hopes of not being used.

            You waited to reach for your own gun with an attempt at another well-kept lie. “Well, I’m just a contract worker and my husband was just added to Wellness Core’s board of directors last week. I’m very proud of him.” You gazed into Bucky’s eyes for a moment, trying to make that connection which couldn’t be faked. His look warned of troubled waters ahead. Bucky took your hand in his own and gave it a soft squeeze. A fire raged in your heart from the touch.

            “I haven’t met with the Wellness Core board lately. I can’t wait to see you at the next meeting.” Marcus leered.

            “Of course, Marcus.” Bucky’s voice rang softly off into the crowded room.

            The orchestra began playing a slower song. Bucky’s eyes drifted to the dance floor where couples were beginning to wander. The perfect escape for the cover to not be blown. You’d finished dinner a long while ago and now were only sipping on the middle grade wine.

            “Sarah, would you like to dance?” Bucky offered you a hand.

            “Of course, Christopher.” You slipped your hand in his and he stood to lead you to the dance floor; Marcus deserted at the table without any more questions for you.

            Bucky took you to the floor and wrapped his arm gently around your waist, your hand finding his bicep with the other still resting in his. You had always hated dancing, it forced you to look into someone’s eyes with no escape for elsewhere. Looking into Bucky’s eyes was the last thing you wanted to be doing. Here you were, nonetheless, staring in his ocean blue eyes.

            “We’re in trouble.” You muttered as soon as both of you were out of earshot.

            “Perhaps. There is a way to ensure we aren’t.” Bucky leaned in a smidge closer as you danced slowly.

            “And what is that?” You raised an eyebrow.

            His plans were usually terrible or so archaic it pained you to be part of them. Before you could begin to protest, he sealed his lips to your own. Your hand fell out of his as he deepened the kiss. You were shocked by the intensity of his kiss. His tongue brushing up against your lips, sending a euphoria through your body. His arm wrapped tightly around your back, forcing you to lean back. Your knees were about to begin going weak when he pulled away. He moved your hair away from your face with his hand lingering on your jawline for a second.

            He knew what he’d just done to you as your foreheads still leaned together. That unbreakable connection which had just been established. He had to know how hard it would be to hate him after a kiss like that. You tried to catch your breath quickly as if he hadn’t just stolen all the air in your lungs. He held a hand in between the two of you. You took it without a second though, unsure of where it would lead you to. Bucky pulled you away from the dance floor and towards the exit. You would not be returning to your table with Marcus tonight. You did not even need to look back to know that your cover was clear.

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Part Five

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