#but from what I could tell - the stage the lights the drama the mood

[jmdbjk]

The Drama. It's Jimin.

We don't know yet how Jimin will tie together that sheet of music La Lettra (The Letter), containing the music of The Truth Untold and the Legend of the Smeraldo flower in this album but he's named the album MUSE.

The Truth Untold lyrics

You know that I can’t Show you ME Give you ME I can’t show you my miserable self, so, yet again, I wear a mask and go to meet you But I still want you

A flower that looks like you bloomed in the garden of loneliness I wanted to give it to you after taking off this silly mask But I know that I can’t never ever do so

And the story it is based on, The legend of 'Smeraldo' about a flower created just for the girl the man couldn't reveal himself to.

Here is an excerpt from this link:

The man wanted to help the girl. He wanted to teach her every method of growing flowers he knew, he wanted to teach her how to grow beautiful flowers. But he couldn’t come forward to the girl. She would be scared of him, she wouldn’t love his grotesque appearance. In the end, the only thing he could do was to grow and take care of the flowers so she could keep coming to his garden.

The vibe of The Truth Untold is yearning, desperation, unfulfilled and unrequited love due to one's own inner turmoil holding them back.

The gist of the Legend of the Smeraldo is that you cannot remain withdrawn if you are to achieve the thing you desire most. If you wait too long it will be too late. You must overcome the negative perceptions of yourself in order to reach for the thing you desire.

"Muse" can mean what Jimin is to others and what Army is to Jimin, but Jimin's muse is most likely an element of his inner persona that he keeps to himself, that he draws on for his creativity.

It could also be the stage, the desire to visually express his creativity. I have heard music artists claim their muse or mistress is the stage, they cannot stay away from it, their passion, their obsession, their life's blood and breath to the point everything else is secondary.

The definition for the word muse is:

a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

Muse is also related to Greek mythology. From wikipedia:

The Muses are the inspirational goddesses of literature, science, and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge embodied in the poetry, lyric songs, and myths that were related orally for centuries in ancient Greek culture.

Where have we seen this inspiration before in Jimin's creativity? I wrote about his Artemis/Apollo concept for his photo folio here.

I know too often Jimin is reduced down to his visuals and his singing...he is a walking melody-maker after all. But he's much deeper than that. He is well-read, he excels at math and science, he understands the human condition better than anyone else around him.

Perhaps in this project, he will explore something that expresses these concepts more deeply.

Motifs he's using in the album's concepts:

Blooming: ME

Serenade: US

A field of flowers, not just any flower, a simple small white flower. Thousands of them. Do the flowers represent us?

I wonder what the blurred out center image of the album covers will reveal.

In his Sept. 1 live last year, among the things he spoke about (besides his Jungkookie's birthday) Jimin told us he was doing things differently, like starting from scratch.

During this live, commenters kept asking about his beat up knuckles and he said just wait and we will find out. He also showed us his workout room in his house.

He also showed us his solar system mood light casting images across the ceiling of his bedroom. He says he falls asleep with it on.

Yet he's an expert at talking to us for a great length of time without really telling us anything. Masterful in fact. He rarely reveals anything personal. We were astonished when he walked through his own home and showed us various rooms in it.

But he wasn't always like this. Whatever circumstances, whether it be outside forces or his own inner growth and maturity, he's changed over the years. He's an expert at hiding parts of himself and his life from us.

How difficult is it for any of us to be our REAL selves in front of anyone? How many of us hide the fact we are Army from our friends, family and co-workers? How many of us behave a certain way in certain situations in order to hide what we perceive are our weaknesses? How many of us are reluctant to speak out, even about frivolous things or dress a certain way or avoid wearing certain colors because what people might think or perceive about us?

Now imagine that you make your living by putting yourself on stage and in front of cameras for millions of prying eyes.

I do think Jimin loves the drama of it all, the mystique. I believe Jimin loves sensuality and provocation. And I think he loves creating visual expressions of all of it.

Many of us share the same inner muse but few of us possess the tools like Jimin does to express these inner musings outwardly. But if we did too, could we? Do we have the fortitude to put ourselves out there? Sure, it's easy to say "if I had a body like Jimin's I would walk around naked all the time." Would you really? Would you really invite the eyes to look and pry and critique? Would you welcome the amount of judgement that would take place? Because it never stops at just one thing. Offering yourself up invites judgement about everything, even things you don't have any control over, from the shape of your fingers to the tone of your voice.

Over the years, Jimin has shown how self-critical he is, constantly wanting to improve himself, always seeming determined to take it to the next level. Determined to show us another side of himself. Brave enough to keep revealing what he draws from his own muse.

MusE... blooming... ME

mUSe... serenade... US

Jimin's blooming and in this record, he will serenade us with his love. He really didn't want to leave us. Perhaps he felt he was just hitting his stride. I felt it.

[torialefay]

https://youtube.com/shorts/T550Vy5XcPI?si=V0y9B6uaJ2kj91FE

Ok, grass platform, this "you like me more" and recently "I can't fix all your problems" AFTER all his teasing and roleplays on bubble is his character development, trying to fix what he created since his early twenties, results if therapy, OR next stage of his shit because i honestly already can't be aware where I'm delusional and where not

okay in the clip... this man getting cocky 😭😭😂😂😂 the "you like me more" is so moody anr bitchy i love it. he's fed up w everyone baiting him and throwing this shit on him 😂

this may seem out of pocket, and i may be wrong, but he does seem kind of worn down a bit. like he kinda seems like he's got a lot on his plate & is getting fed up w people saying things to him. he's just a person & he can only do so much. like i'm genuinely hoping that all of this isn't putting him in a bad mood.

but people are right when they say that he's online & knows what stays say about him. and i'd be fucking exhausted if i had to handle what he goes through. i think he might be too. people expect the fucking impossible from him when he's literally just a person who happens to have a very vulnerable job.

like genuinely just imagine. in the span of a week, you get all of this shit from people who are supposed to be your fans: (1) from the video, someone baiting you to say you love them more, knowing damn well that they stalk your entire life. (2) someone asking you to literally fix ticket sales and complain to you that they're frustrated and have to travel to see you and that you aren't giving them enough attention in their country. (3) people telling you off for not being asleep when you literally are up at the ass crack of dawn bc you have to wake up FOR THEM and to give THEM content. (4) people yelling at you & boycotting you for not talking about a topic as big as a war. as much as i support palestine, do people genuinely think that chris can talk about that? genuinely? "well other idols have done it so why can't he?" like baby, he got chan's room (which he had been doing for what? 4 years?) taken from him simply for saying that some people were disrespectful. by talking about the war, he would not only be the headline in the media for weeks, but he would also be violating his contract. they already took chan's room so what's next? probably taking away his insta, taking away his insta/tiktok lives, severely limiting his bubble posts, and even more. he'd have to issue a fucking apology statement just like last time- they could even put him on hiatus for all we know. i will never understand how people don't see that. "well he shouldn't compromise his morals." in an idealistic world, that's true, but this shit is his livelihood. i don't want to sound pessimistic, but in the end, the outcome of the war is 100% political. we can & should raise money for people who need it and do what we can to help, but we are at a point in the world that the governments control absolutely everything. do you genuinely think that what we do & say matters to them? the government always wins. it's like people are expecting chris' statement to suddenly overturn the government or smth.

and here's the thing: if he did talk about it & jype ended up taking away all of his shit, then stays are just gonna complain EVEN more, start more drama, start saying to boycot jype, sending trucks to make the kids' lives hell, and just generally put everyone in a bad light from the outside view.

meanwhile, chris is literally working his ass off every single day to the point that his body and mind are probably on the brink of exhaustion. like what more can someone give? i'd be so fucking fed up. and the fact that he hasn't exploded on anyone yet is honestly admirable.

i'm so sorry that this has spiraled into my random thoughts & opinions. i guess it just breaks my heart to see so much unwarranted responsibility on one person. like chris said, "i can't fix all your problems,"... with a little smile afterwards, trying to save face. there's no way that man isn't exhausted & that it isn't affecting him mentally. i hope he can find refuge in the little things like taking care of & decorating his new dorm, cooking with innie, and enjoying some rest when he actually gets the time. he deserves it

[strwberri-milk]

Songs of Sorrow - Ch. 3

Rancher!AU || Boothill x Fem!Reader || Slowburn, Drama

oh my god FINALLY first contact

You practise smiling in the mirror, trying to nail the look you’re going for today. You want to be simple, understated. The set for today is along those lines after all, you feeling up to performing more pensive ballads. You weren’t often given the chance to explore such songs but since your contact was finally coming to an end the management was willing to bend for you a little bit more. 

You wait for your cue, thinking for a moment you might miss some parts of this life when Sampo walks in. He’s been hanging around a lot more often recently, not something that you were exactly used to. He had many ventures on other planets and as far as you understood this wasn’t quite his most profitable one. 

“Good evening again,” he greets, pulling up a chair beside you to join you. 

“I have a proposition for you.” 

“If it doesn’t end in my debt being paid off sooner I don’t want it,” you sigh, turning back to the mirror to give yourself an excuse to stop talking to him. 

“Don’t tell me all you’re thinking about is money,” he mopes, clearly playing it up. 

“I don’t want to hear that from you. What do you want now? I thought you would have left by now on a business trip.” 

“That’s exactly why I’m here to talk to you! How would you like the chance to make more money?” 

His palm lands on the vanity beside you, forcing your attention back over to him. 

“Come on. You know I’d never steer you wrong, don’t you? I’ve been presented with a great business opportunity and I think you should come with me.” 

You raise a brow, scoffing in disbelief. 

“There’s no way you think I’d actually want to extend my contract.”

“That’s the best part! You’d get paid more. You don’t have the debt after all and I’d be nice enough to consider going down to a 70-30 split. You wouldn’t have the opportunity if it weren’t for me after all.” 

He seems smug with himself, clearly thinking that this was something you’d genuinely consider. You almost can’t believe him, rolling your eyes as your cue to come on stage. 

“I’m not going to keep doing this on your terms. Despite how shit you pay me I’ve got enough savings to take care of myself while I find a job that actually pays me properly without this stupid debt hanging over my head.” 

You don’t need to look at him to know Sampo is not happy with your decision. His arms are crossed, usually easy going expression darkening into something that would scare you if you weren’t so giddy about finally being able to leave. 

The stage loves you and you have to admit you’ve grown to love it back. You sweep up the mic stand, crooning to it reverentially as though it were a lover. The pianist keeps in time with you, your good mood leading you to walk further along the length of the bar today. Those who normally don’t get to see you up close start to get excited with equal parts joy and awe at seeing the performer they’ve been watching for years. You offer them a gentle wave, wanting to keep the allure of being so close yet so far from them on your person. 

You come right up against the bar, winking at the bartender of the month as you survey the clientele, eyes falling on a figure sitting at the end by himself. The fact that he’s alone isn’t what catches your eye. Instead, you’re curious by the way he looks at you, leaning against the counter and smirking when your eyes meet. 

You avert your gaze, mentally running through a catalogue of guests in your head to see if you could recognise him. If he makes a habit of sitting this far away from you then it’d make sense that you can’t place him, making your way back to the stage. Maybe if you socialise around a little someone can tell you whether or not he’s a local, unsure why you’re even that curious about him in the first place. The dim lighting of the bar only lets you see the slope of his jaw and an intense gaze that you think you still feel right now. A shudder runs through your body and you can’t be sure it isn’t one of excitement. 

With today being the middle of the week your set was scheduled earlier. It gives you more time with your evening to do as you please but thanks to that man at the bar you decide to linger. You talk to some of the regulars, almost forgetting Sampo’s offer to you until you see him round the corner. The patrons greet him gregariously. 

“Congratulations again on opening that new lounge!” one starts, piquing your intrigue. 

“Thank you, but it wouldn’t be possible without help from you guys. I’ve opened it practically by using all of your money,” he laughs, ever the charmer. 

“Such a disappointment you’ll be taking this one with you,” the other sighs, looking pointedly at you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, glaring at Sampo.

“I talked to you about this earlier, remember? You said that you’d agree.” 

You know he knows you didn’t. He knows you know you didn’t. But that’s not going to stop him from putting you in a tough situation, taking your silence as a way to push on. 

“The pay’s going to be much better there and the lounge itself is much more luxurious than this,” Sampo continues, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. 

“It’d be dumb not to take the offer, don’t you think?” he asks the customers, both of them laughing boisterously. 

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a shithole in the middle of the galaxy. As long as you’re performing I’ll be there,” one winks, reaching out to touch you. 

Sampo quickly smacks the hand away, holding you in a way that could be perceived as protective. 

“You know better than to touch my staff. I’m not running that sort of business.” 

You don’t hesitate to think that if he figured out how to control it, he’d be more than willing to open up a brothel. The demand certainly existed but not enough for him to look into it yet. You just knew of other staff who’d go home for a decent chunk of change and a Sampo who was more than happy to accept their money. 

“I didn’t say I’d agree and you know that,” you hiss at Sampo, sneaking out of his grasp. 

The smile remains on his face, one that doesn’t give you much hope that he’s actually heard what you said but you ignore it. As long as you’ve paid off your debts to him there’s no longer anything he could do to you. He owed you that much at least. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧───  ｡ﾟ☆ *.☽ .*☆｡ﾟ ───✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Boothill finishes off the glass of whiskey in front of him, softly humming along to the music coming from the stage. He’ll be the first to admit that the singer’s voice is truly as soothing as people claimed it to be. It’s comforting in the same way that a quiet evening in the tall grass was, hat placed over his face as he lets the breeze dance over his skin.

Starting up his ranch was hard work but nothing that scared him off. It ate up all of his time, keeping him away from this supposedly amazing lounge that had opened up in his absence. Now that he’s more than just settled in, he decided it’d do him good to take a day off for the first time in the last few years. He was glad that he made it just in time for the belle of the ball. 

Just like all the others, his eyes follow the singer’s form lazily making its way through the floor. Every step was made with intent, a certain charm that cloaked the figure in mystique that made him curious to find out more. Unlike the others he wasn’t interested in making the first move, or any move in general, content enough to just be able to bask in the presence. 

That was until the star landed just outside his orbit. 

Instinctively, he finds himself leaning against the wood of the bar’s counter, hat low on his head even inside as a force of habit from working in the harsh sun. He turns towards the singer, eyes trying their best not to gawk too much at the vision of beauty in front of him. Instead, he lets a smirk settle on his face as he tips his hat, keeping his distance to avoid burning up. The flush on the singer’s face was more than enough reward for him, chuckling softly to himself as the song came to a close.

Boothill never thought of himself as an especially romantic man, caught up in far nastier things to be able to consider something like that. But, something about the lowlight of the bar and the peace that finally started to settle on his shoulders made his mind wander. 

“Don’t tell me you’re falling in love already,” the bartender quips, making Boothill laugh. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffs, handing back his glass to get another drink. 

“Just admirin’ is all. Don’t tell me you aren’t doin’ the same - I saw that wink.”

“I know better than to get involved with the staff here. No guarantee they’ll be here next week after all. You’re new here, aren’t you?” 

At that Boothill finds himself shaking his head, scoffing.

“Nothin’ of the sort. I just took some years away and finally thought I deserved a break is all. Don’t be actin’ like you don’t know me when you’re servin’ my cattle.” 

Recognition dawns in the man’s eyes, nodding. 

“I wondered who bought out our old supplier. You haven’t been in the business long, have you?” the bartender hums. 

“Clementine’s only been open under me three years but I grew up on a farm. Wasn’t too hard to step back in considerin’ there weren’t many ranches here that seem to know what they’re doing. The pasture was cheap and I have money to burn. ‘Sides, it’s easy to undercut those sellers that y’all have to import in if I got my own small team of staff that can deliver products as soon as ya need them.” 

He would have preferred to start from scratch but he knew realistically it would take far too long to source both a herd and some decent pasture for them. It was cheaper and easier to simply find some rancher who was far too out of depth with what they were doing, becoming the owner of Clementine’s Ranch practically overnight. The previous rancher looked relieved to see that someone wanted to take what he saw as a money sink off his hands so easily, probably kicking himself at how easy it was for Boothill to turn a profit. 

Then again, he knows that he’s just stupid good at his job. Failure was never an option for him. 

“Well, I’ll be the first to tell you everybody loves your product. Ever since you’ve been working over there everybody’s been ordering meals and making sure we’re using your livestock. If it’s anything else they don’t want it.” 

Boothill sits back in his seat, smirking smugly to himself. 

“Good to hear. So long as everybody’s enjoying the food I’m providin’ that’s all that matters.” 

He takes another sip of his drink, eyes wandering until they find the owner of the bar. He’d met the eccentric looking man often enough for business deals. On his arm is the singer from earlier and he can’t help but consider going over to talk to the two of them. It’s not like he’d be out of place to speak to the owner considering their business dealings but something about the singer under his arm makes Boothill balk, deciding that it was time to call it a night. 

He could always come back again tomorrow night. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧───  ｡ﾟ☆ *.☽ .*☆｡ﾟ ───✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Boothill’s days always start off simple. 

He wakes up with the sun, stretching out his body and heading to the kitchen to brew some hot coffee. He makes sure to make enough for the ranch hands that’ll be arriving in a few hours, always inviting them in for a hot cup before they get their day started. After that, he enjoys the remnants of the sunrise, standing out on his porch as he takes in the dewy air from the previous night’s condensation. 

The thrill of chasing criminals and enforcing intergalactic bounties kept him busy, but not in the way he needed it to. He forgot how much he missed the simple routine of waking up to put in an honest day’s hard work, working out his body in a significantly less deadly manner. 

The sun beats down on the pasture as he’s tailed by two very excited dogs, more than happy to join Boothill on his busy day. They’re both rescues he adopted from a shelter, herd dogs who were unfortunately needing to be rehomed after being taken into families that don’t quite know how to take care of such energetic dogs. They took to the jobs quickly, Boothill taking great care to make sure the dogs were happy and healthy. 

“Oh! Boothill, you’re up!” 

Boothill blinks, shaking his head in amusement as he crosses his arms at the sight of the young man already up and preparing feed for the morning. 

“Luka. I didn’t see your car in the driveway. What time did you get here boy?” he asks affectionately, stepping over to join in helping his efforts. 

“Just half an hour ago. I didn’t wanna bother you so I parked further down the river and enjoyed a bit of a walk to the property before getting the day started.” 

“Good on ya. Don’t be workin’ yourself too hard though. Don’t wantcha keelin’ over and dyin’ on me. It’s hard to find good help, especially one as devoted as you are. Now let me help you out with that.” 

The days always pass by a little too quickly for Boothill’s liking but he never minds. He enjoys what he does, spoiling his animals with all the attention he has. He never mixes up any of the animals with each other, keeping them all active and well fed. If you didn’t know better you’d have no idea that Boothill was the boss of the whole operation. He works just as hard, if not harder than any of his staff, offering advice like he was just a friend. 

The first year his absolute determination to make the ranch work is palpable. He doesn’t overwork anybody of course but it’s hard to go home when Boothill makes himself busy even after preparing dinner for all of the staff. He scarcely had a moment to himself but he loved it, seeing the way his efforts were turning back tenfold as the ranch bettered itself. As time passed things only got easier, Boothill more comfortable but almost growing bored.

His evenings became even less eventful. 

He’d clean himself up, laying in a tub as he soaks the grime off of his body. Now that the ranch was out of the crisis he bought it in he didn’t have anything to focus on. On his next trip in to deliver product to several clients he’d overheard some people gushing about last night’s show at that lounge Sampo ran. He’d never seen the establishment at night, doing his deliveries early in the morning to free up the day for his animals but judging by how excited those patrons seemed he decided to come to a show. 

One show became another and soon he found himself absolutely enraptured by everything you are. He knew your name from the advertisements, memorising the letters on the board to make sure he didn’t waste his evenings on some other sub-par entertainment that he didn’t care about nearly as much as you. 

He became obsessed, fully aware that he was putting you on some sort of pedestal but he found it fun. He flirted with feelings he’d never really been able to explore. You were beautiful to him, a siren call that had him coming back to you every night. He knew he wasn’t the only one, tons of patrons coming to your shows on a regular basis. 

Whenever you came down to sit near the bar coquettishly, blinking up at anybody who met your gaze, he had to do everything in his power not to melt. You’ve already got him in the palm of your hands and he doesn’t even know if the name on the poster is actually your name. He understands the allure of celebrity crushes now, but thinks that what he’s got for you is a little too real to be simplified to something like that. 

He’d go home with a slight buzzing in his ears, not bothering to stay for any of the other performers. Some of the people he sat with noticed his schedule, teasing him slightly for having it so bad for you. He didn’t even quite understand what that entailed but he did know being near you made his day better.

[aurorafables]

From the Grey, Chapter 1.

Let's get is started. :) I'm very excited, and I hope you will like it bc I loved to write it.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Nicholas Ruffilo

Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Angst, Past character death, Suicidal thoughts

Tags: M/M, Slow burn, Childhood friends, Friends to lovers, Family drama, Band fic

Word Count: 4.2k

Cross-posted: AO3

Author's note: This was originally written in Hungarian, and I'm still looking for a proofreader, so please forgive me the mistakes, strange expressions. Hope it's still enjoyable. Let me know, what do you think. :) Also let me know if you want to be tagged in the upcoming parts :)

Summary: In Noah's life, his best friend was the light, the way out of the abuse he suffered at home. After a childhood full of trauma, in which he was stripped of his wings so many times, he moves in with Nick, whose goal is to let him fly. The band, Bad Omens, led by Noah, begins to soar, which brings at least as many problems as joy. As teenagers grow into men, Noah and Nick drift closer and closer to each other, and the boundaries of friendship and love completely merge.

Chapter 1.

It would be difficult to say exactly when it started. It was as if the dynamic between the two of us had completely changed without being noticed. I could compare it to when I'm doing a tattoo and I want to create a nice color gradient to make the design look as realistic as possible. The point is that you can't tell where one color ends and the other color begins. Even between us, the transition from wanting to hug him in a friendly way to kissing him passionately was imperceptible.

Maybe I woke up like that one day, but it's also possible that the desire had been brewing in me for weeks, months, years, I just blocked it deep down. And what if I felt that little spark the first time we met, but I was still almost a child and couldn't identify it? I have to start this story somewhere. And like most fairy tales, it didn't start well. The mood of the whole band was cast by melancholy over the loss of a friend. But like all dead artists, Keaton remained immortal. His voice will live forever on the records, despite the fact that he was not with us anymore. The music of Too Close To Touch mingled with the cohesive low murmur of the crowd outside in the club's concert hall, where Keaton's vocals echoed painfully through the walls. "Death is not a game with the ones I hold close She was mine, mine, you can't deny Three years is too quick to die"* All his anger, all his pain were in the song he wrote about his little sister, who died lying on a hospital bed. In the text, he blamed God for choosing little Eiley over him. The poor boy had no idea at the time that they were both chosen… Personally, I would have liked to break something if I remembered that he was gone now, and I could only reassure myself that maybe they were already up there together. If it even exists up there. Because what if up there is actually only two meters underground?

The song didn't come at the best moment, because we had to go on stage right after, and I might be able to hide my mood in front of the audience… I glanced at Noah and my heart sank when I saw him banging his head against the wall, clutching the microphone in his hand, next to the stage, which we will soon have to walk up to. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, which I completely forgot to do in parallel. I was so worried about him. I knew he'd hate himself for that if his voice cracked while singing the opening lines of The Death Of Peace Of Mind. His maximalism was what he could torture himself with the most. Also, he had to be up there alone at the beginning of the song, we didn't join until later. I walked to him and gently put my hand on his shoulder, but I still managed to scare him a little because he pulled away before he opened his eyes. When he saw me, he almost snuggled back into my hand. It reminded me of my very first cat, the little black ball of fur I found on the street when I was barely ten. I named him Dusk because of his color and when he came to us I did everything I could to fatten him up. We slept together in my bed at night, because his soft purr always lulled me to sleep quickly. It was amazing how much Dusk and Noah were alike. Even in the semi-darkness next to the stage, my best friend's dark brown eyes glistened with unshed tears, which he tried to quickly blink away. His shoulders slumped forward in the thin linen jacket, and I'd bet his fingers were white under the faux-leather glove he wore on his left hand, clutching the microphone like a lifeline. He and Keaton were very close. In the last two years, they spent a lot of time together, especially during and after the Covid epidemic, when it was possible to travel. Even when they were far away, they kept in touch on a daily basis. Keaton was good with all of us, but he had a stronger bond with Noah. He wanted to remember him by playing their songs during the break after our opening band, but Eiley's song has never come at such a bad time.

“We can extend the time for five more minutes,” I told him, and meanwhile I looked back at Jolly, who was still fiddling with his headphones with the help of a sound technician, and Folio was deep in his own thoughts drumming on the wall, sometimes doing shoulder circles as a warm-up. "Everything's fine," Noah replied in a weak voice, to which I nodded hesitantly, lowered my hand, and took a step back. "I'm worthless to the world You're innocent and pure God, why didn't you choose me over her?”* They signaled to Noah, who gave a thumbs up as if everything was fine. Nonsense. I knew nothing was okay. Keaton's voice faded outside and soon the intro to our song began. I looked down at my guitar and after stretching my fingers I strummed a few chords just to pass the time. When Noah walked out and the crowd cheered, he wasn't as lost as he had been two minutes ago. He immediately filled the stage and sang like a fucking siren without faltering. I shook my head, feeling a little angry at myself for constantly underestimating him. It was about time to get used to that Noah wasn't ruined by all the crap that happened around him. On the contrary, it only strengthened him even more.

Two months later, I was sitting on the steps of the tour bus in Phoenix, beer in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other, when I heard Noah's footsteps behind me. After a concert he liked to clear his head, so I thought he was going for his usual walk and I thought that I could join. I stood up to let him go, and when he stepped next to me, I was hit by the smell of his perfume. He had just stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his pants, so I began to suspect that he had other plans for that evening. “Karin is in the city,” he said to me, but he didn't look at me, just watched the night lights. The blue neon lights of the bar glistened on the brunette's hair, and the tattoos running down his arms coiled around his skin like snakes. I thought I still had time. I thought I could figure something out before they met again in Salt Lake City. I blew out the last of the smoke, extinguished the butt, then slipped out of my denim jacket and held it out to him. “We will leave in the morning, be here by then.” Noah hesitantly took my jacket and looked at me. “That's it?” he asked in disbelief. I don't know what he expected. Maybe to remind him again that woman is crazy like hell? "I'm tired," I confessed to him. ”I can't save you from someone whose arms you keep running into. But I can do something to save you from catching a cold,” I gestured towards the jacket. He still didn't move, even though the situation was becoming more and more pressing for me, and the spring night wasn't nearly warm enough to keep me from getting goosebumps. I wrapped my arms around myself and hobbled in place. I kicked small stones with my boots on the asphalt of the parking lot and waited. I didn't care if I froze there, I wouldn't leave Noah alone as long as he needed me. The boys' laughter could be heard from inside the bus, a car honked on the street not far from us. I raised my head and immediately met a pair of dark eyes. Stared. I don't know how long or why. I swear he didn't even blink. Then he reached out and touched my arm under the sleeve of my shirt. “You are cold.” I blinked a few times, then started to move. I took the jacket from his hands and draped it over his shoulders. “But you don't have to be cold,” I answered him with an encouraging smile. “Everything will be okay. I will be okay,” he said quietly and gloomily. I don't know which of us he wanted to convince with this, but it didn't work. The smile immediately melted off my face. “Noah…” It's been a long time since my voice sounded so desperate when I said his name. I think all my fear must have been on my face because Noah took a step back and shook his head. I was ready to try again to get him to stay. We could have done so many things. From walking to sitting down to play video games with the boys. Or we could have gone to a nightclub to drink and to flirt with girls. Whatever, just don't let that cunt touch him again… He brushed his hair back and shrugged as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I have to go, Nick. We will talk in the morning.” And that was it. There was nothing I could do to keep him there.

I got home from the tattoo salon late that night and was so tired that all I could think about was my bed. But as soon as I stepped through the door, the strong smell of weed hit me. It went through the small apartment so intensely that I almost got sick of it. "Shit," I muttered to myself as I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the floor, and headed for the bedroom with the goal of scolding Noah. The door was not locked on the little hole we called the bedroom, which was completely filled with my bed and the mattress that Noah had been sleeping on for months. When I entered, he was sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to his chin, and he was holding a weed cigarette between his long, thin fingers. As if he had completely forgotten about it, the ash fell onto my blanket and I was amazed that it hadn't caught fire yet. Noah didn't even notice I got home because he was listening to music on his earphones, and I was sure he was just physically in the room by the way he looked. I leaned towards him, took the cigarette from his fingers and crushed it in the ashtray. With that, I finally drew attention to myself, because after he looked up at me tensely, with red eyes. The Asian features of his face came to life, which normally I would have stared in fascination, but this was not a normal case. I forgot I wanted to yell at him for wasting the weed and almost setting our apartment on fire. Because by then we both owned that little flat. In the corner, next to my guitar, there was also his. Noah's things appeared in the bathroom, his shampoo, his toothbrush, he got half of my wardrobe and sometimes half of my bed… His clothes were just as messily scattered as mine, and he already had his favorite mug, from which he preferred to sip his coffee in the morning. I wanted to think that his eyes were red from smoking weed, but when he spoke, I had no doubt that he must have been crying for hours.

"I thought you'd come home earlier today," he said in a nasal tone after stopping the music and taking out his earphones. In the meantime, I opened the window without holding him responsible for why he did not do so. “I thought so too,” I answered him, then I fell down on the bed next to him. ”Another guest came at seven, and thought I would do miracles in two hours with an old, messed-up tattoo.” Noah nodded, then slowly stretched out his infinite legs. He was only sixteen then, but already a little taller than me. We sat speechless for a while and looked at each other. I was even more overcome by fatigue, and for a moment my eyes were probably closed too long while blinking, because I was jolted when Noah moved next to me. He took a deep breath, then let it out shakily. Our tattooed arms touched and I could feel the tremors running through his bones as he reached for his phone. Oh my god, he was so skinny. If I touched his arms, I was afraid I would crush him as if his limbs were made of thin glass fibers. “I got a message,” he whispered into the dimness, then put the phone on my thigh. I picked it up with a scared heart and started reading. I had a guess of what it might be, and honestly… I just didn't understand why it didn't come sooner. At first, Noah's mother tried to lure her son back to her side with sweet, but poisoned words, which in the end turned into mere threats. Every fucking word she wrote made me feel nauseous. “After half a year, she remembered that she had an underage son. Maybe she expects some kind of reward for it?” I asked, but mostly I meant it as a poetic question.

Noah tensed up next to me and started breathing faster. “I… I can't go back there. If… if you say I have to go back to her, I… rather… I…” "Hey Noah, I would never say that," I turned to him and tried to speak in the most soothing voice possible. But I was too late… By that time, tears were already falling, and he was clutching the crumpled bottom of his two-size-larger shirt. I was totally in shock because I had never seen anything like this before. What kind of friend is who doesn't recognize that the problem is so big? Noah was an old soul with a lot of shit and loss behind him, who blended in perfectly with the adults, so I tended to forget that he was still just a kid. But now there was a child next to me who was terrified. Whom fear brought out the worst. "I shouldn't be here," he said between sobs, to which I shook my head so fast that my hair hit my cheek. I knelt on the bed, turned to face him and tried to remove his fingers from his clothes. I just wanted to hold his hand… I just wanted him to know I was with him. “Noah…No! Don't tell me this!” I protested loudly, but he didn't listen to me. It's like he didn't even hear what I said. Instead, he drove himself deeper and deeper into madness. “I should have died a long time ago…years ago.” If he had only stabbed a dagger into my stomach with his words, this was the moment he twisted it. My chest felt tight and I couldn't breathe. Noah snapped his head back hard and his skull hit the wall loudly. After that, I couldn't focus on my own panic anymore, without thinking I put my hand on his head to protect him from himself. I didn't care that I might not be able to tattoo. My fingers ached as they met the hard wall, but I didn't really notice the pain. All I cared about was Noah and how I could keep him safe. I've been trying to figure out how to fix this. His cries and animalistic whining still ring in my ears, mixed with the sound of my heart's frantic beating. I wrapped my arms around his head and pulled him close as he just cried and cried, his tears completely soaking my shirt. He was hugging my thighs as I knelt next to him, finally not wanting to hurt himself anymore.

That night, I only left his side when I brought him water from the kitchen. Then we both got into bed and Noah turned to face me, but half of his red face from crying was hidden in the pillow and the other half was covered by his hair. I quickly got rid of my tight jeans, threw them on the side of the bed and took his phone in my hand. He was watching what I was doing, but he didn't speak. First, without any guilt, I deleted his mother's message, then opened his music. It didn't surprise me that he was listening to Castle Of Glass by Linkin Park when I got home. I flipped through the playlist and started our favorite song As Cities Burn after giving him one of the earbuds. "Won't you come down, heaven. Won't you come down? Won't you cut through the clouds? Won't you come down?”** At the first chorus, he already closed his eyes, and only then did I allow myself to relax a little. I carefully reached towards him, smoothed the strands falling from his face behind his ears, and then I closed my eyes too. I begged myself to fall into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, when we woke up, Noah helped me untangle the earbuds’ cord from my hair. We parted laughing, shoving a piece of toast into our mouths. He went to a band rehearsal, and I went to a place that has become my second home, the tattoo salon. My fingers got away with it quite well, with a small bruise on one of the joints, which only started to hurt a little towards the end of the day. We didn't discuss anything else about that night. Maybe I regret it since then, but what can I say? I was just a scared kid too, too stupid to help his friend more. Noah's mother died less than two months later. I didn't feel for a minute that she was a loss to the world.

He has become a grown man since and he doesn't need me to protect him from the world. I watched motionless as he walked down the street to get into a taxi. His tall, thin figure disappeared around the corner and I could finally get my legs moving. I got on the bus, grabbed a new bottle of beer from the fridge and joined the others. Folio showed Matt some funny videos and Jolly typed a message on his phone. I sat next to him on the couch and started reading the news. "He won't be able to do this for long," said Jolly next to me in a strong Swedish accent. When it was late and he was tired, he didn't pay so much attention to speaking English with perfect pronunciation. But there's nothing wrong with that, we've been working together for so long, and we've been friends for so long that we understand each other with half a word. “What do you mean?” I turned to him. I slipped out of my boots, slid off the couch, and put my feet up on the small table. I rested my head on the backrest and wiped the steam from the side of the glass with my thumb. “For Noah's secret night meetings. Matt had told him before when saw that he wanted to go out on the town all by himself.” “It doesn't happen that often. And it's not a secret where he's going, he told me he was meeting Karin,” I took him to my defense immediately. “Anyway, why can't he go? The fans had left for an hour, no one was out there. And it's not that he hit the town on foot. He called a taxi.” “That girl is strange,” Jolly grimaced. You do not say.. “When she came to our place, Noah wasn't quite himself.” Recently, I felt guilty for not trying to stop him more firmly, but I reminded myself: Noah pointed out rather angrily during an argument about this that I can't protect him from everything. "If a little fuck puts him in a better mood, we're all fine with that," Folio interjected when Matt left us alone. Maybe I gave him a nasty look from behind my beer bottle, because he held his hands up defensively. I took another sip, then realized I didn't even want the beer. I put the bottle on the table, brushed my teeth in our small bathroom, and went to sleep. At least I wanted to sleep, but I must have been tossing and turning for another hour.

It felt like I had barely closed my eyes when something started to tingle my nose. I brushed it off at first, but then Noah's soft chuckle crept into my consciousness. I groaned then pulled the pillow over my head planning to go back to sleep. I kicked the blanket off because I was hot, and it turned out, it was a big mistake. Ice cold fingers touched my side, the muscles in my stomach jumped and I let out a muffled moan. “Fuck me!” I grumbled hoarsely as I caught Noah's hand, who was just putting the other one in front of my mouth. "Shh, the others are still sleeping," he whispered excitedly with sparkling eyes. “I want to sleep too,” I answered after pulling his hand away from my mouth. “Come on, Nick. I'm hungry. I want breakfast.” “Why can’t you eat?” “Missing your company.” I sighed. “Go to the kitchen. Give me five minutes and I'll be there.” "If I leave you here, you'll go back to sleep," he said accusingly, as if he had every right not to let me go back to sleep. “And I would go a little further for breakfast than the bus kitchen. But I promise, it's worth it. You will love the place.” Another sigh, but I sat up with half-closed eyes, then pulled on a pair of pants and a thick hoodie. My jacket was still on him and he didn't seem like he wanted to give it back.

After five minutes, Noah got off the bus energetically, and I, wrapped in my hoodie, got off the bus grumpily. It was just dawn, around half past six. Noah finally slowed his steps and stopped in front of me, facing me. My hair would have been a complete disaster, not to mention the pillow creases on my face, or my eyes, which I could barely keep open. "You're sweet when you are sleepy," he said finally. He looked at me with a smile, then pulled the hood over my head and did the same with his own. ”I don't want to be recognized.” “Come on! Who would be awake this early?” I asked sarcastically, yawning into my palm. We walked down the street and luckily he was right, we really didn't have to walk far before we got to the breakfast place. Too tired to read the sign, I just entered the small but friendly coffee shop and sighed as I was greeted by a pleasant warmth inside. I said hello to the gray lady behind the counter. When I saw the first cat, licking its paws on a chair, I turned to Noah questioningly, who just shrugged. "I thought you missed your little monsters," he said. A big smile spread across my face. A cat café. I was already less sleepy when I crouched next to the kitten and let him sniff my hand. Then I noticed even more hairballs and I didn't even know which one to go to. Meanwhile, Noah ordered us coffee and breakfast at the counter. I heard the old lady laughingly answer him when asked why they were open so early: “If the kittens wake up, why can't I open the cafe?”

I smiled as I scratched the head of a calico sitting next to the wall, and we blinked at each other for a long time. After ordering, Noah came over and sat next to me. "The chick likes you," he remarked when the kitten was placed on my lap. “What kind of chick? She is a lady here,” I caressed the hairy ears. Laughing softly, Noah leaned forward and, using the kitten etiquette he'd learned from me, introduced himself to our newest friend before petting her. Now that the hood was off his head, I noticed the bite marks on his neck. The dark red spot was located right on the border between his tattoo and his bare skin so that it was just noticeable. I swallowed, tore my gaze from his neck, and reassured myself that Noah didn't seem as lost now as he did after most of his meetings with Karin. Maybe she has changed. Maybe she finally realized what she had to lose? Noah's fingers accidentally touched mine in the kitten's soft fur, and we smiled at each other as the furball began to purr loudly. I haven't seen Noah this happy since before Keaton's death. Maybe Karin isn't so bad after all? We ate breakfast sitting on the floor with a cat each in our laps and had to run back to the bus before departure.

*Too Close To Touch - Eiley **As Cities Burn - Contact

[redheadspark]

pretty words promts

lyrical - write a scene where your character has to make a speech or perform poetry. Again you pick the character!!

A/N - STELLA THIS IS BRILLIANT! I would love to write this for you, Thanks for requesting this, bestie!

Sonnet

Summary - Poetry was not his forte. But for you, Druig was willing to try.

Warnings - Just come cute fluff :D

"Thanks for coming with me tonight, Sersi!"

"Of course! I love poetry reading, if only I could bring Dane along. He finds it a bore,"

"Well then he and Druig can be good friends then I guess,"

Sersi laughed as you both were sitting together near the small stage at the back of the bar, a smaller booth that was tucked against the wall and already sipping on your wine. The mood was light and intimate, the lights were dimmed low with only the tea lights on the table giving a small glow, and a handful of other poetry lovers were sitting and waiting for the event to start. It was one of your favorite weekly events to go to, a great way to unwind and not think about your job or the stressful drama of your family.

You loved and adored poetry, starting way back in middle school when you had to do research on poetry. The love and obsession came so naturally, coming along with you and your life as you were an English Lit. Degree with a minor in Poetry. Diving into poems about heartache, rage and anger, history, but most importantly, love.

You were a sucker for the poetry about love. How could you not? No other drug or alcohol could hold a flame close enough to warm you at night to bring you more joy and a unique sense of pleasure. Being in clubs and groups that were just as obsessed with poetry as you helped you pass your time in college, which is where you met your best friend Sersi, and got roped into being with her group of friends

It was also where you met your current boyfriend Druig, who did not like poetry at all.

There were a few reasons for that, but the one main reason was that he thought of it as corny. Maybe it was, Druig was more of a cynic and sarcastic in what he thought was great and what he thought was corny. It was in his nature and it never bothered you really, he was a Philosophy major with a minor in human studies so he had to question plenty of things around him. Poetry, in his mind, seemed to be a waste of time when it came to describing how you felt.

"Just say what you feel, don't put it in a sonnet," He said one time on your second date together, you raising a brow to him as a shrugged, "I'm blunter than the average guy,"

"Clearly," You joked back, seeing him roll his eyes as he shoved your shoulder playfully.

You invited him to Poetry Readings before, and he did come to one just to be a supportive boyfriend to you since he knew you loved it. But by the second hour in, you could tell it felt more like torture to him, fidgeting in his chair next to you and his leg bouncing in both anxiousness and boredom. You had to give him credit for waiting it out for two hours, and you took him home early to not torture him any longer. Of course, he felt bad and he was going to come up with an excuse for it, but you were simply glad he made the effort.

It's been a year since you two were introduced by Sersi, 8 months since he asked you out on a date, and you both were still in love with each other. Druig had you move into his apartment since his roommate Kingo was getting his own place and Druig didn't have the heart to let go of the apartment he was in since he loved it too much. All of the steps you were taking together were pointing in the direction of engagement and marriage.

Yet Druig never proposed.

Now you could be patient for so long, but something inside of you was itching to ask him if he wanted to get married in the future. Did he like the thought of marriage? After seeing Sersi and her previous fiance Ikaris break off their engagement in a nasty manner did leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he hated Ikaris ever since he walked away from Sersi. His own personal life was rough, his parents splitting up when he was young and that left a bad scar along his heart. However you knew he loved you, he would show you and tell you constantly he loved and adored you more than he could ever comprehend.

So, all you could do was wait and hope.

"Ladies and Gentleman, thank you again for coming out to this special Poetry Slam tonight! We are excited to get to the artists who are showcasing their words tonight, but before we do, we have a special reader who wishes to go first. He's new to our reading, so go easy on him. Please, give a warm welcome to Druig!"

"Oh my God!" Sersi said in a shriek as your eyes were huge, seeing none other than your boyfriend going up onto the small stage about 50 feet away from you. He was sporting his black leather, a gift you gave him on his birthday, a dark shirt under the jacket with fitted jeans, and his boots. It was his usual wear, but you noticed that his hair was cut and styled to the side, something that wasn't like him. But there he was, looking rather nervous as he was clutching a thin book in his hand.

"Hi," He said into the microphone. A few people clapped and snapped their fingers as he cleared his throat, "I...I wanted to read something special, for someone special that is in my life. This is very new to me, so bare with me," He joked, several people were chuckling as he looked over at you. You grinned, feeling your heart pounding in your chest as he smiled widely at you and pointed to you with his spare hand, "This is for my girlfriend, and the love of my life,"

Some people cooed and awed as you felt Sersi rub your arm in encouragement, your eyes never leaving Druig as he flipped open the book. You could see his hands were shaking, beyond nervous, and almost looking a bit pale. But he then took in a long breath, the nerves were gone, and it almost felt like it was just you two in the bar. Everyone else melted away, just you in the booth and Druig reciting poetry to you.

"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

Tears were forming in your eyes, knowing this poem very well. You could recite it on your own if you could, and as Druig was saying that poem smoothly into the microphone, you were mouthing along with him. Hearing his tone, how the words flowed into the room and painted the picture of Poe, made you shove the tears away rapidly as he went on.

"I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

You remembered feeling him about this poem in particular back when you two first officially got together. You had to stay at his place over the weekend since there was a leak in your bathroom at your apartment and the maintenance crew was going to take several hours to fix the leak and any other problems. You brought your Edgar Allen Poe book, reading it next to Druig as he was turning off the lights and snuggling in bed with you.

"Read it to me?" He asked.

"But you hate poetry," You reasoned.

"Aye, but not when you read it," Druig replied, making you blush madly as you then read Annabelle Lee. Druig listened, hanging on your every word and never once losing interest as you recited the poem in such a gentle tone and with no urgency.

Now Druig was doing just the same in this moment, just for you.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulcher there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea"

The bar erupted in clapping and snapping of fingers, Druig closing the book and smiling as you moved out of the booth without even realizing that you were rushing to him. You hugged him tightly, and the clapping got louder in the room as Druig hugged you just as tightly. You weren't thinking about the other people in the room, of that you both were still on the stage under the lights, you were focusing on Druig and the fact that he recited poetry in front of a group of strangers. This was out of his element, out of his comfort zone, and it didn't stop there.

He fell to one knee, taking out a small ring box from his jacket pocket and opening the top.

"Marry me, my love?" He asked, though his voice was being fogged by the erupting of cheers from the bar and all that was watching. You were freely crying, nodding rapidly as a flash of a camera taking your picture went off. The ring slipped on your fingers, Druig kissed you with a massive grin on his face, and Sersi took another picture with her own tears in her eyes while she sent the picture to the rest of the group in your group text.

Druig would read the same poem to you again a year later at your wedding, you proclaiming that poem as your shared poem together.

The End.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Sukekiyo live report [2023/02/16]

Five years to the day since I last saw sukekiyo! 20+ hours on planes and back to Canada tomorrow, just to attend this special show; I just had to!

It is extremely difficult for me to remember what moment goes with what song. Had I attended more sukekiyo concerts more regularly, there might be more stuff that would have stuck out as being associated to a song, but it's only sparse details. All I remember in general is Kyo dancing in so many various ways, caressing his face, messing up his hair, etc.

Overall, it was literally a blast pop party, exactly like I wanted it! Epic from beginning to… almost the end, as the official setlist closed with 'aftermath', which I find boring to begin with but it really dampened the mood. The only thing I can say about 'aftermath' is propos to Kyo for the high chorus, but it also looks weird when you don't sing like the studio version and that the screen displays your younger self in the PV mouthing stuff differently.

Anyway! 'aftermath' aside, holy hell! For five years I have been simply blasting sukekiyo's songs in my car every other weekend, the hype building for each song as I sang along with them. So hearing those beloved melodies pouring from the stage was epic! I was super into each beat from the start, while the crowd stayed immobile for the first half. But I had checked the website and no rules were listed other than concerning the virus.

Everybody walked on stage and the crowd was dead silent. What also made it really awkward was that there seemed to be quite a long delay between each song of the set, and that was done in complete silence, no clapping even.

I was on the right side so I couldn't tell you much about Mika or UtA, but Yuchi was wearing a pullover (orange?) and he had very dark and thick lipstick. Takumi's braids were light coloured, so all the stage colours were reflected on his head. As for Kyo, he wore a long black dress with puffy long sleeves. He had a black collar/choker on top of that, unless the separated line was connected to the dress in the back. He had no tights underneath, as we could notice when he crouched with a leg spread in front of him during one of the songs, lingering there for a few seconds. Otherwise, what kind of struck me was that he had a black lacey glove on his left hand, whereas he tends to wear a glove on his right one with Dir en grey, because that's always where he holds the mic. It was kind of odd in that context to see Kyo's tattoos on his right hand, especially as it somewhat contrasts with the feminine outfit. Always wondering to what extent that was intended. And Kyo's haircut was similar to the one he had in Liquefacio, which I loooved!

Before the concert started, the background music was actually audio excerpts from some Japanese drama shows. Not sure if anime or live. It seemed like they were old, from the previous century, so I don't think that many in sukekiyo's fanbase knew what it was. One of the female characters sounded super distressed at some point, like she was getting violently victimized. Not that later segment, but the overall idea of the drama shows featuring mainly female characters is important for something later in the show.

Onto the detailed stuff!

The show started with Scarlet, but actually there was an instrumental prelude to it with a similar melody, just no drums I think. Because as you know, studio Scarlet starts with a BANG. In fact, quite a few songs had preludes to them, and in some cases the sounds were different enough that I wasn't sure what song would be coming up, or if it was a "session" even. But all in all, those new extended intros were always sweet and appreciated! Maybe it made up for how there was no smooth transition from one song to the next.

Kyo sang Scarlet with such passion. I remember him sensually sliding a finger from top to bottom along the rose lights on his mic stand, around the beginning of the concert as well as in a second song.

Then it was En, which was of course epic! Kyo struggled with some of the choruses sang in high notes though, but that seemed to improve in the second half of the show.

I can't remember much from 'kisses' other than having the certainty that Kyo danced a lot, most likely one of the sensual times. Oh, actually, I had made a mental note that for a song called 'kisses', Kyo did some huge hip sway twice amd that was the focus instead.

Kisses ended and Kyo said: "Ai de gomen nasai", or at least it sounded like thar but the "gomen nasai" was kind of jumbled up into two syllables only, somehow. And then began Hakudaku. At this point in the show, people were still really immobile and quiet, so it was the whole band being passionate, especially Kyo, and me vigorously nodding my head to the beat.

Oh, and then my neck got no rest at all because beauty Mozaic Shoujo's notes began playing, but I think this was one of the songs where the introduction left you wondering if your favourite song (one of them anyway) was really going to be the one played next. The PV was projected in the background during it. During the chorus (Ano hito janakyaya, ato dore kurai), Kyo started vigorously pointing right, centre then left (from his perspective), bending his arm and extending it toward us with each word, not just to act the lyrics of "not the right person", but it seemed like a real wakeup call for the crowd. Like SLAP, Kyo wants you to gesture with him! Look alive! He was so into it.

After that, aoguroi hysteria came and for some reason, despite it not being a pop song, out of nowhere some fans raised their hand during the chorus. I can't remember them doing so in 2017 and 2018 when I last saw it performed.

Furesaseru, honestly I don't have any vivid memories from that song. The chorus is intense as it sounds, but other than the lyrics being projected, that's it. Maybe it was during this song that Kyo faked puffing a cigarette, gesturing and exhaling, while the screen showed slivers that could kind of be interpreted as smoke.

Oh but then, Aishita Shinzou! I think it was at the beginning of that song that Kyo was sighing sadly in the mic before the first notes were played. He (or the character he was acting) gave off this very "clingy" personality, due to the way he sang some of the lines. It sounded lyrical, romantically needy, and he went left and right on stage for both instances. To conclude the song, Kyo's last couple of syllables were uttered as a cry or a long, loud exasperation, bending backward as he did so. Then, it looked like he continued the motion of lowering his mic even though his body wouldn't bend any further backward, so from where I stood, it was like he shoved the mic in his mouth in disgust and finality. I wish I knew the lyrics, but they must have been relevant.

I don't recall for which songs specifically, but today's concert undid sukekiyo's reputation for impeccable music. I had known the band's musicians to sound just like the studio recording on stage, which made me really admire their professionalism and expertise. But tonight, it was definitely not just Kyo improvising, and sometimes that made the instrumentalization sound honestly off track.

Oooooh my beloved Valentina was next! I had never seen it live, even though it has existed for quite a while. Upon the first notes, those of us with the penlights pulled out our Valentina stick (although a couple fans took out the Candis one, which had been explicitly prohibited as they are different tints of pink too). I am so glad I bought them on the resale market, I would have felt so left out. It wasn't clear at first, as fans seemed shy and kept the pen light low until the chorus, but it seemed obvious after the first chorus that it could be left up the whole time! It's crazy how Kyo builds a connection with the crowd during this song. Is it just the pop-style gesture? He seemed to stare at us with wider eyes full of expectation, like he was concentrated only on this connection.

Dorothy was a cool pop song to prolong the mood. I was really into it, but I think most fans' arms were weak at this point. Was it in this song that Kyo was dancing left and right? There was also one song in which he did the Sustain the Untruth dance, but before he did that, he turned toward the left side of the stage and did kind of a Russian (?) dance, like crouching a bit and extending one leg, getting up and then alternating with the other leg? It looked a bit funny but Kyo was just doing whatever he wished.

Candis came, I think again with an extra intro, but we pulled out our Candis penlights (again, a couple of fans pulled out the wrong one, probably the same who had confused Valentina earlier). I guess there was a lot of dancing from Kyo, as the song demands!

Shiryou no ariana, I think there was a "session" at some point before, or after? In that improvisation, the band was playing music but Kyo faced the back of the stage and he said stuff as if he was answering someone on the phone. In my opinion, it sounded like the clingy girlfriend, as he was saying "hayakuuu" a few times near the end. I have a complete blank right now about the rest of the one-sided conversation, other than "Sou desu". Anyway, for Shiryou no ariana, the feed from the camera of the back platform was projected on the screen veil, but at first Kyo used his right-side mic so he was shown only on a third of the screen to people who were on the left. But he changed to the central one soon. It's always interesting to hear how Kyo screeches or sings the line that he then distorts and repeats for the rest of the song. From what the camera was showing, he was really focused.

Next was Sesshoku, and there were two special aspects about this song other than its traditional robot moves: Kyo sang the DOPE parts way not with a low pitch of voice, but mostly high-pitched at first, and I think he was shouting it in the second segment. And when Sesshoku ended, the projection displays rectangles like a piano's notes falling continuously while there were sounds like a horse's footsteps or something like that playing. And if I'm not confusing with a different song, it was then that Kyo pointed to lights in the projected video, which transformed into butterflies. And somehow, he knew when some butterflies would be animated to kind of break off or have a wing torn apart, as he seemed like he was pinching those rather than pointing. This went on for a while.

Honnou okotowari, it was less sensual than it had sounded to me, but judging by how I remember a lot of hands being up during this song, I guess it was then that Kyo started doing quite a lot of callouts for the remainder of the show. The traditional request to break our necks, the "Can you hear me?", etc. Oh, the calls for "Tobeee!" (jump) were very rocker. The "Cease to speak" and "shut down" were especially intense as well, with Yuchi's backup vocals. I have a vague recollection of Kyo pointing to us during those lines, maybe in reference to how we couldn't speak in the venue?

'Creeper' was full of fist pumping too! At this point, I'm not sure what song it was, but Sesshoku was over and yet Kyo danced into somewhat of a violinist position and he started swinging his left arm across his right to the notes of a certain string instrument, really mechanically and staring absent-mindedly somewhere in front of him on the ground.

Waizatsu then came on after a short break and by now, everybody knows how Kyo expects us to act during this song! It's been obvious since 2017 and at least the crowd responded accordingly. I don't know why, but the last Creepshow part was so intense. During the line about barfing, Kyo literally made a sound as though he expelled something from his mouth. He sang everything but the choruses way freeform, walking to each side of the stage with a crazy expression. It seemed so odd to see him super stoic behind the veil that showed the PV's shot of "Best of all time" or something similar with fireworks. Like dude, especially on your birthday, I want you to know that you deserve any award possible!

Next, Sharara! I think Kyo was more and more demanding by this point. It sounded like one of the high-pitched moments in the song was really a "sharara" rather than the increasing long note that it sounds like on the studio recording, just before the heavy part at the end. As far as I remember, Kyo was intensely headbanging around this song.

And then… Yeah, 'aftermath'. That whole atmosphere we had built, painstakingly in the case of Kyo re: fans not moving, came to a screeching halt real quick.

Kyo left while the song was not really finished, without saying his usual "Oyasumi", so we expected that it wasn't the real end. The other members finished 'aftermath', then Yuchi left and he was halfway out of the stage when finally we started clapping. On his way out, Takumi made exaggerated moves at the spot where Kyo stood, almost as if to mime that there was something/someone missing or that the spot was ready.

We clapped a lot, even though at first the announcer told us that it was over. But the guy with the big no-camera no-phone no-mic/recording sign wavef it in front of us again, so we kind of knew to stay, if there was still something not to record.

(I don't know when else to mention this, but I saw that UtA pointed at his part of the crowd a few times, as though to say that a person got it.)

Not too long after, the four musicians came back and we clapped even louder/more people joined in when Kyo walked back. He did a little MC at first, as though he wasn't sure what to do, but he thanked us, to which we responded by clapping even more vigorously. They played Kō mo Chigau Mono Nano ka, Yōsuru ni, and considering that I don't like the album remix, it honestly sounded more like the cleaner version of the demo? It was intense and everyone was into it, but as it finished, Kyo started saying something like something went wrong, that he hadn't done something, while passing a hand through his hair to mess it up more. So the band redid the last segment of the song, with Kyo screaming more intensely and moving more too. But once again the part ended and it was like he wasn't satisfied but played dumb wondering what was missing. Then the crowd actually broke the rule and people cheered, with one guy especially cheering on something Kyo said that made him reply teasingly (with fake offense/frown) that the guy was dumb, to which everyone laughed. And the last part of the song was played once more, Kyo being one notch more intense even, headbanging deeply. Before the last notes were played, he quickly turned, said "Bye bye" and dropped his mic on his way out of the stage unceremoniously. The other members finished with improvised rock to end the set with a bang. As Takumi later exited, he once again made wild movements at the spot where Kyo left his mic, as though offended for the poor little thing. All of them made gestures to their heart in appreciation for our energy tonight.

And with that, we were promptly kicked out of the venue by two staff members. That was truly it.

(And thank goodness there are larger parts at the tip of the penlights, because if I hadn't been gripping them hard, my intense swinging would have thrown them right at someone's head or even into the veil in front of the stage!)

[clotpolesonly]

merthian practically perfect please?

this might be my actual oldest extant WIP, doc created in spring of 2016 😅 inspired by my own 2015 experience of understudying the role of Mary Poppins in community theater, lol, i just really wanted a theater/drama club AU of Mithian playing that part cuz i feel like she would be perfect for it.

Mithian as Mary Poppins, Merlin as Bert, Arthur and Gwen as the Banks parents and Mordred and Kara playing the kids. it was going to be Merthian, obviously, and i thiiiiiiiink the action plan was that Morgana was her understudy and Morgause was stage crew and she was gonna try to sabotage Mithian so that Morgana could have her part?? i have vague memories of, like, stage lights crashing down towards Mithian while she's on stage cuz Morgause unscrewed them 😂 stuff like that, idk, it's been 8 years and i only ever made it 1.4k into the first scene LOL

(and boy does it show that it's been 8 years, smh, not that i think i was a bad writer 8 years ago, but still, ya know, i can TELL that it was a looooong time ago)

“Are you going to get out any time soon?” Mithian jumped, her heart rate skyrocketing as Elena’s voice sounded right beside her, still loud even muffled by the window. She clutched at her chest as she pressed the button to roll the window down. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?” she snapped. Elena raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “Well someone’s in a tetchy mood,” she said. “Out you come!” She tugged on Mithian’s arm as if she expected to pull her out of the car window. Mithian pulled her arm back. “I am not tetchy,” she grumbled without much conviction. Elena’s grabby hands, though ineffective, at least served the purpose of finally unsticking her from the steering wheel, and Mithian was able to grab her bag out of the back seat and open the car door. She didn’t really need the bag; this rehearsal didn’t require dance shoes or props or anything, really, but it was something for her to hold onto and keep her hands from getting too restless so she had brought it along anyway. It had water bottles and pencils and highlighters and a change of clothes just in case. It felt better to be prepared. Mithian hesitated at the auditorium doors, but Elena put both hands on her back and gave her a shove so she couldn’t loiter too long. She threw Elena a dirty look as she headed down the aisle toward the stage, but her friend just grinned at her. Mithian took a deep breath, tightened the hold she had on the strap of her bag, and turned back toward the stage. There were already a good number of people there, lounging on the hardwood floor or with metal fold-up chairs dragged out from backstage. Mithian recognized most of them on sight, though she didn’t know them well. She’d never done anything like this before and Elena was the only of her friends willing to be dragged along for the ride, bless her. Elena seemed to know more of the others than Mithian did and she skipped down the aisle toward her other friends, leaving Mithian to finish the journey alone.

.

ask me about my WIPs!

[yuri-spike-pit]

strawberry and wine?

i answered wine here!

Send me a Red writing ask!

Strawberry: Describe a celebration!

OUGH i love celebrations! one of my favorite celebrations i haven't actually gotten to name yet is an ezran festival that takes place once every 10 years--bulra live for a while, so that's not too bad for them.

the big pull of the festival is the tournament, which has multiple different categories of competition. bulra and non-bulra are allowed to compete, but they usually don't let organics in just because they're a lot... squishier. a lot of bulra really had to pull the reins in just to make it fair, which really skewed the whole point of the tournament, and after one too many, er, incidents, they decided to only have mechanical competitors allowed for safety reasons. organics are welcome to watch, though! just watch out for the stray bullets and stay behind the ballistic shielding.

the tournaments has a number of categories you can sign up for. one is a sort of free-for-all, where the last man standing wins. this one allows for only a single victor amongst what could be a hundred or more competitors. it's brutal and can last literal days at a time--competitors have to be careful of fuel management since there are no opportunities to refuel until there are a final ten remaining--but rewards the greatest prizes.

there's also a more bracket-style competition, where fighters compete one-on-one to decide a champion. there is a separate but similar sub-category of this with duos instead. it's a popular competition to enter, since a lot of bulra are extremely proud of their partners and battle prowess is a huge part of partner selection in bulran culture.

the three above are the ones with the best prizes, but there are a number of for-fun rather than for-glory. this includes a martial arts only category, flighted races, shooting competitions, and more.

prizes consist of different pools for each competition, but the same bulra can enter many categories and win from each pool. there are a few bulra in history who have come first in every category to exist, and they're often who younger bulra will boldly claim to be the next of. anyway, there's a large pool of prizes that can be picked from. the first place winner can pick two at first choice. popular choices are monetarily valuable, are specific capes or other artisan crafts that can only be found in royal spaces, commissioned weaponry, a blessing or removal of something from the alpha class (like debt or accumulated jail time), and so on. then second is able to pick, then third, until you get to around fifth, and everyone else gets a little plaque for entering.

if competition isn't your thing, there are a lot of other things to do still. lots of blacksmiths will set up a temporary shop, off-world vendors are invited to sell their wares for high prices (though they really must be careful if they're willing to try and rip off a bulra), and there are a lot of activities to partake in. for example, plays! bulra are shockingly attached to plays. more accurately, many are just fond of drama and romance, which are popular themes to bulran plays.

bulran plays and productions aren't really the sort of spoken-script plays you might expect. in fact, a lot of them have no spoken word at all! they're all done through interpretive movement and often, dance. these are 'fights,' but they're very scripted and are meant to depict the movements of a story with dance-like movements. bulra will use handheld weapons like swords as stage props, and they'll use their lights to help dictate the mood and tone of a scene. they'll often be painted to match a character, so you can always visually tell who someone is playing even if you aren't formally told their name, and they'll have streamers or other fabrics for dramatic effect. sound and music might be used for emphasis, but there aren't really soundtracks or musicals or the like. you're more likely to see various forms of light for practical effects.

popular plays include the creation of Bulra, the first bulra the species is named after, and less specifically, love stories, battle reenactments, and tragedies. audience participation is usually highly encouraged, and it's a great deal of fun, even if you don't really know what's going on.

some plays hand out their 'script' afterwards so audience members can go home and read them again to reinterpret the intended meaning. part of the fun of these plays is to take what you see from it and tell it again, but in your own way.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 324: Is There a Force Field Around Him??

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal was all “please tell Midoriya that I spent a concerningly small amount of money upgrading U.A. into a wacky physics-defying funtime grid so as to make the final battle much more confusing for everyone.” Present Day!Mic (or Present!Mic, if you will) and Jeanist were all “if only somebody could deescalate this dangerously unhinged mob, we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.” Ochako was all “LISTEN UP PEOPLE.” The mob was all, “god??” Ochako was all, “NO, IT’S ME, OCHAKO. I’M REALLY HIGH UP ON THIS BUILDING AND THE VISIBILITY IS LOW DUE TO THE RAIN, SO I CAN SEE HOW YOU MIGHT MAKE THAT MISTAKE. ANYWAYS, DEKU WAS OUT THERE RISKING HIS LIFE FOR YOU CLOWNS EVEN THOUGH HE’S JUST A KID, SO I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD ALL REMEMBER HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS, THANKS.” Let’s see if her Big Scolding Energy has any impact.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “so I have this speech planned out, and it’s really good, but it also only really needs about 6 to 8 pages, but I’m gonna see if I can stretch it out to 17 pages so I can kill time before we get to the next volume cliffhanger two weeks from now.” Anyway but it really is a good speech though. There are feels, and tears, and more talk about how Deku is so in need of a shower that just looking at him requires a tetanus booster, and more feels, and more tears, and bonus ship drama, and an iconic callback to the very first chapter which reframes the entire series in a new context in a totally epic and moving way, and it’s all very good. Except that Horikoshi is determined to never let anyone actually give this kid a hug. Who hurt you, dude.

omg we are opening on a callback to chapter 212, a.k.a. the chapter with by far the cutest flashback that doesn’t involve any baby Todorokis

baby Ochako is lethally cute. she could literally murder someone with her cuteness. I just want to scoop her up and play airplane with her until she accidentally activates her quirk while we’re spinning around and we both helicopter up into the air never to be seen again

“a child’s insistence” huh well that’s all well and good, but I sure hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to drag out the whole “sternly lecture the obnoxious citizens” plot for another whole chapter. no offense but I think we’re good

so page 2 is just continuing the whole happy/worried faces monologue, which of course is very important to Ochako’s character as it provides the context for why “who protects the heroes” ended up becoming her thing. and this is making me think we actually are in for a whole second chapter of this sob. when will my boy finally get to rest

OH MY GOD SUDDENLY THESE PEOPLE HAVE EYES IMAGINE THAT

HORIKOSHI: [reaches for a box of tissues while tearfully penning an homage to his beloved Spider-Man 2, specifically the train scene where the crowd sees Peter without his mask and they suddenly realize just how young he is]

HORIKOSHI’S HOMAGE SCENE: “COME TO THINK OF IT, I GUESS IT WAS KIND OF MEAN FOR US TO PICK ON THIS TEN YEAR OLD KID WHO WEIGHS 75 POUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE HE LOST A FIGHT WITH SATAN’S MOLDY OLD BASEMENT”

lol at this one guy who can feel the mood of the crowd shifting and is all “WAIT, NO, I WANTED TO KEEP BEING AN ASSHOLE DAMMIT”

as many pointed out last week, this man is wearing an All Might shirt. that’s some fantastic irony there

-- SDKFJWIGKS

“LITTLE GIRL, I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE WALKING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A SOVIET-ERA BUS STOP.” heh. last week I said I was ashamed of BnHA being my favorite manga. that was a lie, actually

(ETA: in the original Japanese Ochako’s next two lines are basically “the only ones covered in mud will be us heroes!” followed by “please give us some time to get rid of the mud”, with that second line basically being the single funniest thing I’ve ever read rdslkjl. Ochako thank you so much for supporting my running gags. “YEAH WE KNOW HE’S DIRTY. WE ARE GONNA TRY AND CLEAN HIM UP, BUT IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, I’M JUST SAYING. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE AN ASBESTOS COSPLAY.”)

doesn’t the megaphone kind of look ever so slightly like an axe that she’s wielding maniacally here

easy there Lizzie Borden

also that’s a really bold claim to make there. and not one she necessarily should have to make, either. but as we all know, there’s nothing that shounen manga likes more than having its heroes bravely hoist heavy burdens of responsibility like good self-sacrificing citizens

p.s. lowkey loving how Kacchan is positioned here standing slightly behind Deku. not presuming to stand in front of him all overprotectively (because he would hate if anyone ever did that to him), and kind of being unobtrusive and letting others take center stage -- but still being close enough to Deku that he can catch him if he stumbles or passes out again

(ETA: or maybe not lmao.

DEKU: [falls to his knees]

KACCHAN: [glancing up from his phone a few minutes later] “someone just sent me the stupidest meme about milk crates -- oh. uh. you good...?”

really, son. “the burdens you can’t carry, we’ll carry them for you. ...later, I mean. right now it’s late, and we’re all cold and wet.”)

also lowkey loving this OchaTsu moment here

I was going back and binging Ochako chapters this past week for reasons, and I gotta say it really stuck out to me just how often these two are paired with each other. they do everything together. it’s a really sweet friendship that often goes unappreciated but it’s very cute

meanwhile, not to be outdone by the OchaTsu, Iida is staring at Ochako with open admiration talking about how she’s fighting too. it’s been so long since we’ve had any IidaRaka you guys. I was starving and I didn’t even know it

oh my lord IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

THE LIGHT IS BACK. he finally looks like him again. what a cathartic fucking moment omg

ffklkdw

“I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SCARED, BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS, WE DEFINITELY CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFETY AND WE ARE ALL SCARED TOO!” good pep talk there kiddo

BUT, jokes aside, truth be told this is the exact right approach to take imo, and something that’s long overdue. I’ve said this before, but this new generation of heroes is shaping up to be much more transparent than the All Might generation. they’re basically abandoning the almighty, untouchable Superman “heroes as gods” concept in favor of the more nuanced “heroes as people” concept instead. and that’s a good thing. seeing their heroes as humans, with human limitations and weaknesses and flaws, will hopefully not only lead to more scrutiny and accountability, but also more awareness of how hard some of them are working and how much they’re sacrificing. that’s something All Might never quite grasped back at the start of the series -- that the weak, vulnerable, injured him could be just as inspiring as the mighty, invincible him -- perhaps even more so. there’s a power in seeing otherwise ordinary people show extraordinary bravery and compassion. it inspires others to try and do the same

SSDLHK AIZAWA SIGHTING AAHHHHHH

so he was still back at the hospital this whole time?? smdh at this disrespect. that feeling when your sexy self-insert character’s powers of rationality are too strong, and so you have to nerf him so that he doesn’t ruin your Deku Angst arc twice over by (1) immediately talking some sense into Deku and making him come home Right This Instant Young Man, and (2) not allowing him to leave U.A. in the first fucking place. excuse me, you want to do WHAT now, Midoriya?? that’s it, go to your room

also living for Katsuki and Hawks’s soft expressions. Shouto’s too, although his is tinier and harder to see. and Jeanist’s 12-foot-long neck. imagine Jeanist’s head with Mic’s hair. maybe Jeanist had a mohawk back in the day and that’s why U.A.’s doors are so big now

speaking of soft faces, Enji’s is also excellent

what could this random close-up possibly imply?? hell if I know. but Horikoshi truly fears no discourse and that’s what I love about him

OMGGGG

“smh my child is so dumb.” poor Ochadad. your child is cute af count your blessings

SDOFFHSMH

I’m telling you guys. lethally, catastrophically cute

this speech is still ongoing lol. Horikoshi you’re doing so good but I think we get the point now my dude. you gotta learn how to transition out of these things

UNEXPECTED TOGA WHAT

“there we go” Horikoshi says, crossing off the last line on his list of Ochako ships. “that’s all of ‘em”

poor Ochako is just repeating the same “LET HIM REST, PLEASE, WITH EVERYONE’S COOPERATION, IF YOU DON’T MIND, WE APPRECIATE IT” talking points over and over again hoping someone will throw her a bone and acknowledge her already. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HER

literally they’re all just staring up at her silently omg. work with me people!!

now she’s saying it for the 56th time but more dramatically all of a sudden

they got so dramatic that for a minute I thought she had suddenly leaped off the building or something

look, not to rush you or anything Horikoshi, but I’m starting to get the feeling that this is yet another one of those “the volume is ending soon so I need to either hurry things up or slow things down in order to make sure we end it on my perfect cliffhanger ending” chapters where you go to ridiculous lengths to drag things out much to the exasperation of your week-to-week readers

(ETA: ftr, volume 31 ended on chapter 306, and I’m predicting that vol. 32 will end with chapter 316 (a.k.a. “you’re next!” [explodes]). I’m guessing vol. 33 will follow suit and likely end on chapter 326, so keep your eyes peeled for a big cliffhanger in two weeks’ time. Deku’s dad?? All Might in peril?? U.A. traitor at long fucking last?? we shall see.)

is Deku straight up falling in love with Ochako right on the spot lol what is happening

I know I just said that I enjoy when Horikoshi gives zero fucks about discourse, but shipping discourse is a whole different beast lol. I hope he’s prepared

(ETA: and for the record, I have no interest in shipping discourse either, as always. and I think this scene can be interpreted as platonic, tbh, with the context being that Ochako was literally introduced as someone who was willing to help him so casually without a second thought, and now here she is saving him again.

I don’t think it really fully hit Deku until this moment how much he needed saving. like I said in another meta somewhere, selflessness is basically just selfishness on behalf of others. and Deku is selfless to a fault, but that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean he needs to change -- he just needs friends who are willing to be be selfish on his behalf in turn. and I think the full emotion of what it means to have friends like that just hit him at last. everything his friends have done for him, how much he needed it and didn’t even realize, and how grateful he is. anyways what a terrible day for rain.)

-- son of a --

is he apologizing?? or pleading?? please tell me that’s not the case, because what the actual fuck. Deku you beautiful precious radiant selfless child, this is the exact opposite of how this should be. all these motherfuckers should be on their knees apologizing to you

DEKU WHY

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS FREAKING BOMBARDMENT OF EMOTIONS GODDAMIT. OUT HERE ARMED WITH YOUR FREAKING TREBUCHET OF FEELS TO LAUNCH AT ME UNPROVOKED. WHAT’S WITH THAT

FREAKING CHRIST. THIS BOY IS CRYING HIS EYES OUT AND HORIKOSHI IS JUST ZOOMING IN WITH THE CAMERA, LIKE CAN WE JUST CUT HIM A BREAK ALREADY. ENOUGH OF THIS. HE’S SO YOUNG AND HE TRIES SO HARD AND I JUST NEED HIM TO FEEL SAFE, HORIKOSHI PLEASE CAN YOU JUST GIVE ME THAT ALREADY WHAT IS THE FREAKING HOLD UP!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY!!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY PLEASE BE MY HUGGER BY PROXY!! SERIOUSLY GIRL IF YOU JUST HOLD YOUR UMBRELLA OVER HIM OR SOMETHING AND DON’T GO THE EXTRA MILE I’M ABOUT TO LODGE AN OFFICIAL COMPLAINT. THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS NOW

!!!!

A KOUTA IS GOOD TOO!!! oh my god if Kouta hugs him I will seriously 100% straight up cry. go on and test me

FOR THE LOVE OF --

is this man expressly forbidden from drawing hugs in his contract or something. DO YOU DO IT JUST TO SPITE ME?? this is tyranny, sir

AND I KNOW, THIS PAGE ACTUALLY CHALLENGED THE VERY PREMISE OF THE SERIES ITSELF, AND HERE I AM COMPLAINING ABOUT HUGS, OR THE LACK THEREOF. “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes.” and just like that, he waves a polite middle finger at all of the Strongest Greatest Chosen One shounen protags of old, in favor of something much less conventional, much more interesting, and much more suited to Deku’s character. because if that one sentence doesn’t just sum up Deku to a T. he gladly relinquishes his Greatest Hero status in favor of acknowledging the hero in everyone. what a class act. that’s my protagonist

I love this kid so fucking much I swear. only just PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. GIVE HIM HIS HUG

[soliverse]

don’t call me - k.dy

(sequel to call me a fool. you can read this by itself, but some references would make more sense if you read the first part.)

reader x bestfriend!doyoung

genre: so much angst, slight fluff

warnings: none

word count: 3.85k

synopsis: Doyoung missed an important milestone in your life. Now, it’s your turn to miss his calls.

prompt:

Ghost Of You by 5 Seconds of Summer, part of the Heartbreak Hotel collab by @nct-writers

dedication to:

@hunjins for leaving witty comments during beta reading

@johnyusangel for being my guardian angel during beta and when I was dying over a migraine + Qian Kun

@hxneyy-latte for nursing me back to health lol

taglist: @kunrengui (sorry this took a while 😔), @leolo404 @byeolhyesisi @thesongofdragons

networks: @nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet @nct-writers

Every day, your routine starts with staring at your phone for a few hours before getting out of bed. You'd check in all of your messaging apps to see if any of them came from Doyoung. Sadly, there's none of it this morning.

You would drag your mopey ass out of bed and start the day with dread, questioning why he hasn’t replied to your last text. Then, as you brush your teeth, you would check once again to see if you missed anything while you are preoccupied with oral hygiene.

The inbox notifications would still say zero. And then you'd wait… and wait… and wait some more hours, even days before he replies back.

Every time Doyoung refuses to reply to your messages soon, you get this sudden urge to bang your head into a wall, cursing yourself for texting him in the first place. You will then start to question your life choices, why you even texted him in the first place when you knew this is bound to happen. And that you probably sounded too clingy, too cheesy for his liking. Your thoughts filled as to why he refused to reply as soon as he could.

You sighed and placed your phone back into your pocket and proceeded to go on with your day. The academy is about to open and you have practice for your upcoming recital the following day.

You kept your phone around your vicinity even as you practiced. It's a good thing that your vocal mentor isn't here to point out your mistakes, but you're trying to hit every note as clean as you can. A feat that is impossible to do when you're completely distracted by something.

Doyoung: Hey.

That one word is enough to wash all of the worries that you had earlier. You once again attempted to bang your head into the wall, now cursing yourself for changing your emotions so quickly.

You kept your phone back at your table, practicing for a few more minutes before answering the text. This time, you sang with a smile on your lips, the burden of your worries suddenly lifted with a single word.

But that's just how it always is with you and your best friend.

Now, if you can only tell him how you feel.

///

You bowed at everyone for doing a great job at practice. You happily fished out your phone from your pocket to reply to Doyoung's earlier text.

You: Are you free this Saturday?

You placed your phone down for a moment to fix your stuff, but a ding! interrupted you midway and you just couldn’t help but look at his reply.

Doyoung: Not at all. Need help with something?

Your smile grew wider and you texted the details of your recital for Saturday. You've worked on the piece so hard that you wanted to share your success with him, just like he would share his with you.

The rest of the day went smoothly. It was full of wishful thinking and daydreams. And if it goes well, it might be the day that you tell him about how you really feel about him.

///

It was the day of the recital and your hands were shaking out of nervousness. Your grip on the mic was getting tighter, if not sweatier, as you heard the crowds forming outside to see you and your classmates perform.

The soundcheck commenced and they started calling all the participants by their name as they came on stage. You heard nothing besides your own heartbeat and your loud thoughts whenever you overthink. But you reassured yourself that you will do a good job.

You had to. Someone was watching and you wanted to make him proud.

Fiddling on your seat, you waited for a few numbers before it was your turn. You nervously walked out the stage, and you were blinded by the lights coming from the back of the theater. It was probably for the good. 

You couldn’t see anyone’s faces.

You couldn’t see his face. 

Because if you could, you would’ve choked on your words and hit the notes wrong once again. Thankfully, the performance went better than you expected. 

As soon as everyone came together for the curtain call, your eyes wandered to see Doyoung among the crowds. You scanned left and right, but there were no signs of him everywhere in the theater.

You consoled yourself with the fact that he probably went to the bathroom, or he was already backstage waiting for you. He couldn’t possibly miss this day, right?

The first thing that you did after coming down the stage was to have a closer look at the seats, just to make sure that he really was there in the crowd. Everyone else had their families with them, their friends, their lovers. 

But there were no signs of Doyoung in the crowd.

You tried hard to smile as everyone who passed by you congratulated you for doing a great job. But once again, you were distracted. Your mind was occupied with thoughts that you never expected to have that day.

Did he really forget about you?

Giving up completely, you made your way back backstage and hid your impending tears to everyone. On your way, you saw Johnny, waving a small bouquet of flowers to get your attention. This sparked a tiny bit of hope in you. If Johnny was around, then Doyoung must have been here somewhere, too.

You ran towards Johnny and gave him the tightest bear hug. You were worried that no one really watched you perform today. Your family lives abroad and they couldn’t make it to watch you, but you promised them that you will send them a video of you singing. You were really counting on Doyoung not only to watch you perform, but to film your performance as well. 

He must have been here somewhere.

“Thank God you came. I thought nobody saw me perform earlier,” you were once again on the verge of crying, but you didn’t have the heart to ask Johnny if Doyoung was indeed with him.

“Doyoung couldn’t make it today. He had to go out with the whole crew of his drama to celebrate their last day together. I came as soon as I heard about your performance.”

You fell quiet, breathing deep to hide your tears and your disappointment. But Johnny knew how you felt, so he pulled you tighter against him, completely encasing you completely on his embrace. “Don’t feel sad. You did so well today.”

///

Ever since then, you stopped taking calls from Doyoung. He would persistently call and text you every night to say sorry. Any other day, you would’ve been glad to see that finally, he’s the one that’s trying so hard to reach you. Sadly, you’re in no mood to talk to him. 

You thought it would’ve been cruel if you blocked his number from your phone, so you instead tried to text him excuses why you couldn’t talk.

You were tired. You went out with a friend. You just wanted to take some rest.

After hitting send, you tossed your phone in your bed, still feeling upset about him missing such an important day to you. You felt set aside like you’re the last person on his priority list.

That day made you realize that you’re spending way too much energy on someone that doesn’t return the favor. It was an unhealthy behavior that you need to get out of your system as soon as possible, even if that means cutting Doyoung from your life temporarily.

///

Doyoung was surprised to see you at the front door of the 127 dorm one day. You tried smiling at him as he opened the door to let you in, pretending that you were not upset with him in the previous days.

“Surprised you’re not busy today,” you remarked as you sat down, clearly aiming at Doyoung who was now feeling lost at your coldness towards him.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Not at all,” you tried your best to avoid his gaze because one look at your face would definitely give everything away. You didn’t want to lie to him, but it was better than saying that you were mad because you had feelings for him.

“Anyways, where’s Johnny? He invited me to watch a movie this afternoon.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you had practice today? That’s why you couldn’t meet me?”

You sneered internally.

“Yeah. Sometimes people say one thing and then they actually mean another thing. You of all people should know.”

You saw Johnny coming out of his room, fully dressed and ready for your movie night together. You waved one last goodbye at Doyoung, who just realized that you were roasting him the whole time.

///

The passive-aggressiveness went on for a few more occasions. You refused his attempts to talk to you, knowing full well that your cold facade would wear off instantly once you let him. You wanted to talk to him so bad, but your pride was preventing you from making any rash decisions. You couldn’t just go back to living your life as Doyoung’s doormat. But, as per Johnny’s advice, you got to explain to him why you were feeling that way. He at least deserved that much.

That explanation came sooner than you had expected.

You were spending a lot of time with Johnny lately, but only because he treats you like a little sister. He must’ve missed his own sister back at home, so he was making sure to take care of you as much as he could. 

But Doyoung didn’t have to know that.

You had noticed the tension between the two of them whenever you would visit their dormitory. Johnny was just a bit irked at Doyoung because you were hurting, but he understood it from his perspective. He never knew how you felt in the first place, he wouldn’t have known how much he hurt you in the process.

What goes on in Doyoung’s brain though, you have no idea. He usually just stays away from the both of you whenever you’ve come to visit them, maybe throw in a couple of pleasantries before asking you to hang out with him once again. You kept on telling him that you will once you’re not busy with the academy, and then proceeds to forget about it on that same day.

One day, he’s finally had enough and decided to block the door when you were about to leave the dorm room.

"There's nothing to talk about Doyoung."

You tried to step out once again, but he didn't even budge from his place.

"Can you just tell me what I did? I already said sorry about not attending your recital. What else do you want me to do?"

You lowered your head and tried to leave again, determined not to answer his questions. But he's just as stubborn as you are, this time pushing you slightly, just enough to make you step back.

Your fists formed into a ball and your lips pursed in annoyance. Why does he care about you so much now that you're staying away from him?

"Let me leave, Doyoung. Johnny is waiting for me," you said as calmly as you could.

"Is that it? You're replacing me with Johnny? Just because of that one mistake? What kind of friendship is that?" Doyoung's voice went up a few notches, now looking as visibly upset as you are.

"I can't be your friend anymore, Doyoung," silence filled the room as soon as you said that statement. You both stare at each other awkwardly, both of you are still in a state of shock.

"I don't think this is the perfect time to tell you this, but you have to know eventually," grasping the straps of your handbag, you braced yourself for what you were about to say.

"I have feelings for you Doyoung. That's why I was so hurt that you didn't attend the recital," you paused for a bit, biting your lower lip to hold yourself back from tearing up.

"It made me realize that my life, everything about me, revolves around you. I would literally drop everything when you say you need me. And yet, I'm so far away from your priority list that you can't even sit down for a few minutes to watch me perform," you felt a bit of moisture from your cheeks. Tears were already falling from your face without you even realizing it. 

You wiped your tears away with your sleeves and you held yourself back from sobbing to proceed to talk.

"But it's not your fault. I was the one at fault for lending you my time, and I was the one at fault for setting high expectations for someone who just treats me as a friend," you smiled weakly as you walked towards him one last time.

"So for now, I can't be your friend anymore. Not until I sort my feelings out and make things more awkward for us. Give me time for myself, Doyoung. I'll try to be a better friend soon."

You smiled as you lowered your head once again, your shoulders brushing over when you left the room. You didn't try to look back and walked as fast as possible, holding yourself together just before you reached the exit.

You ran out of their apartment building and as soon as you found a place where you can hide, you finally let yourself go. You sat there balling your eyes out and looked around for signs of your best friend. When you realized that he didn't even make an effort to comfort or follow you, your sobs got even louder as you sat down on the pavement to hug your knees.

"Go on... Let it out."

Someone sat down with you and started patting your back to comfort you. You raised your head and cleared the hair strands that stuck to your face to see who it is. It was Johnny.

"I saw everything that happened. I'm happy that you finally told him."

He rubbed your shoulders to calm you down once again, offering you his handkerchief so you could wipe your tears out. Once you finally managed to stop crying, he stood up from his seat and placed his hands on the pockets of his hoodie.

"If you need to cry all day, I'll be here."

///

Doyoung proved that your presence left a big mark that he never realized before. He thought he was just confused at first, or that he was just getting used to not being able to contact you whenever he could.

Just that evening, he was having a hard time memorizing the new choreography for their comeback. He kept on messing up one of the killing parts and everyone was frustrated that they couldn't move on to the other parts of the choreography. He felt sorry for everyone, so he left practice early to work on it himself without burdening the other members. His first instinct was the grab his phone and listen to your soothing voice, telling him to cheer up and that he will do better tomorrow.

But as soon as he was about to hit the dial button, it pained him to press the back button instead, stuffing the phone into his sweatpants and he wiped the sweat off of him.

He felt very heaviness, even more, when he was changing, basically ripping the door of his locker as he took its contents to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling of sweat. He was both mad and upset at the same time, almost ripping a part of his shirt when he was about to put it on.

He hasn't felt like this in a very long time and he needed a way to get things off of his chest. But without you to do it, it was practically impossible.

He grabbed his matching hat and jacket, stuffing his dirty clothes on his backpack and he made his way out of the building.

He made sure that no one saw him in that state, especially Haechan, who gave him so much shit when everybody found out about your confession.

"Everyone knew, you dumbass."

He just wished somebody would've told him sooner, but he knew it wasn't their place to tell him about it. He felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.

His heavy footsteps dragged him to the ramen shop that you used to go to together. He stopped coming here when he lost contact with you, and instead of making him feel better, it made him even more upset upon the reminder of how he fucked up. But he needed a way to make himself feel better. Ramen worked back then. Maybe it would work right now.

He made the choice to not sit down at your usual spot, the one closest to the kitchen so you would get your meals as soon as you could. He instead opted for one of the corners. It felt awkward, but he was there to eat, not enjoy the ambiance. He ordered a bowl to himself, something that he wasn't used to seeing on the table. The bowl of ramen looked so empty on the table by itself, and so he ordered a lot of side dishes with a few bottles of soju to comfort himself.

To his surprise, he was served by the same auntie that used to tease you and him before when the two of you used to go to this place. He hoped that she wouldn't recognize and ask for your whereabouts, but he was very unlucky that day.

"Oh. It's been a while since I saw you! How are you?"

Doyoung just bowed to the auntie and told him that he was fine and that he missed eating there for the longest time.

"I'm glad that I finally get to see you! You missed your friend though, she just left earlier."

He was put to a halt. Something about you being mentioned sparked something in him. Although, he wasn't able to pinpoint what that feeling was at that time.

"I think she was showing the place to another friend of yours. The big guy ate a lot, so we're worried for a bit that we’re about to close early for today."

Doyoung felt his heart sink, but he still bowed and thanked the auntie for the meal. 

He stared at the contents of his table for a while, but you would always remind him that the soup tasted better when it's still hot. For some reason though, the bowl of ramen wasn't as tasty as it used to be. He used to finish bowls of that same ramen before, but he couldn't even manage to finish one. He knew better than to waste food though, so he forced himself to eat the rest of it and jumped out of there as soon as he could.

The ramen certainly didn't make him feel better.

///

It's been weeks and the first thing that Doyoung did after waking up was to open his phone for messages. There were a few of them, most of it coming from the other members, but he wasn't interested in reading in any of them.

Getting out of bed seemed harder than usual. He felt a few pounds heavier, which meant he either gained weight or he just lost the will to get up from his bed.

He tried not to stare at his phone as he brushed his teeth, so he kept them hidden in his pocket and used all of his wills to not check on it every hour.

He noticed that there was a bit of commotion coming from outside. He paid no attention and went back to his usual morning routine, getting ready for a separate schedule that he had that morning. He went to his room to get dressed and pack the things that he may need that day. Once everything was done, he went to the kitchen to tell everyone that he was going, but he was met with something else instead.

The rest of the boys were gathered up around the table, enjoying breakfast that he assumed that you made. You just stood there happily as you served everyone pieces of the omelet that you made. You turned around in his direction and he was met with that smile that he missed so much.

"Doie, would you like some?"

The nickname made him flinch. It was something that you never used on him before, but it was enough to make him look away and step out of the room immediately.

"I'm good. I just came to say goodbye to everyone."

"Oh good!" you said as you gathered your things and stuffed them neatly in your tote bag. "I just came here to drop some food because this guy said that he wasn’t feeling well. Let's go together," you said as you tiptoed your way out of the tight kitchen, messing Johnny's hair before you finally stepped out of the room.

"Let's go?" you asked giddily as you grabbed Doyoung's arm and waved to everybody goodbye. He finally realized what you must've felt when it was the other way around.

The walk towards the bus stop was a quiet one. None of you dared to talk. But he noticed that the spring of your step is back, if not better than before. Meanwhile, he was just walking there awkwardly, not knowing what to say to you because of how he left things the last time that you talked. He wanted to talk to you for the longest time, but he respected your wishes to be alone. Now he was regretting making that decision.

The both of you stood there at the nearest bus stop, the atmosphere is even quieter since it was just the two of you standing there.

"I missed you Doie," you spoke, breaking the silence between you too.

"I was hoping that we can talk right after this. You know, just to clear the air."

He remained quiet in his place, not really knowing how to respond to her.

"Meet me at the ramen place later?"

"Sure," Doyoung almost hit himself for answering so soon. To him, he sounded very eager to eat with you once again.

The bus finally arrived and you stepped inside, making your way into the seat. His stare lingered at you for a while, to see if you would look around like how you always did when he sent you home. You took those same steps, hesitating at the eighth one to see if he still stuck around to look at you.

You hesitantly sat back down in your seat, unsure as to whether he finally looked back at you when you were about to leave.

You never saw him though, because he asked you to sit down and within a split second, he was gone from your view.

Guess you're just gonna have to find out tonight.

xxx

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Episode Spotlight: M*A*S*H, Season 1, Episode 17: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet

Frank Burns throws his back out and applies for a Purple Heart.  Meanwhile, Hawkeye Pierce meets, and later operates on, an old friend and struggles with the decision of whether or not to send an underaged soldier home.

More than halfway through season 1, M*A*S*H wasn’t exactly killing in the ratings.  The show wasn’t quite sure of itself yet, with tons of recurring characters that would end up dropped and other characters not yet added to the main cast.  Airing at eight o’clock on Sunday nights, M*A*S*H was, at this stage in the game, a relatively normal sitcom, albeit one with a bit sharper sense of humor.

That all changed with Sometimes You Hear the Bullet.

I’ll show you what I mean.

The episode starts humorously enough: Major Frank Burns throws his back out during a rendezvous with Major Houlihan.  He is placed into traction, where he applies for a Purple Heart for his ‘injury’.  Meanwhile, Hawkeye is visited by an old friend and kindred irreverent spirit: Corporal Tommy Gillis, a journalist who signed up for the front lines as he writes his book: You Never Hear the Bullet, a book meant to be written from a soldier’s point of view, instead of a reporter’s.

A helicopter full of wounded arrive at the unit, and Gillis returns to his post.

Among the wounded is a young man with a burst appendix, a Private Wendell Petersen, who is very anxious to get back to the front lines.  Hawkeye tells him that he has to rest for a few days before returning to his unit.  This doesn’t stop Wendell from attempting to steal an army jeep to try to get back, afraid that he was going to be sent home.

After talking with him, Hawkeye figures out the truth: Wendell Petersen is actually Walter Peterson, and he’s not even sixteen years old.

It turns out that Walter posed as his brother, Wendell, and entered the war to impress his girlfriend back home by returning with a medal.  He begs Hawkeye to keep his secret, and, after returning him to his bed, Hawkeye agrees.

Shortly, more wounded arrive, and among them is Tommy Gillis.  Hawkeye operates on him, but even his best is not enough, and he dies on the operating table after telling Hawkeye that he did hear the bullet.  Hawkeye tries to revive him, but Colonel Henry Blake orders him to move on to save another life.

Afterwards, Hawkeye breaks down crying.

“Henry, I know why I’m crying now. Tommy was my friend, and I watched him die, and I’m crying. I’ve watched guys die almost every day. Why didn’t I ever cry for them?”

“Because you’re a doctor.”

Hawkeye asks what that means, and Henry answers with one of the greatest lines in the show’s history.

“I don’t know. If I had the answer, I’d be at the Mayo Clinic. Does this place look like the Mayo Clinic? Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war. And rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is, doctors can’t change rule number one.”

Right then and there, Hawkeye decides to change rule number one in some small way, and calls the MPs on Private Wendell, really Walter, outing the fact that he’s underage.  Walter, outraged, tells Hawkeye that he’ll never forgive Hawkeye for the rest of his life.

Hawkeye replies: “Let’s hope it’s a long and healthy hate.”

In one final scene (one that’s usually cut from syndication), Henry Blake begins to present Frank with his Purple Heart, only to find it replaced with a purple earring, while outside, Hawkeye pins the Purple Heart on Walter to make up for turning him in, sending him home, but home a hero.

The end.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet is considered one of M*A*S*H’s best episodes for a reason.  This is an early episode, one that is regarded as a tone and trend setter for the rest of the series in terms of both storyline balance (one or two serious plotlines, one humorous), and content itself, one of the first episodes to sit down and truly explore the characters within this tragic situation.  At this moment, M*A*S*H ceased being a comedy show and became a dramedy, with one of the most memorable moments and exchanges in the show’s long history.

While this episode may seem like a standard half-hour of television, at the time, especially for this show, it was something different.  It was no longer a slapstick grittier Hogan’s Heroesque irreverent comedy about soldiers, it was a show about a group of people stuck in the middle of a war, with death all around them.  And no matter how good Hawkeye, or any of the doctors, are at their jobs, they’ll never be able to save everyone.

It’s sobering, but it’s a truth that the show had, for the first time, truly explored, and it’s that initial exploration, that glimmer of what this show was going to become, that puts this episode under so much recognition: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was the warning sign, the first moment that the writers got a handle on the show that would become a classic.

Of course, it has it’s problems.  

Not tonal ones, at least, not exactly.  Throughout its entire run, M*A*S*H often had two or three plots going, one serious, one humorous.  This is a smart strategy: balance out the dark with the light, giving each episode a more even feeling instead of being too much one or the other.  Although the show would get darker and more serious as time went on, the writers never abandoned this plan, allowing M*A*S*H to remain a consistent dramedy throughout the show’s run, keeping the audience laughing and crying at the same time.

In the case of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, the ‘funny’ subplot is obvious: Frank Burns and his Purple Heart.  The other two storylines are the serious ones: Hawkeye’s friend, as well as the underaged soldier.  However, in most cases, as in this one, these plotlines inevitably intersect, and it’s here that this particular episode might cause a few problems.

I mentioned that the final scene in the episode is typically cut from syndication: the sequence where Frank’s purple heart is stolen and given to the underaged soldier, instead.  While this scene may not, at first, seem inherently out of place within the context of the rest of the episode, swinging from comedy to drama within a minute, there are those who believe that this scene unintentionally undermines the rest of the episode, or the main thrust established a few moments earlier.

And those people aren’t exactly wrong.

I certainly agree that the episode would have been stronger had it ended with the soldier’s final interaction with Hawkeye been proclaiming his hatred, only for Hawkeye to soberly respond that he hopes it’s a long and healthy hate.  Changing that to this new ending, where Hawkeye sends him home with a medal, seems almost out of character for Hawkeye, taking away some of the sincerity and severity of the message just a moment earlier.  The idea that this soldier could bring himself to forgive Hawkeye so soon, before realizing what exactly he’d been saved from, seems a little disingenuous after the weight previously given to this subplot.

In later episodes, it’s possible, even probable that this episode wouldn’t have ended tied in such a neat bow.  But that’s one of the things that’s so interesting about this episode.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet isn’t the first episode of ‘true’ M*A*S*H as it would be remembered in the future, but it is the first episode where M*A*S*H comes into its own themes, looking hard at war, and the toll it takes not only on the soldiers, but on the surgeons, as well.  Before this, for the most part, ‘characters’, friends of the cast, did not die on the operating table.  Not when Hawkeye could save him.

But I’m going to quote Hawkeye from another season 1 M*A*S*H episode, Yankee Doodle Doctor, as I think that it sums up this the point of this episode pretty well:

“Three hours ago, this man was in a battle. Two hours ago, we operated on him. He’s got a 50-50 chance. We win some, we lose some. That’s what it’s all about. No promises. No guaranteed survival. No saints in surgical garb. Our willingness, our experience, our technique are not enough. Guns, and bombs, and anti-personnel mines have more power to take life than we have to preserve it. Not a very happy ending for a movie. But then, no war is a movie.”

That right there is the point of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, to the point where the doomed Tommy Gillis even references the film tropes of a young, fresh-faced kid hearing the bullet that kills him.  This is the message that Hawkeye must grapple with: he cannot save everyone.

No matter how much he knows, how good he is, he can never save everyone.  No guaranteed survival.

It’s sobering, but it’s the truth.  And it’s what makes this episode so memorable.

M*A*S*H at this point was still mostly a comedy, a series full of jokes and the occasional serious moment, and it would continue to be so for another few years.  But it was this episode, episode seventeen of the first season, that signaled to audiences that this show could be more than that.  It could make you laugh, sure, but it could make you cry, and it wasn’t that surprising: this was war.

In short: by itself, is Sometimes You Hear the Bullet one of the greatest episodes of television, or even M*A*S*H, ever written?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But what it is, without much doubt, is the first sign of maturity in a show that had a lot of growing up to do.

Whether the shift was instantaneous or not, the fact is, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was a game changer in the show’s history, the first break in format that truly showed audiences what they could expect in the years ahead.

On top of that?  It’s just a good episode.

The plot balance is decent, without too much mood-whiplash that could so easily occur in a war dramedy.  The characters, decently familiar to audiences by now, all work off of each other just as well as ever, funny, interesting, and heartfelt in turn.  It’s an example of early M*A*S*H at it’s best, overshadowing many first season episodes with a level of depth previously mostly unexplored, delivering on every scene and remaining mostly genuine.  It’s an engaging episode, full of memorable moments that are thoughtful and earnest, making this episode a standout, a moment in television history, and an unmissable installment for avid watchers of M*A*SH, and television fans in general.

Don’t forget that the comment box is always open for anything from suggestions and discussion ideas to questions and conversations!  Thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope to see you guys in the next article.

[katsidhe]

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in. 

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen.  I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters. 

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy. 

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!ateez fanboy series: yeosang

He wasn’t a fan of Korean people dancing and singing to cute, lively pop songs or to sultry songs on stage. Though he did enjoy watching Korean dramas (ashe was influenced by his best friend) Yeosang pretty muched preferred to the beat of Western songs. He would create his own choreography and upload them on his Youtube. And that was it. But his parents ridiculed him for being jobless, dancing couldn’t get him anywhere. Let alone, making money out of it. His parents, specifically his father, was so ashamed of him. He ran away from his home, vowing to come back when he can finally slam large amounts of money on his parents’ table in the living room. 

With the help of his friends, he was able to secure a job for himself at an entertainment company that was fairly new. Even if he didn’t knew which groups houses this company, it was better enough. He didn’t know that he would instantly be taking home millions of Korean wons in a day and actually went back to his house and slammed the money he earned on his parents’ table. But he didn’t moved back there. He found himself living in one of the top buildings in Seoul. Much better right? 

It was until he was introduced to Starlight and met Y/N. ‘What a beauty she is’ Yeosang thought to himself. He found himself in a bar with a two older sponsors in the company and in front of them is the seven member Starlight girl group. He was the youngest sponsor in the private table, and was it considered normal if the girl group paid more attention to him than the older ones? 

“Yeosang-ah, if you had to pick which one would you bring home, who would it be?” The sponsor asked. Yeosang gulped, chuckling nervously before he could take a look at each member. 

“Y/N” he says proudly. That night, he took her home. But nothing happened between the two of them. That night, they only talked about Y/N’s pre idol life and Yeosang found himself falling her. As someone who has been through a lot, surely he would grant her all the fame and fortune she deserves. And after that fateful encounter, Y/N rose to fame. Completely shadowing the other members. 

Yeosang started off giving gifts to Y/N, sending her dresses from luxury brands to spending millions of wons for a car to be sent to Y/N to actually seeing her send her off to schedules. He felt like a leech attached to her, not being able to function without seeing her. He knew it was wrong, but it felt good seeing and being with her. 

And then, he started to send her odd gifts. A box full of dead butterflies, garden insects and eerie love letters. Y/N stopped responding to his gifts and he felt so heartbroken. But he didn’t want that, he was the one who has the authority and he demands obedience from Y/N. 

And so on the next night of their meet up, Yeosang locked the doors after her. Refusing to let her leave his place if she didn’t agreed to becoming his. 

“Mr. Kang, I think we should stop meeting already.” Y/N’s spoke in a small tone. Yeosang had the mood set up, from lighting candles to slightly dimming the lights and sipping wine. 

“Why do you think so?” He asks in a blank tone. 

“I..I’m getting scared now. My members are getting scared for me too. Whenever I tell the agency about this, they only tell me to be greatful for you-” but Yeosang had cut her off. 

“And as you should. If you were using that pea sized brain of yours you would be thankful to me that I gave you all those cfs, guest appearance and those gifts I sent you. Tell me, with the total amount that you and your group made from your debut up to this day, do you think you can pay off the money I had spent for you?” Y/N couldn’t speak up about this and stayed quiet. 

“Thought so.” Yeosang says before bringing up a small back on his face. 

“Be a good girl for me and only listen to me.” He says, inching closer to her as his lips ghosts over on the shell of her ear. 

“Strip and then I’ll give you a yearly award win.” Yeosang whispers, ghosting his lips down on the side of her neck. 

And Y/N did as she was told. 

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Black - Chapter 10

Here's a chapter that was exceedingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D

@legolasbadass I have officially tagged you in something, now, go back to writing 😂

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, the rest, special mention for Dwalin being a cutie

Words: 5,5 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood, reference to bodily harm, reference to God, ALSO: I am a drama queen *shrug*

“I think you are being unreasonable.” Faith shook her head at him. “Who? Uncle?” Kíli sauntered up to them, bowing crisply to her and adding: “I came to check on you, but I see our own dragon is guarding you jealously.”

“Get dressed, woman, if that one is here, the others are not far behind.” Thorin grumbled and blocked the view of his much too curious nephew while Faith was huddled in the corner of her room, slipping into her chemise and an old rough spun dress she had found in the pile of clothes that were left to her.

Faith had to admit that Thorin might have been right when other dwarrows presented themselves as well in front of her door, “to check on her” as if she was as sickly kitten. “Dori sends me with tea.” Ori mumbled, holding a literal pot of tea in his gloved hands.

“That is ever so kind.” Faith smiled, pouring the rest of her wine back into the carafe and extending the mug to the sweet dwarrow hovering just outside her door. Apparently, there was indeed something unseemly about crossing the threshold of an unmarried woman as an unmarried man. She wondered if that would have been the same if the townspeople of her home had lived. As it was, she would never know, but there was something quite touching in the pile-up of dwarrows outside her room.

“Oh, you’re holding court like a real queen. What is uncle unreasonable about?” Kíli silenced the others by almost screaming.

“Mistress Faith was on her way to bed when you barged in like a fool.” Thorin muttered, obviously in a cantankerous mood.

“She was not, she was berating you!” Kíli replied petulantly. “I don’t think your uncle, the king, should be camped outside of my door.” Faith intervened with an explanation.

“Why don’t you just bolt the door?” The lad asked, scratching his head. When she explained that she couldn’t open the door on her own and that she didn’t like feeling locked in, he gave his uncle a short nod and shrugged: “In that case, uncle is not being unreasonable at all. Let me know if you want company, I can sit with you.”

Faith was speechless. “You are a guest, and we’ll keep you safe.” Kíli said with an easy smile.

“I am safe.” Faith protested. “You are now because you have uncle outside your door. And us.” Kíli winked at her with that youthful pride and confidence that made her heart swell. Oh, bless that kid, she thought, may the stars align for him and bring him endless happiness.

“There you are!” Dwalin came barrelling down the corridor. “Me?” She was taken aback and tiny bit startled.

“No, not you, Mistress. That oaf, the king.” Dwalin nodded to her with what might have been a smile, Faith was not entirely sure and conversed in low, murmured words with Thorin. Faith just sat and listened to the sound of it, weirdly calmed and comforted by the rough elegance of their very own, secret language.

“Mistress Faith? Ah, there comes Fíli.” Faith scrambled to her feet and curtsied for the heir to the throne who presented her with a small cake. “We apologise humbly for having led you astray and for risking your good name. And for annoying you about uncle, we didn’t tell mother everything, but she was not happy either way.” The prince laughed. Faith was impressed by how resolutely and soberly he admitted fault and tried to redress his potential missteps; she understood that their social life had been an unsteady and uncertain thing and that it had been a priority to make them valuable fighters rather than charming courtiers.

Nonetheless, she admired them for their light-hearted honesty as much as for their supposed prowess.

“You’ve given us sweets and now, we give you cake. That makes us friends, doesn’t it? Ah, I see Dori has sent his little brother with that disheartening brew of his.” Fíli declared, commenting casually on the scene he had stumbled upon. Amongst humans, this would have been a childish thing to say, Faith thought, but she realised that he extended an invitation to her, and she was thankful for it. As she was a stranger in their realm, the declaration of a bond between them would protect her, shield her, most probably keep her alive against all odds. It was easy to see them as children as they were the nephews of a man she called a friend, but their lives stretched far into the past and hopefully would extend into a distant future, and already, they knew more than she would ever learn.

With another curtsy, she acknowledged the gracious offer of his friendship and the privileges it brought. “Thank you, dear prince I would be honoured to accept both the cake and your good graces.” He gave her an answering bow that sealed the deal.

If they knew what scandalous actions she had been engaged in only moments ago, Faith thought, they would probably not be that courteous to her. The idea of losing their affection stung, which surprised her, but the idea of losing them, period, turned out to be utterly unbearable to her. Her mind shrank back from the mere thought as from an open, festering wound.

She had been alone most of her life, but the mere contemplation of never seeing the creatures in front of her again filled her with dread and a nameless pain that choked the light out of her heart. For their own people and their culture, they were young still and she couldn’t bear the thought of having such promising torches snuffed out before their time. Would that she could live another hundred years to see their mischief soften to quiet humour, to see them take wives and father children, to be their friend through the different stages of a dwarven life.

The limitations of her own body and life constricted her soul, crushing it to dust, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of being given a glimpse of perfection only to have it snatched away too soon by the ravage of time. No, she thought, she would be thankful to be granted that precious peek; she would be grateful to have known what others only dreamt of and she would treasure those memories and all she had seen until her eyes saw no more.

“Thank you ever so much.” Faith mumbled again, feeling the effects of the half-glass of wine she had drunk and wondering if the dwarrows could eat all the time. She had had more than her fill at the dinner, but she dutifully bit into her cake which was sweet and surprisingly moist.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly. “It is like everything else of dwarven make I have experienced.” Faith grinned.

“Bulky, heavy and smelling kind of weird?” Thorin prompted, much to Faith’s chagrin; she had not noticed that he had finished his conversation with his friend. Maybe, she had been wrong and dwarven mischief never really abated, maybe, they just learned to hide their wicked humour under longer beards in time. “Beautiful, compact, and delicious.” She gave him a brazen look full of dancing sparks; she liked bandying words with Thorin almost as much as she liked being kissed by him.

“Delicious, ey?” Dwalin laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder, and promising to come back later to relieve Thorin in his guard-duties. Oh, this was absurd, Faith rolled her eyes, she didn’t need two prime fighters in front of her door.

She had trekked through wind and weather; she had tackled a man with a knife and had chased away another one; she could take care of herself. It seemed though as if Thorin had been mostly correct: if they had lingered in her room, someone would have come looking for them and she might have lost a name that was worth more in this settlement than it ever had before.

She was half a savage, she realised, unused to the social conventions and rules of a society. As a maiden, she should have waited for a husband to give up this most sacrosanct of female gifts, but she was past the marrying age, and she was not overly fond of the idea of dying a virgin.

It was highly improbable that she would ever be anything else than a concubine to anyone and much more believable that she’d end up taken by force…hence the armed king outside her door. He had saved her once from rape and violence, and Faith did not doubt that he would do it again without hesitating.

Until he left.

Looking at the young princes, Faith realised that she felt safe here. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and hence, had let down her guard too much; all these lovely people would go on a perilous journey, and she would be left to her own devices. Maybe, she would have to heed the king’s advice after all and learn to be demure and discreet again.

That would be a whole lot easier once his startling beauty was removed and she could breathe again without getting a whiff of that intoxicating smell. How far would he have to be removed for her to no longer feel tethered to his steps?

She would miss him. His presence had become solace and home to her, a place to rest, a warmth to sustain her, and she would feel more vulnerable with him gone than ever before. Oh, another painful thought she didn’t want to pursue in this moment.

“We should let you get to bed. Just scream if anything is the matter and enjoy the cake.” The youngsters ambled away in high spirits, mocking Ori and his teapot and squabbling about the last cake. She would miss them too; like everything she had experienced in this wondrous place, they were a curious blend of beauty – light, colour, and laughter – and strength – honour, courage, and faith. Yes, she could say that she was fond of them and that she would be looking forward to seeing them again; there was just no way to dislike their open-hearted…fierceness. They were striving towards a brighter future with such zeal and indefatigable energy that Faith was pulled along despite her own reservations.

“Can I offer you a piece, my king?” Faith sat down again on her side of the doorframe, offering the baked good to Thorin.

“Ah, yes, I won’t say “no” to that.” He nodded, breaking off a piece and shoving it into his mouth, crumbs raining down on his tunic which she brushed away casually, amused to find that the king had a sweet tooth. His hand closed around her wrist.

“I am sorry, Faith, this…it was a mess. I…” He sighed. “I want to do this right…”

Oh, how could she have forgotten? While she was obsessing about her own death as if she was a crone already, she had forgotten that he had seen decades more than her; the time for his retribution had come and, of course, he didn’t want more loose ends and false starts to burden him.

“I will make it right; I will…” His eyes had softened to a mesmerizing dark blue in the low light, intense and captivating.

Now that the fire in her veins had dulled into a sensuous warmth, a steady flow of earnest affection and deep longing, she could put aside the wounds her vanity had sustained and mumble: “Oh, you king of second chances, I am sure you will.”

“Have faith in me, sweet one, I will make good on my word.” – “I shall not be another burden on your shoulders, Thorin-king.” She protested softly, putting her hand lightly on top of his.

“You are not, neither are they.” He waved in the general direction in which his nephews had disappeared. “I will succeed where others have failed, because of all of you. I will bring you home: my sister, my nephews, my friends…you. I swear.”

The intensity of his gaze and of his determination sent shivers down Faith’s spine.

She was a woman without a history and, probably, without a future, but she could recognise the weight of his ancestors’ failures, of his people’s suffering, and of his own ambition bear down on him inexorably.

“Rest, sweet king, you have done me no wrong.” She reassured him. “Have I not?” His eyes narrowed, suspecting a subterfuge or a trick. “You are a stubborn but very honourable fool, and I am glad that you convinced me to come here.” She grinned.

“So, you like it here? You’ll like Erebor then. It’s full of gold.” He smiled. “You and your gold!” She laughed.

“It’s full of beautiful things.” He tried again. “It shall be, yeah.” She chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently into his.

“You…I wanted to say that I feel honoured that you’d…consider me for…” He nodded at the empty room behind her, which made her giggle again; he really was too upstanding to be real.

“You are the single most beautiful living thing I’ve ever beheld in my life. You’re kind, generous, and brave. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I see now that there are rules to be followed and I did not mean any disrespect.”

Thorin seemed to ponder her words for a while before nodding: “Yes, I guess that is true…I know that you are physically incapable of wilfully disrespecting anyone or anything almost, so no problem.”

“What are the rules, Thorin-king?” She had caught a glimmer in his eye that disquieted her considerably.

He looked purposefully away for a moment and then mumbled into his beard: “I’d court you and then…”

“What would you quarter me for? In that case, I do see why you think intercourse would be dangerous.” Faith hissed, aghast.

“Court you, not quarter you. Who do you think I am?” Thorin exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately.

“I am sorry that I do not have your sister’s supersonic hearing.” Faith grumbled, but she had to laugh when she saw his dumbfounded face. “Oh, Dís, she was born like that. It’s because she loves information that much. I call it information…”

He made a face.

“She sounds like a valuable councillor then, wouldn’t you say?” Faith teased him. “Kíli gets it from her, that wicked sense of humour and that…” His voice softened, “She has a fierce heart, my sister does, stay close to Dís, she’ll keep you safe.”

Faith believed him, but she wondered how he could be so sure.

“My sister loves me as I love her, you are my friend, you are her sons’ friend…She won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on the princess either.” Faith protested, flustered by the finality in his voice.

Thorin took her hand and murmured: “Can you do two things for me, please? One, go to bed, otherwise I will have to kiss you again and we have seen that it generally ends in…frustration; and two, promise that you’ll stay with Dís.”

Throwing a quick glance down the corridors, Faith stuck out her head of the doorframe and pressed a single, warm, lingering kiss on his stubborn mouth and whispered: “I swear to stick to the princess…and lay down my life if necessary for her protection.”

Mahal have mercy, Thorin thought, the two women he cared for most would try to die in protection of one another at the slightest provocation; they were both fiercely loyal and brave in their own way. Devoted and self-forgotten, Faith had no regard for her own fragile life that seemed to be entirely made up of service while Dís had ever been a pugnacious dwarrowdam who would not avoid a fight if she thought she could win. Dís always thought she could win. She was his sister, after all.

“Good night, king of kings.” She whispered, flipping one of his braids playfully over his shoulder and scrambling to get to her feet. Thorin watched her go, taking off her dress again as she went, and cursed himself for being such a fool.

As she slipped between the sheets though, Faith stiffened and cried out: “Wait a minute…what do you mean by court?”

It had taken some time for his words to sink in, but again, all her fatigue evaded her within a second.

“Well, courting gifts, braids, walking around with your hand in mine…more intrusive questions by my nephews, more teasing by my sister…” He enumerated and ticked off the fingers of his hand.

Marriage, Faith thought, that was what it all led up to. Courting led to weddings, in general, and she would not marry Thorin Oakenshield, king of the Longbeards, not if the almighty creator himself did not come down and grant her a life long enough to honour the bond she would enter into, and a blood worthy of his. Falling back hard into her pillow, she resisted the urge of burying her head in it and asphyxiating herself out of pure impatience and annoyance with the situation.

Then again, the idea of having his nephews and his sister, and ultimately of course him, around until her forever came, held such a sweet seduction that it tore her heart apart. The intensity of her longing made it very clear to her that she was reaching for forbidden fruit indeed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling that started to swim and swirl in front of her eyes.

“Sleep, sweet one, tomorrow is another day. There will be time for you to decide if that is something you’d want.”

Oh, naturally, he would be a perfectly honourable man about that as well, Faith thought with something akin to disdain almost; while she fretted and fussed, he would offer his courtship and she would have the right to deny it.

Would he understand her reasons when she finally did reject his promise of tender and respectful advances? Or would he feel as miserably unsatisfied as she did now?

Again, she tried to remind herself of the fact that he did not care for her in that way. She had promised him her body and he was looking to find some justification for taking it; a man such as him would not simply despoil a woman because he felt like it, no, he would create the pretence of a mock courtship to explain why he had taken what he could never give back.

Time would tell. Time, her constant enemy, the shadow gnawing mercilessly on her hours in the sun, would decide if she ever got an answer to those questions.

“You can tell me sooner of course.” Thorin mumbled and she sat up in bed, her blanket a tangled mess around her legs.

“It is a discussion for another day, surely.” She replied calmly, falling back to hide her face and its expression from him.

“Are you very cross with me, Faith?” He asked then.

“Not in the least, Thorin.” She decided against a title, knowing that it would make him believe that she was indeed angry when, really, she was confused and considerably hurt by everything that had happened tonight and by the fears that swirled in her head and heart without surcease. “Good, I couldn’t bear to disappoint you as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, she shot up to stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. “I will do right by all of you.” He vowed anew and Faith wondered if he always took his own trespasses so seriously; of course, he would.

“Good night, Master Dwarf. I care for you, and you are beautiful.” She repeated the most important things of the evening, swallowing her rejection of his courtship and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly disturbed by her body that was as taut as a twisted piece of wire. Every time her thighs touched, a spark of pure agony shot through her limbs, a feeling she knew would subside but that made her intensely miserable, nonetheless.

“How’s the little lady?” Dwalin clunked down the corridor and was forced to sneak the last stretch so as not to awaken Faith.

Thorin loved his friend, but he would not tell him how he had spent the last hours listening to Faith mumble and moan in her sleep; more than once, she had whimpered his name and he had been sorely tempted to take off his clothes again and slip between the covers with her.

Somewhere between her body and the mattress lay heaven, he knew, and her soft groaning had worn out his soul and chafed his skin raw with desire.

“She’s not a little lady.” Thorin grumbled. No, Faith was fearless when it came to actual danger; despite her innate subservience and her sweet temper, she was a fierce woman he was honoured and happy to call his friend.

“You’re thinking about courting her, aren’t you?” – “If she’ll have me.” Thorin didn’t even try denying it.

Dwalin had his doubts about that; Faith seemed fond enough of their mutual friend, of their common king, but could she find that kind of love inside herself for someone who was not of her own race? Friendships were indiscriminate; they were based on mutual respect and understanding, but marriage followed a set of rules much stricter and more severe.

It was also probable that she’d die before him, but he was not exactly a young dwarf and they had years ahead of them that could be spent in happy union; if he lived, if she agreed. Did she know that? Would she want that?

“She’s very…kind.” Dwalin said carefully, for she had been nothing but nice to him despite the fact that even dwarrowdams had told him before that he looked like a raincloud pickled in vinegar and left to dry on a stony cliff. “She is.” Thorin agreed.

“What is with the door?” Dwalin then asked and nodded at the huddled form in the bed he could make out in the penumbra. “She can’t open it on her own.” Thorin explained and then, the epiphany hit him: he would not wait for his return or her joining him; he would start his tentative courting with the very basic gift of an appropriate door.

“I…I have something to do. Please do not turn around under any circumstance and tell Mistress Faith that I’ll find her as soon as I’m done.” Thorin spluttered hastily and, boots in hand, almost ran down the corridor in search of a carpenter.

He would have a door made that she could easily open and close herself, but he would make sure that it was sturdy, fashioning and applying the bolts himself. Would that this blasted wizard was around to help imbue the very slab of wood with spells for her protection. Yes, he would convince her of his deep affection for her in the only way he knew: hard work and presents.

Faith woke up to the broad back of Master Dwalin completely obscuring the doorframe.

“The king is…doing something and he’ll find you as soon as he has finished…doing whatever he is doing.” The dwarrow grunted as a reply to her cheery greeting.

Slipping back into her simple shift, Faith approached the stolid figure and tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you be so good as to let me out?” He shifted aside and let her pass, but as she took a step, he followed her.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.” He muttered, a low, rumbling sound that she very much enjoyed. “You are a dear man, Master Dwalin.” She chirped and nodded slowly.

“Hmmm, me? Hmmm, thank you, Mistress Faith.”

If she had been a braver woman when it came to social conventions, Faith might have asked to hug him, but as it was, she didn’t dare presume. “You’re a funny little creature as well.” He chuckled after a moment which made her turn around in surprise.

“Where are we going?” He cocked his head. “First to get you some breakfast and then to the river, if that is agreeable to you.” She replied gently. As he was intent on shadowing her, she had to think of his well-being as much as he seemed to worry about hers; so, off to the kitchens they went in search of a fortifying meal for the big warrior.

While Dwalin was still munching noisily on his breakfast, Faith was already kneeling beside the river, digging her hands deep into the soil, and filtering out the clay in meticulous steps until she had a sizeable ball. Her guardian watched her work tirelessly, fascinated by her steady, soft movements. Thorin was right, he thought, she was a creature of mud.

Even though the king himself was, in this moment, hammering steel with ringing force, there was a parallel to be drawn between the rhythmic, almost dance-like movements both of them were performing to create something new. For one another, if Dwalin wasn’t very much mistaken.

“I’d ask the kitchens if you can use one of their ovens rather than the open fire of the furnace.” He commented when Faith started moulding and twisting her ball of clay into shapes. “It will be quicker and gentler on your creations.”

Faith nodded when a glint in the water caught her eye. A beautiful, iridescent pebble, smooth and shiny was sitting right next to a single coin. She knew not if it had been caught in the folds of her dress or if someone else had lost it in the river, but she took it to be a good omen for her sacrifice to find things so beautiful to add to her offering.

“Off to the kitchens we go again then, Master Dwalin.” She smiled, heaping her work into his broad palms and chuckling to herself as she watched him hold them carefully in his hands while he walked gingerly ahead of her. He was a dear fellow…and another soul to miss bitterly.

“Come quick, uncle.” Thorin looked up from the bolt he had been fitting on the wooden door meant for Faith’s room in surprise. “You have to see that.” Fíli, his nephew, his heir, was waving him along urgently and so he followed without taking the time to cross-examine the lad on the motivation for his peculiar behaviour.

As soon as they arrived at the side of his dear sister, Thorin could understand where the excitement came from. Faith was kneeling in front of a tree hugging the mountainside, laying out the earthen dishes she had made with her own hands this morning.

“Uncle.” Kíli yelped, just arriving, upon seeing Faith pull out a knife and slashing open her arm once again, letting her blood drip into one of the shallow vessels slowly. “Let her be.” Thorin muttered, closing his hand around his nephew’s wrist to restrain him.

“I come to you, oh great creator, guide of my steps, in prayer.” Faith started, touching her forehead to the ground.

“But, I come not for myself. I come to pray for the safe passage and blessed return of Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Again, she bowed down, then lifting her bloodied hands to the sky and pleading:

“You who have many faces, allow me to address those I have known all my life without ever speaking their name. I have been told that the one Thorin calls Mahal and we may call “crafting face of the creator” has hewn the dwarrows from stone. Oh, father of all, remember those you gave life to and show them mercy once again. Oh, stone remember who you once cradled and mellow your bosom for them. May their steps tread safely on you and may you open your womb once again to give them refuge.”

Faith touched one of her dishes in which a single coin and an iridescent river pebble lay.

“Let not the fashioner of evil unmake your gift of strength and beauty to this world. For this, I pray.”

She turned to the second dish, containing seeds and herbs she had picked, offerings covered in mud and earth still.

“Oh, great creator, I cry to the part of you that is warm and motherly, to the face Thorin calls Yavanna under his breath. They are not made of stone; they are born, and they grow. May the protection of the mother fall upon them, the defence of all things that grow and thrive. Let the world I have cherished welcome them freely, oh great creator, oh manyfold God. May the rivers run smooth, and the trees grant them shade. Oh, earth you who have been my mother, hide their steps from foes and bear fruit to sustain them. I beg for this as a friend of all things living, may they be recognised by bird and beast, by heart and soul alive, for what they are: living, breathing, feeling creatures of this earth. Do not let them walk alone. For this, I pray.”

Finally, she lifted her own blood and poured it onto the soil in front of her.

“I am but a measly creature, a single life, but I understand that whatever blessing I might have known has had a purpose. I am a vessel and here, I surrender the mercy I have been granted to this greatest of kings. Take this blood into your bosom and see the flaws within it! May my life and the life of my kin be a cenotaph to guilt that spans over generations!”

She touched her forehead to the ground again before going on:

“Oh, great creator, carry the wisdom I have paid in blood and tears forth; may there be a gracious and brave child for every stubborn, unhospitable father, may the sons and daughters save their elders by their generous deeds. For this, I pray.”

Faith stood up again, bowing to her offerings thrice before lifting the knife to her throat.

This time, even Thorin jerked, but she merely cut off a strand of her hair to let it fall in the blood-stained dish.

“As for myself, I vow service, as I have before. I shall work tirelessly; I shall dig my hands bloody in search of fertile earth and I shall make plants thrive in your honour. From the day their feet fall into the first step of this most perilous of journeys until the day I shall gaze upon your blessed people again, oh great creator, I shall walk and pray in devout industry, only ever lifting my eyes to the sky to check if I am called forth. I yield whatever grace was placed upon and within me to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and whoever goes with him; I offer whatever strength I have to please you, oh great creator, in all your glory.”

Faith was about to turn away when she fell onto her knees again, her head pressed against the blood-drenched soil, sobbing in a low voice: “Oh, I plead with you, oh glorious, almighty, many-faced one, protect the one I call friend, the one who promised more than his body to me, bring him home safely even if I never get to see him again. Do not cut short the life of princes so valiant and honourable either. Take home the weary bones of old warriors and give fertile soil to the young ones to thrive. You are the maker of all things, of things that never change and of things that never stand still; honour their steadfast courage, eternal as the mountain, and their beating hearts, ever-changing as the seasons.”

Remembering the excellent hearing of the dwarrows, Faith lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished: “For I love them, dearly, desperately, endlessly. May the love of a mere mortal be guide, shield, and sword to them. I ask for nothing for myself, not an ounce of comfort, not a single blessing, heed my love for it is my only need in this life! I beg of you, I’d give everything for you to hear me…for this I pray.”

She bowed one last time, pulled down her sleeve and turned around to see Thorin staring at her with unfathomable eyes.

And then, the pain engulfed her, and she collapsed at the same time as Thorin broke into an impressive sprint for a boulder.

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (December 14, 1974): 51/?

QUEEN KILLING THEM SOFTLY IN FRANKFURT

IT WAS, said the tall and studious Brian May, like playing to a vacuum cleaner. "We were just pouring it out and they (the audience) were sucking it in, with nothing coming back. I tell you, for the first time in many months I felt like I'd done a hard day's work when I came off stage."

May, along with the rest of the band, is sitting in the diner of Frankfurt's Why Not club reflecting on Queen's second date in Germany. The mood is not bad, but there's an undercurrent of steely determination following the difficulties of that night's gig.

The fact is, support band Lynyrd Skynyrd. were exactly what stoned-out Frankfurt wanted. As in England with Golden Earring, so in Germany with Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd make an over-poweringly succesful support band. Here In Frankfurt there were even more difficulties for the English and. Most of the audience are American GI's, looking like inmates from the local borstal with their cropped hair and rippling muscles.

As you enter the 1100 capacity hall, the air is stuffed with the stench of dope — an intermingling of hash and grass and the sweat of a crowd at least 300 over the top.It's a strange place, former stock-exchange for farmers, complete with balcony, and surrounded by tropical plants.

Up on the balcony above the stage a group of Queen supporters self-consciously tap their feet to Skynyrd's rhythmic weave. Roger Taylor, ever grinning, appears to check on th band, notes the wild applause and disappears, no doubt to plan strategy.

There's a long break between sets leading to the dissipation of part of the crowd. Heidi, the whizz-kid of EMI Germany, explains the local GI's problem: "Zey have to report back to camp by 11.00 pm". So when Queen's little rock 'n' roll drama explodes, there are considerably fewer people end even less enthusiasm.

Presence

Mercury, the self-styled rock supremo, looks unabashed as Queen open with as much presence as a band can muster. Lights, tapes, and screaming dynamics combine to counter the audience apathy. It's ahighly professional first assault. Procession, Now I'm Here, and Ogre Battle make a promising start which draws warm applause. But unlike many gigs, this one did not cook to boiling point. If anything the crowd were almost undecided when Queen departed after an energetic stab. It took fully two minutes before muted applause turned to a good old stmp and chant, bringing the boys back on stage for a stirring finale.

Freddy stalks the stage with controlled aggression as they bash into Big Spender and you realise that here's a rock artist who can sing, cavort, and write songs with an almost contemptuous level of excellence. He is a classic rock star — complete with costume changes and bare hairy chest. Seems, his only real need is to develop that outrageous off-stage campery into the act. He's very much the mincing Queen, yet on stage this seemingly natural personality is overtaken with host of: "Right now we'd like to do" type announcements. Roger Taylor, a veritable demon on the drums and very fine musician, has more idea when he tells the crowd to get off their arses. Nevertheless there were those in the company who felt Queen showed too much aggression in the face of audience apathy.

Anyway, by all account there's a huge row in the dressing room afterwards which sends the EMI rep scurring away with cries of: "Don't let them break the windows."

The Swedes were apparently as wild as English audiences, but in Germany it's different.

Next stop is Hamburg with Skynyrd supporting for the last time.

Unapproachable

More talk on the way back to the hotel suggests the band will be unapproachable and there's even talk of spending the rest of the evening with Slade, who just happen to be staying at the same hotel. The word is that Queen are THE most fastidious band and no matter how good the gig, they (or Freddy paticularly) will find fault.

Eventually Brian and John walk into the bar. They look cool but not too unnerved and they're all prepared to go clubbing.

According to them there've been a few problems already on this, still young European tour like the incident which decapitated their equipment truck. Apparently some hapless roadie was hurtling through the Swedish night when he failed to notice a low-bridge warning. The lorry went on through, losing its root and half the amps in the process. Two gigs had to be cancelled while another truck was driven out from London in time for the Munich gig, a first in Germany. According to Heidi, Munich was a smash: "The audience just didn't know what had hit them," she says, adding that tonight's comparative failure does not over concern her: "Queen will be huge," she says confidently, "I'm sure they are going to be enormous, but it will take a year."

None of the boys seem overly worried and the general feeling in their road party — and among the visiting journalists — is one of disdain for the Frankfurt crowd. A crowd of dopers into boogie rock is hardly likely to appreciate futuristic guitar pyrotechnics and 1975 flash a la Mercury.

"Still," muses May, now installed at the night spot, "they could have returned something. The more an audience feed back the better we play — naturally — but there I just felt like I was wasting my time."

Electronic

He's a musician of the electronic school, very much on top of the latest developments in the uses of amplified sound. On stage he uses two American Echoplex units. The guitar he built himself over two years: "There's nothing special or different about it, it's just a good instrument." The amplifiers, he draws from a good old British tradition. Back in the days when The Shadows were the inspiration for every rock group in the country (they were celled rhythm groups then) Vox amplifires were renowned. Now, in contrast to almost all of his contemporaries, May uses the good old Vox AC 30, or to be more precise, nine of them (three are spare). 

Over a crab cocktail and non alcoholic drink (he's still recovering from Hepititis) Brian quashes the popular misconception that Queen are just a studio band manipulated by highly professional technicians. The truth is self-evident in the stage act. They compare favourably with their recorded sound. But Brian goes further. 

"Do people really believe it's all down to the studio?" he asks indignantly. 

Well, er, yes Brian, Trident Studios has got a reputation for expertise, and you must admit there's a lot of production goes into the Queen discs.

"OK," he returns, "but most of that studio direction comes from us.

"We think of all the ideas. We love being in the studio. We're full of thoughts on how the songs should come out."

Fair enough. But what about being on the road? There are nothing but tours ahead for the band. Can they all cope? What will they do to keep sane?

"I suppose this," he looks unimpressed. "I can't drink more than a couple of pints so there's no danger of me getting wrecked. I must admit though it's going to be long haul. It'll be really good for us but I'd prefer not to be away so long. We're just going home for Christmas then we're off again to America." 

Meanwhile on the next table, Freddy Mercury is being his ourtageous self: "When we were in Copenhagen dear, we went to a Russian restaurant where naturally I ordered the speciality of the house. It was delicious. I said 'what in this' and they told me I was eating bear. Bear, dear, I loved it."

Freddy and Roger Taylor seem to be taking Europe in their stride, and a few indifferent gigs won't stop their growing style in this band. Freddy's voice is on the way to giving out, yet he still has time to confide that he simply must do something about his hair. Perhaps he should send for his personal hairdresser? 

The Queen has her eyes on an entourage no doubt, and what's the betting she gets it...?

[wastelandcth]

best years - cth

summary: dovey and calum go through a rough patch, leading dovey to believe she gave up her best years. 

author’s notes: hello everyone...this is angst and part one out of two. good luck! inspired by this tik tok. 

warnings: angst and sad overall

masterlist || request || more doves

I’ve got a million reasons to hesitate and baby a million more are added every day.

Dovey had always been there for Calum. She'd been there through the drama that came along with being in a well-known band. She'd been there through the highs and the lows, through the rumors and controversies. Dovey had stuck through everything and every day it seemed like more and more came into light, like the man she had fallen in love with became a stranger. Suddenly, Calum was no longer her best friend who would tell her everything, he was the stranger in her bed who hardly was around. 

The fight hadn't been intentional. Most of the time, the Doves would talk anything out. Whether it be a disagreement over something small like where the pillows on the couch should go or whether it was something big like how their lives would be affected by the latest album release. This time, it was different, stubbornness and yells meant that Dovey found herself in a lonely bed while Calum locked himself away in his office. And with only a few days left before Calum left for tour with no plan on when or if Dovey would join him, the Doves went to sleep in different beds. 

It had started when he'd left for tour. Usually, Dovey would drive him to the airport and stay until the band's flight was called and she had given him one last hug until they were reunited again. This time, Calum had suggested saying their goodbyes at home that it would be the best since there would probably be a lot of fans at the airport. Although she wasn't too please with their break from tradition, Dovey found herself hugging him on their doorstep, whispering a soft I love you before the man she loved stepped into the car that had been waiting. 

The next time Dovey realized something had changed, she had been on facetime with him. He'd seemed distant, his eyes drifting off from the screen and his interest in whatever conversation he and Dovey were having being torn away at some joke Michael had told. Dovey thought he might've noticed something was off when she had hung up on the call, hoping he'd call her back and she could claim it was an accident, but her phone never rang again that night. It felt like the harder Dovey tried to connect with the man who was an ocean away living his dream, the more she realized exactly how disconnected they were becoming. 

I spent so much of me on you I forgot who I became.

The longer that Calum was away on tour, the more Dovey found herself. Days that would've been spent alone in a foreign city while Calum was in a radio gig were now spent with friends in the city she'd learn to call home. Mornings, where she’d usually wake up in a cramped bunk next to a grumpy Calum, were spent taking Duke on a hike and clearing her head. 

One day after she'd gotten home from the grocery store, a pang in her heart threatened to ruin the good mood she'd been in when she saw Luke's partner post a picture of them all in front of some monument miles away. But with a shake of the head and a double-tap on the screen, Dovey put some music on and danced the tears away. It wasn't until later that night when her mind was awake that she clicked on the picture again, finding those brown eyes she'd fallen in love with two years ago staring back at her. She could tell something was different, that the smile he had on didn't reach his eyes and his eyes didn't shine like they normally did when he was having the time of his life. But things were different now, and Dovey wasn't going to let her life revolve around him as she did before. If he wanted to talk to her as much as she wanted to talk to him, he would've called. He had her number and for some unknown reason, had decided to not use it. 

Finally found a reason to walk away. 

The final straw had been a picture. Dovey had been used to seeing fan meetings on her social media, smiling fans grateful to have been able to meet Calum and talk to him for even just a second. But the second a video of him had started circling around the internet and made its way onto her screen, Dovey had just about had enough of the stupid shit Calum had been putting her through the last two months. She understood being too busy for at least a phone call or text. Touring was hard work and Calum was known for pushing himself to the limit. She understood wanting space from one another that maybe this tour was something Calum needed to do on his own in order to clear his mind and think about what their relationship meant to him. But the one thing Dovey wouldn't stand by his side when he was the one that had been telling people she was the one who hadn't wanted to join him. She wasn't going to stand by his side while he told his bandmates and the rest of the world that she hadn't wanted to join him because she was being dramatic. If Calum wanted drama, Dovey could be dramatic. 

The house that I built you made it a mess. 

Dovey had been out of their house, the house that had been filled with memories of them and their love, for about two weeks now. Duke had joined her in the passenger seat of her car that sunny afternoon when she had stuffed all her belongings into the back seat and rode off out of the city. Her parent’s house that brought along the comfort and warmth she had been craving for months was a few hours away and far enough away that any reminders of Calum could be put aside. The small town she had left all those years ago brought her peace and gave her the space she needed from whatever waited for her back in LA, if anything even did wait for her. 

Her mother had met her in the driveway, a tight embrace and promises of better times made Dovey's heavy heart lighten up as she saw her childhood home still pretty much the same as the day she had left it. The living room still had candles everywhere and the tv was playing the same movie channel her mother loved to watch on her days off from work. The kitchen was still stocked with snacks and fruits that seemed too real to be fake. And the backyard was still a playground for any and every dog Dovey had brought home, even Duke who had settled on laying in a sunspot to nap. 

Her bedroom had brought on a new set of challenges, the posters on the walls and the albums on the shelves brought tears to her eyes as she saw those brown eyes looking back at her. He'd be back in their house soon. Dovey wondered how he'd react to find himself in an empty house. What he would think of when he saw the letter she had left him on the kitchen counter since at that point any attempt to call or text him was met with radio silence. He'd probably try to call her at that point, she hoped, but only to see where Duke was or he'd get Ashton to do it for him. Dovey wasn't too sure about anything when it came to Calum anymore. She wasn't sure if he would even care that she had left the gold band on the counter next to the letter or that she had left her keys to the house in the little ceramic tray they had painted on one of their dates so many months ago. 

I’m left with broken pieces can't help how I ran out of tears.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since the tour had ended and Dovey hadn't heard from any of them. She hadn't heard from Calum since before she'd left the house almost a month ago and she hadn't even gotten a text message from Luke, who would update her on what had been going on during the tour. It was been one week since Dovey had run out of tears. One week since she had decided that leaving was the best option and that she had made the right choice. 

It had been a week since she realized just how much of herself she'd given away to Calum only to have nothing left for herself. It took her two weeks to realize that if he had wanted to talk to her, he would. If he had wanted to see her or even Duke for that matter, he would've driven to where she was. So when her tears were dry and the pain in her chest was nothing more than a dull pressure whenever she thought about him, she began to fix whatever broken pieces she could. 

It began when she packed away all the old posters that hung on her wall, the smile on every single one leaving her breathless like it always would when she saw it in person. The sparkle in his eyes bringing fresh tears to hers, tears that she would blink away and continue on with taking him out of her life. By the time her childhood bedroom was nothing more than the furniture and bare walls, Dovey felt lighter than she had in months. It didn't last long. As sleep called her name and her eyes closed, Dovey was brought back from whatever dream she was about to enter when the buzzing noise went off next to her head.

I'm sorry. 

I lost all my best years just missing my best years. past love burned out like a cigarette im free now baby all I regret are my best years. 

Sitting in the living room, watching back old family movies and nursing the drink in her cup, Dovey couldn't help but feel like an idiot. She'd given Calum the best years of her life. Gave him all the good times and shared the most wonderful moments with him all for him to leave her with silence and no explanations. She'd gone through the stages of grief, had tried to make her new life without his work, and then he had shoved his way back in with no warnings in the middle of the night. 

The text message hadn't been the only thing Calum had sent, no matter how hard Dovey had wanted it to be. He'd sent her a voice note, a five-minute ramble where his accent had gotten too thick for Dovey to try and decipher what he was saying through the tears and sniffling. He'd apologized for the silence, apologized for the lies, and even apologized for forcing the silence he'd caused from the rest of the band. But Dovey wasn't going to just let him into her life so easily, she wasn't going to let him in after the months of silence and heartbreak. She'd lost all her best years and she needed to find herself again before she could ever consider letting Calum have more of the best of her. 

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