#capella the mesmer

[elsgooglyeyes]

long distance situationships are hard. so here’s cute little drabbles about the random domestic things you and ellie would do for me to cope.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ☾

first off, ellie will do anything with you, and i mean anything. you’ve gotta go drop off a box at the post office? ellie is right by your side. you’ve gotta run to cvs for a new charging cord? ellie is walking up and down the aisles with you because she insisted you get snacks while you’re there.

“i dunno babe…you never know when you’re gonna need snacks. you especially need some when someone wants to come over and like…watch a movie or some shit…” ellie mumbles and shrugs her shoulders. you smile softly and pause, “is that you saying you want to come over and watch a move?” ellie eyes you from the side and bites back a small smile, “i mean if you’re suggesting it, babe. i’d fuckin’ love to. thanks! let’s get these and these…oh! and these…” she starts piling different chips and candy into your basket on top of your charging cord, burying it in the bottom. later that night, you’re both cuddled up in bed, the laptop propped onto of your legs and whirring ever-so dramatically as if it’s a plane about to take off. ellie’s arm and hand is intertwined with your own, your head resting on her shoulder. her thumb draws slow circles on your hand and you hum at the feeling.

“i can’t believe you’re getting me to watch this fuckin’ movie…” she mumbles and you laugh. “it’s my favorite! you’re gonna have to learn to love it,” you state matter-of-factly as the universal intro begins, sung by a bunch of men a capella. you immediately start singing along to the first song, and ellie just chuckles and shakes her head. she sighs softly and gets more comfortable, knowing it’s gonna be something she’ll have to like just because you like it. by the end of the movie, however, she’s engrossed; watching you sing the final songs with enthusiasm and marking the choreography while still seated next to her. you laugh along and ellie pipes up, “i feel like they should’ve revealed benji is a good singer at the end during his solo. that would’ve been a crazy reveal! they should get me to write and direct these,” and then another with “beca and chloe aren’t endgame? what the fuck?” you both end the night in each others arms, a comfortable silence washed over you. your head is buried in her side, trying to engrave her scent into your mind. “can we watch the second one tomorrow…?” ellie whispers and you giggle, nodding your head. “i knew you’d like it” you whisper back. “shut up.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ☾

ellie would sit on the counter as you cook her breakfast, her boxers hung low and hair running rampant. you hum softly as you cook the eggs and begin the bacon. ellie watches you intently, mesmerized by every little thing you do. how can someone make peeling raw meat look so hot? okay, kind of gross. but you make it attractive. her eyes wander down your body, soaking it in like the first and last time she’s ever gonna see it. taking in your marks, scars, wrinkles, and anything else she can make note of like she would need to draw a map of your body. her eyes wander back up to your face, and she smiles softly. “jesus…” she mumbles and your eyes widen a bit as you look at her. “what’s wrong?”

“you’re just…too fucking perfect…everything about you…” she draws on as she continues looking at you. you feel heat rise to your cheeks and you return your attention to the food. “thank you babe…but i’m not all that.”

“ohhh but you are,” ellie mumbles as she slowly gets off the counter and comes up behind you, hands resting on your hips, goosebumps following in their wake. she places a soft, lazy kiss on the spot between your shoulder and neck. her hands roam to your stomach and you swat them away softly, giving her a pointed look with your eyebrows raised. ellie chuckles and places her hands back on your hips and places another kiss, and then another. in between each one she whispers praises to you, “you’re so beautiful,” kiss “and kind,” kiss “and you make me laugh like no one else can,” kiss “i think you’re even funnier than me,” kiss and smirk. your face continues to heat up as she does this. fortunately, the food is done before she can continue and you turn around abruptly in her arms. “food is ready, but we can continue this later, yeah?” you smirk and place a soft kiss on her lips to which she happily accepts. your lips slot together and ellie sighs softly, but you pull away too soon and ellie is left chasing you with her lips. she sighs and grabs a plate to begin eating. “this better be the fastest we’ve ever eaten, babe…” she states as she eats her food quickly, “i’ve gotta show you all the ways you’re perfect to me…” she smirks and puts her attention back to her food as you bite back a smile and begin eating as well.

[corrodedbisexual]

@steviesbicrisis your Steddie Eurovision brainrot never left my brain, so now I'm thinking about Eddie going for the ultimate love confession by learning Stefano's song (Duolingo lessons paid off somewhat, he's got the pronunciation down at least and the lyrics can be memorized). He rearranges it into a beautiful metal power ballad, rents a studio, and they record the cover overnight (bless his bandmades for indulging his insanity when they could be out partying like the rest of the Eurovision crowd, but they end up having fun with it, too). Eddie uploads the song to their Spotify before he can chicken out and goes to bed to scream into his pillow.

Steve wakes up to about a hundred notifications of people texting him and tagging him in posts about Corroded Coffin's new cover track. He listens to it several times making sounds absolutely unbecoming of a grown man that he is, and kicking his feet, and texting Robin in all caps and heart emojis because he's absolutely GONE for that low gravelly voice singing HIS song. (Robin, who's currently in the US, texts him back a picture of her bedside clock showing 4AM, with a deadpan emoji. But then also "go get your man dingus" and an eggplant emoji.)

Later that day Eddie attends Steve's concert at a club, hoping to blend in with the crowd, but Steve notices him just as he's about to close with his Eurovision number, grins wide and says, "I think there's someone in the audience who might help me put a twist on this one. Hey Australia, get your ass on stage."

Before Eddie's brain even catches up with what's happening, there are lights on him, the crowd recognize him and all cheer and whoop and whistle; news travels lightning fast in the village, so all the Eurovision fans present have heard his cover already and are thrilled about what they're about to witness. Eddie's being pushed forward, his feet helplessly dragging him towards the stage, and there's an electric guitar shoved into his arms by someone.

It's only thanks to years of experience and muscle memory that Eddie manages to tune the guitar while his brain short circuits about being right next to this gorgeous man, hair a mess, neck all sweaty and shiny from the stage lights. And then he's playing, Steve's band follow his lead, and Steve sings the verses himself but pulls Eddie in for the choruses. They are both singing into the same mic, pressed together back to back, Steve's face and LIPS so fucking close the entire time, their cheeks almost touching, making Eddie buzz from more than just stage adrenaline.

The whole audience joins in on what was supposed to be the final chorus, Steve and Eddie turned around now to almost face each other; Steve throws an arm around his shoulders and grins so wide and dazzling as he sings, eyes moving between the crowd and Eddie, and Eddie can't stop grinning back at him; holy fuck, the man is so beautiful like this, Eddie never wants this to end. He repeats the chorus tune on the guitar over and over, changing up the rhythm to go faster and faster on what was initially a slow ballad, matching his own accelerating heartbeat. Steve's grin is absolutely brilliant as he matches Eddie's pace perfectly in this little improv, despite the lyrics going so fast now Eddie would never be able to do that, but Steve practically breaks into a rap by the end of it and he's ON FIRE. The crowd is going wild, everyone jumping up and down and just high pitch screaming when the lyrics get too fast for them to follow, too.

Eddie ends it with a quick improv guitar solo, Steve's eyes on him the entire time, wide and shining as he not quite headbangs, but keeps nodding to the rhythm. Then, with the final chord still ringing out, Steve leans into the mic to sing the chorus one last time a capella, slow and soft. The club immediately goes quiet as everyone listens, mesmerized, and so does Eddie. God, this man has a beautiful voice.

Steve's eyes are closed for the most of it, but they open on the final line and land on Eddie as he sings it, and Eddie remembers the translation of it. "Would you let me love you like it's our last night on this planet?" He is so gone, gone, GONE. When the set ends, and they both bow to the audience whose cheers are near deafening, it's only the fact that every single person has their phones out to record the performance that stops Eddie from kissing the guy right there on that stage.

Steve drags him backstage and slams him into a wall the moment they're out of sight, and it's kinda funny how they are making out like horny teenagers before they even had a single conversation, but after all, music speaks louder than any words.

[gsmattingly]

Review - "Portrait of a Lady on Fire"

I watched "Portrait of a Lady on Fire" directed by Céline Sciamma.

From IMDb, "On an isolated island in Brittany at the end of the eighteenth century, a female painter is obliged to paint a wedding portrait of a young woman.

In 18th-century France young painter Marianne, is commissioned to do the wedding portrait of Héloïse without her knowing. Therefore, Marianne must observe her model by day to paint her portrait at night. Day by day, the two women become closer as they share Héloïse's last moments of freedom before the impending wedding."

There is a subplot through the film about Sophie (Luàna Bajrami), the house staff of one, that actually relates to the film's feminist viewpoint and the central point of the film relating to this is seldom shown in films.

This is an excellent and fantastic film. The acting, story, direction, cinematography, are all great. The development of the bond between the two main characters, Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), and the looks throughout the film between them, are entrancing and mesmerizing. There are two music pieces that convey so much emotion in the film it is almost overwhelming. The scene with the main characters and women from the area, at night around a bonfire, singing a capella with hand clapping is wonderful. The ending scene with Summer from Vivaldi's Four season is a great ending to a great movie. Parts of the music are played earlier in the film.

This is a release from Criterion and the film quality is excellent and there are very interesting supplemental films on the disc.

This film is new on the Sight & Sound top 100 critics choics for 2022 at position #30. In my opinion it certainly deserves to be on the top 100 list.

It is only in position 1215 on the classic films list, They Shoot Pictures Don't They.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Jinga × Ryuga (Garo; Goldstorm) with the song "Hellfire"

Song: "Hellfire," Tony Jay (Spotify, or the link in the ask is to Peter Hollens' a capella version on YouTube, which is also good)

me or your pyre

Ryuuga knows that he’s dreaming. He’s certain that it’s a dream, because it has the flavor of a memory, but this encounter never happened. This is not a real thing, this can’t be real. Jinga is dead twice over by his sword and banished to the Makai, from whence he might return someday but not any time soon. But here he is, flesh and bone and fine black cotton and hair the color of moonlight. Moreover, it’s not just that he’s here, but that his mouth is here, and it is mesmerizing in its smooth and sneering curvature, his eyes flickering black and green in mockery above it. “We meet like this so often, I almost think I should call you ‘lover.’” A pause, and the curved lips part in that lazy smile, teeth bared and so, so white. “Or maybe ‘beloved’ would be more apt.”

“Shut up,” Ryuuga says, voice faint in the way that voices are in dreams. “You’re dead.”

“Well, sure. It’d almost be a pity if I wasn’t, after all the trouble you went to just to kill me.” Jinga shrugs like a ripple on still water. “But here you are, calling me, and so I came. I’m nice like that.” He’s moving closer, strolling with his hands in his pockets, the dim moonlight gleaming on his hair. “Hey, you remember that first big fight of ours? When you caught my sword in your scabbard, and I caught yours in mine? I’m not really big on metaphor, but that was a little bit sexy, wasn’t it.”

Ryuuga tries to respond, but his throat works without noise, and eventually all he can get out is, again, “You’re dead. I didn’t call you.”

“Sure you did. Maybe you didn’t do it on purpose, but really I’m a very good king, I try to pick up on what my people need from me even when they’re not saying it. Anyway, I’m impressed that you managed to get here, dreaming into the Makai is a pretty specialized skill. Priests take decades to perfect it. My lovely wife was studying the technique once, but even she never quite got the hang of it. And then we could get here by ourselves, of course, so she didn’t need to.”

“Dreaming?” Thick-tongued, throat-stopped, Ryuuga forces the words out and feels his body slowly come alive. “Makai…dreaming.” He shakes himself, with difficulty, and this time he can feel his real body, shifting restlessly in the bed, brushing up against Rian beside him, and her presence is like an anchor to which he can return as the Makai begins to fade around him.

Jinga waves cheerfully to him as he fades. “See you next time, Dougai Ryuuga. You know where to find me.”

---

He wakes with a start, arm prickling—he’s been sleeping on it. He’s also rolled over uncomfortably onto his sheathed sword, which lies in the camp bed between himself and Rian like it might between a fairytale princess and her faithful knight.

Which, sure he’s a knight, but if he called her a princess she’d punch him.

She’s stirring too, and she sits up rubbing her eyes and frowning and grumbling, “What.”

It’s hard to make his mouth work, but this time it’s in the normal sleep-tied way, not that dreaming barrier to speech. “Is it. Rian, do you know about. Makai dreaming?”

Her frown deepens, but she has to stifle a yawn before replying. “Weird thing to ask about. Yeah, Burai could do that. Never taught me, he said I was too young.”

“Can you do it by accident?”

“N…no? Pretty sure not.” A narrow, thoughtful look. “You probably just had a normal bad dream,” and this time she doesn’t bother to stop herself from yawning. “We all have those. Go back to sleep, fuck, it’s way too early to be getting up.”

---

He doesn’t dream again for several weeks, and then after one after particular exhausting and lengthy fight with an especially unpleasant Horror he falls asleep like he’s dropping into a pit and the white smile is there to greet him.

The last time they’d been in a sort of waste, like the place where he’d killed Jinga the first time but grey and deathly. This time it’s a warehouse, nondescript but nonetheless familiar. We fought here, he thinks, numbed by dreaming. And I caught his sword in my scabbard, and he caught his in mine.

“That was a little bit sexy, wasn’t it,” echoes the mocking voice in the back of his mind, which is followed on by the mocking voice in front of him, a cheerful, “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

It’s easier to speak this time; Ryuuga’s tongue feels less thick in his mouth, his jaw less locked. “This is a dream. You’re not really here.”

Jinga stumbles back theatrically, hand over his heart. “Cold. And after I came all this way to meet you when you called me. How’s your priestess? Cute as ever? Still in love with you?”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t call you the first time, and I didn’t call you this time either.”

“You ought to be more honest with yourself, don’t you think? The heart wants what it wants. I won’t think less of you if you admit that you want my…company.” Having recovered from that false stumble, Jinga is approaching him now, and while he can speak more easily, it’s still nearly impossible to move, his arms and legs frozen as long fingers stroke the side of his face. “This was a fun spot to pick, by the way. Did you go for it because I mentioned our nice fight here the last time we talked?”

This is a dream, there shouldn’t be sensation, but nevertheless Jinga’s pale hand is pleasantly warm against Ryuuga’s cheek, and Ryuuga shuts his eyes against the mocking gaze and smiling mouth and says, “This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” fighting the binding stillness as he tries to move his body.

It works, to his desperate relief. He starts to fade.

“It is a dream,” says the teasing voice, “but you are getting better at it. Maybe next time you’ll be able to move around properly and you can dance with me. I’d like that.”

---

Rian is already awake this time, on the other side of the little room they’re sharing in this city, rubbing her eyes and saying, “Bad dreams again?” as he jolts upright.

“Yeah.” There’s a strange taste in his mouth, an acrid burn like the scent of Horror on the wind. “Yeah, I…yeah.”

“About Jinga?”

He nearly jumps. “How did you know?”

“You say his name in your sleep sometimes.” Rian is watching him, quiet and steady and sad. “I figure the nightmares must really be something.”

“Yeah, they’re…” He swallows hard, the acrid taste still coating his tongue. “They’re pretty bad.”

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“…no. No, I’ll be. I’ll be fine.”

---

No dream the next night, or the night after that. On the third night after that he does dream, but it’s the normal kind. It starts to make him nervous; the longer he goes without dreaming of Jinga, the more on-edge he becomes.

They reach the city nearest to the city and meet up with Aguri, who unexpectedly hugs them both and treats them to a meal and introduces them to the beautiful priest to whom he’s apparently been engaged to for seven years already. She and Rian take to each other immediately and spend the next hour and a half with their heads together, talking; the only thing Ryuuga can catch of their conversation is the fiancée saying, “Darling, I worry that your knight might be haunted, he has sort of a…look?” and Rian replying, “He doesn’t sleep well, you don’t have any tips, do you? Does Aguri have that problem?”

He’d rather she not worry Rian. He’s not haunted. He’s just having bad dreams.

“You seem…a little tired, Ryuuga,” Aguri says, sounding like he doesn’t quite want to let on how concerned he is. “When was the last time you took a few days just to rest instead of traveling around like you do?”

“I’m fine, really.” Ryuuga tries his best to smile, wondering if Jinga will be there when he falls asleep. That white smile feels like it’s been burned into him, a brand unhealed in the back of his mind. “I like the travel anyway.”

---

That night, finally, he dreams, and it’s such a relief to be free of the anticipation that he almost smiles when he realizes what’s happening.

He recognizes this room too, white marble and a black throne, white hair and teeth and black clothes and a hand reaching out and grasping one of his as Jinga says, cheerful as ever, “I do miss you when you don’t come to visit me, Ryuuga. This is a great dance floor you’ve given us.”

It’s more like a superstitious chant at this point than an actual statement of fact. “This is a dream.”

“Well, sure, but isn’t it nice?” Jinga’s other hand comes to rest on his waist, and they begin to dance. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to admit that you never did call me, I called you. I mean, you’re shaping the whole place, that part is on you, but I’m the one who brought you here to shape it. With Amily’s help, of course.”

“You called—”

“And you listened! You’re just so good at listening to me. Not surprising, really. A knight’s someone who takes orders, and you’re excellent at being a knight.” A turn, another step, maybe it’s because this is a dream that Ryuuga knows how to follow Jinga’s movements, it’s probably the dream that makes Jinga’s closeness feel so warm and comfortable. “And a wolf’s only a big dog when you get down to it.”

“This is only a dream,” Ryuuga says again, although it’s starting to feel hollow.

“’Only’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting there, isn’t it? I don’t think this is ‘only’ anything.”

“It’s only a dream.” Jinga’s hand on his waist feels very natural, why is he letting Jinga lead?

Because it’s only a dream. And eventually he’ll wake up. And anyway, it’s nice to not be fighting for once.

Jinga is smiling at him and saying, “There you go, why not let yourself relax,” and he nods, because this is a dream, and he lets Jinga lead.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

capella and rigel

au where you don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. they come to you one at a time the longer you’re together.

word count: 2,530

a.n.: you guys are BREAKING MY HEART you’ve been so sweet and receptive with the last one ( sing to me ) im such a mess ( ´༎ຶv༎ຶ`) i SEE YOU i WILL kiss you i am not playing. anyway!! im posting these soulmate works in an order backwards from which i started - which is funny, because that way it goes from least angstish to most. 

here are the others!

Shinso

Sero

Bakugou

ao3

When the blue exploded, you weren’t ready for your world to change with a rushing suddenness. You were blindsided with the odd experience of a first time that felt like memory.

First off, you didn’t know how you knew blue would be it, but you did.

When someone told you that’s what color that sweater you liked to wear all the time was, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color some of your favorite fruits were, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color the sky was, you just knew.

When someone told you that’s what color the ocean was—because it reflected the sky—you cried because you just knew.

There was something revelatory of such a relationship—the rhapsodic truth that two forces of nature could be reflections of the other, even with completely opposing standpoints.

In your greyscale vacuum, you were none the wiser to a life that could promise that yet. From a young age, you hoped and prayed for that day to come, until it became a hapless strain of static that took a backseat to growing up.

In general, you hadn’t known what to expect; you imagined that cats were probably the color of sprinkles on ice cream, trees were balloons floating in the air, and pavements were the color of spring. When you looked up to the night, you thought that stars might be like lighting a candle. You thought that might mean yellow.

And even when it was so dark, you hoped the sky would still be blue.

It tore through every crevice of your vision, crowding your sight and singeing your senses.

Blue wasn’t supposed to come to you in a maelstrom on a previously peaceful Sunday morning. It wasn’t supposed to burn through the pages of one of your favorite books, or weld your utensils together.

It was supposed to bump into you on a tramline station, at a park, in a crowd, and then apologise quickly; it was supposed to be in widening eyes and stuttering breaths that gave you a name you’d knew like an old friend you had yet to meet.

It wasn’t supposed to be in so much pain.

It wasn’t supposed to cause any of it, either.

You’re on your back, starry eyed and afraid all at once, suffering the memory of your first time seeing color. It’s burning you, you realize, and the tears evaporate before they touch skin.

Blue fire is attention grabbing—it’s blue, you know it is—and watching it move like you imagined blue waves would was mesmerizing. It soaked the ground with scorch marks, scarring bedlam and terror into the earth.

Your eyes blown wide catch every moment, frozen in blue.

Though, as more of the hue crops up in all different directions, your eyes are suddenly the only part of you that can’t sit still. If the fire does anything else better than burn, it’s cast light—as it throws your vision farther than usual.

You don’t miss a single detail.

The sea of people around you scatter in fear— there’s chaos but you just can’t move—and you’re anchored to the ground like roots of a tree that didn’t get to choose its growing place. You’re trapped somewhere off centre in a spiraling vortex of entropy simultaneously inhaling and granting your newfound freedom.

Across the street in spots on a mailbox, the smallest pieces detailed the metal in cool colored rivets; in the scorching bed along the stone wall cafe lay crisped, blue calla lilies; the delicate hue accented in little flora shaded your spilled and shattered tea glass.

With the proximity of unimaginable heat, noise, and overall calamity shuffling so quickly around you, you felt encased in time. An hourglass tipped in your throat and the scalding sands ran through your veins. The inferno raged on until you noticed your place in it. It spun in a tempest around you and everything melted away.

Your vision shifts and you find the catalyst to be a tall, dark, and lanky shadow of a man. He contrasted the unyielding light—that he was producing, you agnised—to an almost sardonic degree. He held his hands in his pockets and shoulders in a slouch that said all of this was of no consequence, concern, or effort to him. He looked bored.

That is, until he saw you, too.

Freezing blue eyes glistened back at you in a cacophony of emotions.

There’s comprehension, apprehension, indignation—you try to settle on one, though absolutely fruitless with a whirlpool of your own at your feet.

You tried to speak your disbelief, a sense of joy, a simple admission to life, but your voice died on your tongue. The fumes coiled at your throat, still you held your ground. It was all you could do in your dormancy, and it was all you were going to do on the precipice of eruption.

It was like watching someone conduct a hurricane, what he did next.

His hands hummed an unknown melody to the flames, and you watched and waited and listened to the music that poured out if him—quickly becoming a little more afraid at the prospect of becoming an unwittingly unwilling participant from the audience.

However, the coiling and dissipation of the blue told you that this was the grand finale, and in a voiceless and motionless dance, he swayed out of sight under the haze of blue hellfire—so searing it was cold to the touch.

•.•.•.

When the heroes arrived, the police whisked you away to take your statement and check for injuries. It was like talking—and mostly listening—through a thick pane of glass, though. You said very little, and perceived even less.

What were you going to do? Include in your witness report that the perpetrator was your soulmate? That fact alone changed everything, and you knew that if you were to speak up about it now, the authorities would take you in. You weren’t about to be used as an asset when you had barely any time to process the truth yourself.

Everything was running smoothly, until the heroes came around to check on the injured. An expressionless man with two-toned hair and a nasty scar over his eye stepped before you, an ‘Are you alright?’ soft on his lips, contrasting the sternness in his features.

You took one look at the color of his left eye and fainted against the ambulance doors.

•.•.•.

Waking in a sweating bundle on your bedcovers was not a good way to end the day. It skewed your sense of reality, and you had to wrestle away the idea that the whole thing might have been a dream. The headache didn’t help, but it was proof you know what you saw. And what you were currently seeing.

A lot of everything else was still in greyscale, but your eyes weren’t lying to you as you took in your room. Blue comic books, pens, decals, posters, pictures; the laundry overflowed your basket, spilling in a pile of blue onto your carpet.

Blue eyes in the corner of your room.

“What did you see?” you whispered. He’s there like the shade of gossamer window curtains, a figureless concept of existence, and yet you speak knowing he’s suddenly the most solid thing there.

“You.”

You inhaled sharply, barely a pinprick to the weight in the room.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not a color.”

“You were the brightest thing there. Might as well have been.”

“Impossible,” you laughed, waving your hand absently to dismiss your incredulity. “You set everything on fire.”

“Makes no difference,” he affirmed in a tone that sounded rich, drawled, and deep like molasses and a smoky room. There was silence as his voice drizzled along your skin, a safe distance in the uncertainty. It doesn’t break, even when you speak the opposite of what you should be uncertain about.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yet here I am.”

There’s a flutter by your open window, and you unfold yourself from your stagnant place on your bed. Without argument, you wisp to its side, facing the world like it was unchanged.

His presence is permeable next to you, yet you were sure you had never felt anything as real.

Everything and nothing was the same.

“What do you see?”

“Still you.”

You glance to the side and see an almost facetious simper gliding across his features, even though you knew he was probably being anything but flippant.

“Dabi.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly, coiling with the dark to a time and space closer. He smelled like amber pine and sawdust, collecting evening dew.

“So you do know who I am.”

You picked at the peeling paint along the sill. It was still white.

“I follow the news. I’ve seen your face stuck to faded alley posters.”

“Now what would you be doing in alleyways?” He chuckled lowly through thinly veiled, amused bewilderment.

So he didn’t know who you were.

Just as well, it wasn’t like you lived a life of any consequence.

Truth was, you were simply a curious person with an awkward and clumsy sense of direction—finding yourself on adventures you could easily get yourself out of, only with a little time, effort, and backtracking. Even though you’d much rather see it through to the end, no matter how dark, twisted, or ugly.

The truth wasn’t meant to be pretty.

But he didn’t need to know that.

And if this were to keep up anyway, he’d find out soon enough.

You peered at him through your eyelashes and his shape almost disappeared. Instead, you leaned forward into the open world, trying to catch life as it moved below you. Your eyes spotted grass and trees, and you gasped before you could stop yourself.

“They’re green.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You turned your head to face him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve never seen green before.”

He’s quiet as he stares at you. He had leaned against the wall beside you, hip and head propped like he wouldn’t rather be looking anywhere else. You stare back softly, still not used to the visceral experience in eye contact.

“What do you see?” he asks like holding glass. You’re tempted to keep it to yourself for at least a day longer—safeguard the truth like you were the only one in the world who could see colors. An innocent secret you’d never have to share with anybody.

And yet here was a thread presented to you by the universe, asking to be pulled from the tangle.

You looked at his frayed edges and twisted knots, feeling your own pull tighten like a lifeline.

“Blue,” you breathe. He’s beside you now, angled to the open window, eyes still burning answers and questions—so many questions—across your very surface.

You both stretch out, casting your eyes up to the night sky, in your own world like he wasn’t who he was and you weren’t who you were. Collected in a jar of your own making, you spill your breath across the open air, and he’s there with you like a pooling splash of ink you don’t want out. Oh, the memories you could write with him.

“So these are the stars, huh?” his tone hasn’t lifted from that tedium, but he talks like he’s standing among them.

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t tell whether from happiness or nostalgia or disappointment or confusion or another nameless thing—you only knew that you were looking at the stars. You were looking at the night sky and suddenly seeing the stars, and—

“Some of them are blue.”

Dabi traces the bottom hemline of your sweater with his thumb, breathing clearer air than he had in a long, long time.

“There’s yellow up there, too.”

The tears spill down your cheeks, but his hand is there to catch them with cracked fingertips.

“You know,” you begin with a small sniffle, “I don’t remember the night being this… luminous.” His face splits in to a grin.

“That’s your fault.”

You roll your eyes, peeling back to lightly shove against his arm. You had barely touched him, but his heart beats as though he’d been caught in an earthquake. He’s unsteady, and grows more and more terrified by the second of the anchor in your eyes. He’s not strong enough to try and move it.

You watched him pull back, startled by the alertness in his movements. He sweeps his legs up and over the side, perched on the windowsill as though he made to jump through it.

“You’re leaving?”

“I thought you were the one who said I shouldn’t be here,” he grinned, though not without that bitter glint in his already harshly blue eyes. Your lip finds its place pulled between your teeth.

“I think there are still some things I want to see.” You glance to the side, searching for words in the spots of color blooming along the edges of your world. “With you.”

Dabi bridges small gaps between you two—some rickety and many burnt, but still there—leaving space for you to jump ship. His fingers brush warm trails across the skin of your face again, like forfeiting a whittling candelabrum to the shaking hands of a blind man.

You suppose someone like him defies all laws, even the ones of the natural world as he ghosts down the siding of the building, just another wandering shade looking for its way back.

In a day of unforseens, you try and convince yourself that it was the stars that got to you. It’s easier to place blame on things you can’t control, and part of you feels liberated knowing this was just not one of those things you were meant to expect. You let your hopes and predictions solidify the labyrinthian ground you walk on.

But as you lean through the window, you call out to him and realize you’re swallowing your assumptions like antifreeze.

“Wait!”

His head turns to the side to catch you pouring out of your mundane and into his living underworld.

“You have to come back.” The yellow on your sweater burns into your irises, and he has never been more wary of his place in the universe. Especially when it glows back at him through the eyes of a future he didn’t know he even had.

“I want to know what sunrises look like.”

The tempest in him glares up at the beacon your window—no—you provide and he feels a weird, opposing sense of mitigation and incertitude. A ubiquitous tangibility his first instinct declares a malignant impediment.

Still, he can’t help but feel as though a tide were in the process of crashing his lifeboat—a stray piece of driftwood—on to obscure shores.

That can’t be all that much of a bad thing, he considers.

With a small, barely there and imperceptibly honest smile, he places a two fingered tap to the crown of his forehead—throwing an ignition to the wind in a quiet promise.

The light fades, and you clutch the matchstick, watching the blue disappear with him into the dark of night.

[loveisbraveandwild]

ok but her death by a thousand cuts performance when she’s aggressively strumming and shes like MY HEART MY HIPS MY BODY MY LOVE TRYIN FIND A PART ME THAT YOU DIDNT TOUCH GAVE UP ON ME LIKE I WAS A BAD DRUG NOW IM SEARCHING FOR A SIGN IN A HAUNTED CLUB OUR SONGS OUR FILMS UNITED WE STAND OUR COUNTRY GUESS IT WAS A LAWLESS LAND QUIET MY FEARS WITH THE TOUCH OF YOUR HAND PAPER CUT STINGS FROM YOUR PAPER THIN PLANS and strums and thEN SHE PULLS BACK but shes still intense but also kinda soft and just sings a capella my time my wine my spirit my trust tryna find a part of me you didnt take up gave you too much but it wASNT ENOUGH ..... but i’ll be alright its just a thousand... cuts and just softly plucks the strings of her guitar for a few sends before coming back in like its sO beautiful!!! she has such control over her voice and uer guitar and her body and the audience is completely mesmerized ugh

[backtobasicbellas]

she’ll never notice how you stop and stare (whenever she walks by)

word count: 3,603

summary: It’s painstakingly obvious almost immediately that Chloe Beale is head over heels for Beca Mitchell. Stacie catches on quickly.

or, Stacie has known since the beginning that Chloe is in love with Beca and watches it all go down

Stacie Conrad is smart.

She’s earned straight As since like, the third grade. Almost all her classes in high school were AP and she beat out her classmates for the valedictorian honor.

So yeah, she’s book smart, even if people don’t think so right away. She’s okay with that - sometimes it gives her an advantage if she’s being honest. There are times where she’s absolutely tired of people assuming she’s just a hot girl with nothing else to offer, but it’s fine. Stacie can handle herself.

And it’s not all that surprising that Stacie was sort of popular in high school. Smart, attractive, and somewhat athletic got her places, sure, but Stacie’s other hidden gem? She’s very good at reading people.

She handles social interactions with ease, a flirtatious smile on her lips and an easy conversation starting on her tongue. She carries herself with confidence in these interactions, knows when people are nervous or when they’re uncomfortable or when they’re just downright sleazy.

(It’s partly the reason Stacie doesn’t let herself do relationships.)

Her transition to college is easy. Plenty of her credits transfer over from APs, putting her in higher level classes right off the bat. She hooks up with someone during orientation weekend - he’s cute and his name is Jacob but Stacie knows they probably won’t cross paths again once classes start - and she auditions for an a capella group.

(So maybe she does it because she sees the captains at the Activities Fair and they’re hot.

Stacie has eyes, okay?)

And Stacie should focus on making friends and singing and doing well in school, but it takes her about two seconds into aca-initiation night to figure it out.

She watches with rapt interest, the way their drunk redhead captain pulls the squirrely, small brunette - who Stacie is now teammates with - into her.

(Stacie doesn’t know much about this tiny brunette besides the fact she wears heavy eyeliner, has a lot of earrings, and doesn’t seem all that excited to be a Bella.

That and she saw Aubrey side eye her earlier in the empty auditorium after the lights turned on, so it’s a safe assumption that this girl is Chloe’s pick.)

She watches as the brunette tenses, but she doesn’t pull away, almost mesmerized by Chloe even in her drunken state. She can practically feel the sexual tension radiating from them yards away, the way Chloe leans in when she speaks and how the brunette gives her a small smile but can’t seem to quite take her eyes off of her.

And Stacie guesses Chloe gets that reaction a lot, but something about this feels different.

Like this isn’t just a flirtatious interaction to be forgotten tomorrow.

“Hey,” Stacie says to Cynthia Rose, who lifts her head up from her drink. She nods her head in Chloe and small girl’s direction and asks, “What do you think their deal is?”

Cynthia Rose follows her line of sight, watching as Chloe does a little dance as she walks away and the brunette tells her to make good choices. “Maybe they’re into each other.”

Stacie hums quietly in agreement.

She’s good a reading people, this she knows.

So she watches.

It’s painstakingly obvious almost immediately that Chloe Beale is head over heels for Beca Mitchell.

Stacie catches on quickly.

Chloe is always spending extra time on Beca, making sure she has choreography just right before moving on. She’s always in Beca’s personal space, trying to help her with the moves or leaning over her shoulder when she’s looking at sheet music, helping her figure out the arrangement.

Beca doesn’t seem to notice the extra effort. She may flush or stutter or mutter about her “personal bubble,” but she doesn’t ever tell Chloe to stop. She doesn’t say much about it at all after a while, simply letting it happen.

(Aubrey notices though, and Stacie can see the way her jaw works and the subtle eye roll when Chloe abandons her task to aid Beca every time.)

Stacie befriends Beca quickly. They live in the same dorm building and often walk to and from rehearsals together. Beca tries to ignore her at first, slipping her headphones on and drowning out the world in music, but Stacie eventually cracks her, gets her to laugh at a comment about Aubrey being a little too uptight and suddenly they’re friends.

And she likes Beca, she really does, but she’s just so fucking oblivious.

When Stacie tries to press her about Chloe, Beca just shrugs and says “I don’t know, she’s weird. It’s like she has no concept of personal space.”

“She’s hot though,” Stacie adds, trying to pry.

Beca only shrugs again, replying to a text on her phone. It takes her a moment and then, “Yeah, I guess.”

Stacie frowns.

She wonders if Beca’s even a little gay, but Stacie decides she is because no one owns that much flannel or wears combat boots like Beca’s that often if they’re straight.

Maybe Beca doesn’t know it yet.

So Stacie sighs and she watches.

She watches the way Chloe begins to show up at their dorm building to hang out with Beca and Stacie doesn’t see her leave until at least a two hours later. She watches the way Chloe smiles when Beca sings, or when she nails a part of their choreography that she was having trouble with.

When they all crowd Beca’s dorm, waiting for her to come home from jail, Stacie watches the way Chloe’s eyes light up with joy and relief at the sight of Beca walking through that door, notices the way she says “Of course we waited up for you” like there was never a doubt about it - though Stacie thinks most of them would’ve preferred just going to bed and receiving a text.

She watches when Chloe tries to stand up for Beca, tries to give her a voice.

She watches the way Beca glances at her then, and maybe, just maybe, Beca isn’t a complete idiot.

(She still is, sadly.)

When Beca storms out after her fight with Aubrey, Stacie has never seen Chloe more distraught.

Aubrey storms off in the other direction and everyone is awkwardly standing there, trying to decide which way to go.

Stacie’s the one who takes two steps towards Chloe, who is almost hyperventilating at this point, and takes both of her hands.

“Chloe take a deep breath,” Stacie says calmly. “Breathe with me.”

Chloe does as she’s told, but her eyes are still watering and Stacie tries not to point it out.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she says, but even Stacie doesn’t believe herself because Aubrey hasn’t come back and Beca is long gone.

Chloe eyes the path Beca took to make her exit.

Stacie sighs and wraps an arm around her shoulder, guiding her back to the dressing room so they can all just go home.

They bond after that.

Stacie guesses it’s because Aubrey is still somewhat mad about the whole incident, mad that Chloe even brought Beca into the Bellas, but Stacie finds that she and Chloe get along really well.

“So,” Stacie says one day. “What’s the deal with you and Beca?”

Chloe blinks, and Stacie knows she’s caught her because the redhead takes a second too long to answer before she asks, “What about Beca?”

Stacie scoffs. “I see the way you are with her. You’re not like that with anyone else.”

“We’re friends.”

“You hang out in her freshman dorm as a senior,” Stacie points out.

Chloe shrugs. “I hang out with friends all the time.”

Stacie tries to push more, but Chloe won’t budge. She lets it go, but she knows she’s been right this whole time by the way Chloe seems a bit panicky at the topic of Beca.

Stacie thinks Beca will finally pull her head out of her ass when she comes back to the Bellas.

Beca spends more time in Aubrey and Chloe’s apartment than she does in her own dorm or with Stacie.

And when she’s not there, Chloe’s often in her room.

Stacie drops by sometimes, sees the way they are with each other. She sees a Beca she doesn’t quite understand, someone who is laughing and smiling and totally relaxed when Chloe throws an arm around her casually or gives her a hug goodbye before she leaves.

She totally thinks it’ll happen any day now, with Chloe on track to graduate and never being one to have regrets.

Except it doesn’t.

It doesn’t because Beca kisses Jesse fucking Swanson - turns out the whole Don’t You Forget About Me bit of their performance was an apology to him, which, gross - and everyone sees it.

Everyone includes Chloe and the crestfallen expression before she’s running off to the bathroom, Stacie and Aubrey quickly following behind.

Aubrey stops Stacie just before they reach the bathroom door.

“I’ve got this,” she says. “Go back to the girls.”

“But Aubrey-” Stacie tries.

“Go,” Aubrey says with a sense of finality on the subject, eyes hard and lips tight in a line.

Stacie sighs, shaking her head. “Fine.”

So Stacie doesn’t know what goes on, what Aubrey says, but Chloe is back minutes later with a bright smile and seemingly okay exterior.

(It’s later than night when they’re wasted out of their minds that Chloe completely falls apart again in the bathroom with Stacie.

Stacie holds her and cleans her face and lets her spill every confession she’s ever had about Beca Mitchell.

Stacie was right.

Chloe Beale is head over heels for Beca Mitchell.

Beca still doesn’t have a clue.)

Chloe doesn’t graduate.

She doesn’t graduate and they get a Bella House and Chloe wants to room with Beca, but Stacie decides they’re going to room together instead.

She tells the girls that she thinks she and Chloe will live well together.

Chloe knows the truth, sends her a silent thank you with her eyes across the group of girls.

The next three years are hard.

It’s hard because Chloe and Beca naturally go together.

Beca no longer acts weird about physical contact - with Chloe, at least; she’s always pushing Stacie off of her no matter what. Chloe holds Beca’s hand and hugs her from behind and forces her into cuddles and does things like runs her fingers up and down Beca’s arm soothingly or rubs her back gently. Beca doesn’t shy away, in fact she leans into it every time, a source of comfort and familiarity.

Stacie watches as Beca and Chloe grow so in sync that they often communicate with their eyes and the quirks of their lips. She watches as Beca grows into her own with the Bellas, stepping up and helping Chloe plan everything from arrangements to fun outings.

She watches the way Beca comes home, tired from her shift at the school’s radio station, and immediately enters Stacie and Chloe’s room, curling into Chloe and watching movies - which Stacie’s pretty sure she hates - with Chloe before they fall asleep.

She notices the way when they watch TV in the living room, Beca sometimes has her head in Chloe’s lap or vice versa, and Beca is always playing with Chloe’s hair in these moments, always gentle and content to be around the redhead.

It’s all mostly hard to watch because Beca is with Jesse for this whole time.

Because despite all the things Stacie notices, Beca has a boyfriend who she loves and spends time with almost as much as she spends time with Chloe.

Stacie notices the way Chloe’s eyes dull at the mention of Jesse, how her shoulders sag when Beca leaves to go hang out with him instead of staying with her.

She notices the way Chloe, a rather fun drunk, stops giggling for a moment when her eyes land on Jesse and Beca all over each other at parties.

Stacie steps up in these moments. She takes Chloe by the hand and forces her to take another shot or dance or watch a movie or go shopping or just anything to get her mind off Beca Mitchell.

Because Stacie knows this, she can see it all over Chloe’s face.

She’s so in love with Beca that it hurts to see her with someone else, someone that Chloe would probably die to be.

“She’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” Chloe tells Stacie one night when they return home from a party.

Stacie hums softly, helping Chloe into bed. “I know, sweetie.”

“I’m so in love with her,” Chloe manages to say in a broken voice. “Why doesn’t she know?”

“Because she’s oblivious,” Stacie sighs.

Chloe’s quiet as Stacie tucks her in then adds, “I wish I was him.”

It breaks Stacie.

She’s good at reading people and Chloe is no exception.

“I know you do,” Stacie murmurs, pressing a soft kiss at Chloe’s hairline. “I wish it was you and not him, too.”

“You’re the best,” Chloe tells her.

Stacie smiles. “Love you, Red.”

Chloe doesn’t cry herself to sleep that night.

Stacie breathes a little easier in those moments.

By senior year, jokes about Chloe and Beca are common.

Beca thinks they’re all crazy.

Chloe laughs it off, but Stacie knows how much the redhead wishes they were true.

Chloe says time and time again that she keeps failing Russian Lit just to be a Bella.

And it’s true, kind of, but everyone else knows that’s not the whole truth.

Everyone but Beca.

And Stacie thinks it’s absolutely insane that it’s been nearly four years and Beca still doesn’t have a clue.

Because it’s come to a point where Chloe and Beca are practically a married couple and Beca somehow is still dating Jesse.

Stacie loves them both, they’re two of her best friends, but she’s tired of seeing Chloe hurt over someone who never puts her first.

The weight of Worlds and Beca being weirdly distant make everything that much worse.

Stacie thinks it starts at the car show, when Beca gets all flustered around that tall blonde German.

(Okay, so the lady’s attractive, but she’s nothing to write home about in Stacie’s opinion.)

The look on Chloe’s face when Beca starts weirdly flirting with the woman is priceless. It’s like she can’t actually believe what’s happening - not that any of the rest of them do either - but true to form, Chloe’s putting on a face and trying to get Beca to stop freaking out.

Stacie hears them that night in the kitchen, arguing about the whole situation.

“You were practically drooling over her!”

“Yeah, well sorry I have eyes!”

“And since when were you even into women?”

“I don’t know! She just - I don’t know! I just word vomit at the sight of her!”

“Well snap out of it. We have a fucking World Championship to win and she’s in the way. We don’t have time for your crush to get in the way!”

“Uh, yeah hello I have a boyfriend.”

“Right. Can’t forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“...Nothing, I’m going to bed.”

Stacie quickly runs up the stairs and jumps into bed just before Chloe angrily stomps in.

“Red?” Stacie says slowly, noticing the way Chloe’s still fuming. “What’s wrong?”

Chloe huffs. “Can you believe her? I just - what was that with the german lady today? She just - and she’s never - and I’m - this whole time? God.”

Stacie sighs, immediately going over to sit next to Chloe and wrap her arms around her.

“We both know she’s always been an idiot.”

Chloe makes a noise, but she’s still glaring at nothing in particular.

“Come on Chlo, it’s not personal. She’s weird about things, you know that.”

“I just…” Chloe looks at Stacie, eyes wide and sad. “What if she’s into girls and she’s not into me like that?”

Stacie tries not to sigh at that. She’s good at reading people, and she knows Chloe can’t handle any harsh realities.

“Beca’s a weirdo,” she says instead. “A weirdo who appreciate her wonderful, redhead best friend. I think, on some level, she loves you too.”

And Stacie knows Beca - to some extent- does love Chloe. She sees it in the way Beca will buy a box of tea packets at the grocery store specifically for Chloe. She knows by the way Beca always makes mixes for Chloe, always lets her listen to her mashups first - even before Jesse. Stacie can tell by the way that when it comes to Chloe, she’s always the exception to Beca’s rules.

Everything about Beca when it comes to Chloe screams that she’s in love according to Stacie.

Beca loves Chloe, but Stacie doesn’t think she knows that quite yet.

Chloe sighs, resting her head on Stacie’s shoulder.

They stay there for awhile in silence, neither willing to move.

“I don’t think it’s in the way I do,” Chloe murmurs.

“Oh Chlo…”

It breaks her, seeing Chloe like this.

Chloe is often sad and quiet in their room these days.

Usually there’s music and laughter and talking until they fall asleep, but Chloe’s pulling away.

Stacie watches as Beca continues to leave the house more often than not, missing out on Bella bonding nights and even just her typical Netflix activities with Chloe. She watches as Chloe’s eyes never shine like the used to anymore, how she’s hell bent on winning Worlds and making sure they beat DSM.

She watches them argue, notices how everything seems to be falling apart and all the other girls are walking on eggshells.

She watches it all and it breaks her.

Because Stacie’s good at reading people.

She knows Beca is hiding something and Chloe is barely holding it together.

Stacie’s never been pro-relationship for herself, but God, if Beca Mitchell isn’t the biggest idiot on the planet.

It all explodes at the retreat.

When Fat Amy tells Beca to “just tell her,” Stacie is disappointed it doesn’t end up being some grand confession of love.

(She guesses the internship makes sense, though.

Beca’s always gone for so long.)

And Stacie thinks this might be their impending doom, the drop they’ve all been waiting for.

But she’s relieved to be wrong when Chloe and Beca are making heart eyes at each other all throughout their campfire and smores session and Chloe breaks out into that dumb song Beca sang for her audition.

(Okay, so it was kind of cute.)

Stacie thinks Beca might finally figure her shit out.

And thinks are normal again when they return to Barden.

Beca and Chloe being Beca and Chloe again, in all the ways they used to be.

Stacie watches as Chloe’s eyes light up all the way at the sight of Beca. She notices the way they’re always together, now inseparable as they prepared to graduate and go to Worlds. She watches the way Chloe smiles at the way Beca interacts with Emily, the two of them working with each other to figure out the arrangement for Worlds. She looks on as Chloe rests a hand on Beca’s knee, her arm, her hand.

Stacie watches Beca, too. She notices the way she hardly even mentions Jesse, the way she grins wide when Chloe says something to her. She watches Beca wrap Chloe up in a hug when Chloe says she passed her Russian Lit final, and the way she doesn’t shy away when Chloe kisses her cheek after listening to Emily’s demo.

Stacie’s good at reading people.

She knows these two are in love.

They go to Copenhagen and win Worlds and wow, this is really it for them.

Emily will stay behind while the rest of them enter the real world.

They all agree to live in the Bella House for one more week after they return, just as a final goodbye to the place they’ve called home.

It’s bittersweet; they try to party it up, but things don’t move themselves so it’s a packing party of sorts throughout the week, boxes and duct tape everywhere.

Stacie is trying to figure out what she’s going to do with half of her books when Chloe abruptly announces, “I’m moving to New York with Beca.”

Stacie stands, looking to see Chloe leaning against the door frame of their shared bedroom. She raises an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

Chloe nods. “She um, she got a job at this recording company in New York and asked me to go with her.”

“That’s great Chlo,” Stacie tells her as a slow smile appears on her face. “Are you guys..?”

Because Stacie’s good at reading people, but Beca and Chloe have always been this way. She needs a confirmation.

Chloe shakes her head, pushing off of the door frame and walking into their cramped bedroom with piles of boxes scattered around. “No - I uh, no. She’s...still with Jesse.”

Stacie’s face falls a little. “Oh,” she frowns. “Are you sure then? About moving with her?”

Chloe sighs, sitting on her bed. “Yeah,” she nods. “Beca’s my best friend. I would do anything for her.”

Stacie twists her lips, regarding Chloe with a pensive look. “She’s really worth all of this to you, huh?”

Chloe gives her a sad yet hopeful smile. “She’s always going to be worth the wait.”

And it kind of breaks Stacie’s heart, the way Chloe has stuck it out for so long.

Stacie’s good at reading people.

She knows Chloe is in love with Beca.

She knows Beca is in love with Chloe, too.

God bless Chloe Beale, Stacie knows she’d never wait that long for someone to come to their senses.

(Stacie thinks Beca will though.

Even if it takes her a few more years.)

[psycho-slytherin]

The Tenor

A series of coincidences leads you to talk to the best singer in your choir.

Pairing: Singer!Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Genre: pure innocent fluff

Next ––>

|mlist|

“As soon as we get free time, we have to go take pictures, okay? I’ll actually die if I don’t have a photo against that specific wall. And once we’re out of the chaperones’ sights we can order wine! I love Europe, I swear, I’m literally never leaving...”

You laugh. “Whatever you say, Rena.”

“We need a group of at least three, right? I’m thinking you, me, and Taeyeon— oh, actually Hyuna’s joining us because she broke up with her boyfriend.”

“Didn’t she do that last week?”

“Yeah, but they got back together— you know her.” Rena looks like she’s about to say something else, but your guide claps his hands.

“Alright everyone, welcome to Venice!”

Your choir cheers, and you join in. You’ve been looking forward to this trip all year, and now you’re really in Italy with your choir, touring and singing in some of the most amazing churches in the world. “Anyone that wants to try a gondola, line up in groups of five,” the guide says. “Afterwards there’s free time and an optional glassblowing exhibit.” 

Glassblowing? Now that sounds interesting. You turn to tell Rena that much but she’s already looking around for a fifth group member.

“Jennie’s in a group already...” she whines, “Sunmi and Jeongyeon too, ugh!”

You’re sighing bemusedly when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see Taehyung, a baritone that you’ve always been friendly with but never close to.

“Hey, y/n, I was wondering if you have a group for the gondola ride?”

You smile widely. “Yeah, and we could use another person. Want to join us?”

Taehyung grins as you inform Rena of your new fifth member. Always the friendly ones, your friends welcome Tae with enthusiasm. The five of you pile into the gondola to which your guide has directed you and you end up wedged between Rena and Hyuna, with Taehyung across from you.

“Watch this,” Hyuna whispers, her plump lips brushing your ear before she speaks loud enough for the whole group to hear: “Hey, Tae!”

You have to give into your laughter: at Hyuna’s words, both Taehyung and Taeyeon turn around with expectant expressions. 

“Ahh, that was great,” Hyuna giggles, sitting back in satisfaction.

You worry that Taehyung will be annoyed by your friends’ teasing dynamic, but you see a sparkle of amusement in his eyes— he’s having as much fun as the rest of the group. The five of you banter easily, enjoying the ambience and beauty of Venice.

“Did you hear that?” Taeyeon cocks her head suddenly and points upriver, past the bored gondolier behind you. Listening intently, you make out the sweet melodies and harmonizations of a group of advanced vocalists— an exclusive subsection within the general choir.

“Are they in the boat behind us?” Rena asks, peering at the canal.

“They sound amazing,” Taeyeon whispers in awe, and you have to agree.

“How did they find their pitch?” You wonder aloud. The song they’re doing is complex and completely a capella— hence, it being an advanced song.

“I bet Jungkook is on that gondola,” Taehyung says, and the four of you nod in understanding: Jeon Jungkook is the choir’s golden boy and the only member of the choir with perfect pitch.

“No wonder they sound so good, if Jungkook’s there,” Hyuna sniffs. You want to think of a clever response, but you’re beyond mesmerized by the notes floating across the water. Like most of the songs in your set, the advanced vocalists are singing in another language and since it’s impossible to focus on the lyrics you settle for picking out individual voices: that clear, ringing voice is your fellow soprano Seulgi, and the throaty alto tone of Sunmi is easily recognizable. 

You have no clue who’s singing base or baritone because as soon as you focus on the impossibly flawless tenor voice, any other thoughts go out the window. You don’t know or care what the words are— the guy could be singing through a grocery list and you’d still be captivated... you snap out of your daze when Rena begins clapping. Is the song over already?

“Encore!” Taehyung whoops, and you hear the advanced vocalists talking as their gondola rounds a corner in the canal, at last coming into view.

“Shit, were we really that loud? I bet our gondolier hates us.”

“It’s fine, we sounded great.”

“We sounded like death, but maybe that’s just me.”

“Someone tell them to stop clapping, it’s embarrassing!” 

As the boat nears yours you see Seulgi waving wildly and next to her is Jungkook, the tenor with the enchanting voice. You and Jungkook haven’t run in the same social circles— despite sharing a class for three years, you’ve never spoken, and you’re quite certain that he’s unaware of your existence.

But you know of him. You’ll never forget that day in freshman year— your director was trying out guys one by one for a solo while the girls oooh’d as backup. You weren’t paying attention, just mindlessly holding your note when your director called on Jungkook to try out. Ten seconds after he began singing, your director needed to stop him because the backup had stuttered to a halt. Every single girl in choir, including you— and a fair number of the guys too— fell silent on hearing Jungkook’s voice. 

Within a minute you had developed a massive crush on him, but with a face and voice like his, Jungkook was impossibly out of your league.

“We’re not even playing the same sport,” you’d told Rena back then. “It’s more like he’s a star in the major leagues, and I sometimes trip over my own feet and call it exercise.” 

Your crush had faded quickly— you never spoke to him and it was hopeless anyways— but that didn’t stop your heart from fluttering whenever you heard him rehearse his solo. There was something impossibly attractive about a voice like his. The gondola ride is over quickly and you join your classmates in crowding around the tour guide.

“Alright, guys,” the guide says once everyone’s settled down, “you have an option: follow me to see a Venetian glassblowing master at work— it’ll only take an hour— or go off on your own and meet back here in three hours. Remember, groups of three or more at all times.”

You feel a tug on your hand. “C’mon, I need to go take pictures,” Rena says, holding up her phone. “Model for me?”

“Oh, uh... I sort of wanted to see the glassblowing,” you say lamely.

“You need to be in a group of at least three,” Hyuna mentions, “and you don’t have three.”

“Sure she does.” You feel a pat on your head and turn to see Taehyung winking at you. “Let me return the favor. My group is gonna check out the glassblowing— wanna come?”

“Sure,” you reply quickly. Rena’s your best friend and you adore her but sometimes she can be a bit controlling, and you’re in Italy. You want to do all sorts of cool stuff, not just walk around and take photos. Tae ushers you away to join the others and you shoot an apologetic glance at your friend, who shrugs good-naturedly and flashes you a thumbs up. 

“The others”, as you discover once about thirty of your classmates have squished into the glass exhibition room, are Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook. You’re on good terms with Jimin and Namjoon and you have a great time whispering and snickering in between heavily accented lessons in the art of glass. 

You don’t talk to Jungkook— you figure he’s the quiet type, probably best left alone to muse about life’s great mysteries or how to make his voice sound even better. The demonstration ends and people quickly empty out, off to find lunch in the time they have left. You catch up to Taehyung.

“Mind if I tag along again?”

“For sure— not that we know where we’re going,” Tae replies, and the five of you set off in search of food.

“How about this place? It doesn’t look bad.” Jimin points eventually at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with a hopeful-looking waiter. The five of you settle down, you and Jungkook across from Namjoon and Jimin, with Taehyung at the head. The waiter returns with water, but as you reach for your glass you somehow manage to knock over the heavy pepper shaker, which falls on your other hand with a dull thud.

“Ah, fuck!” You yank your hand away and cradle it, beyond embarrassed that you’ve already screwed up in front of your new friends. While you’re still inwardly cursing yourself, an unfamiliar noise startles you. Beside you, Jungkook’s shoulders are shaking with mirth. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

“It wasn’t that funny,” you tell him indignantly.

“No, I just— I didn’t know you swore,” he chuckles, and you realize with a start that it’s the first time you’ve heard his speaking voice.

But also... “You didn’t figure I could curse?” You’ve got the mouth of a sailor, anyone that’s met you would know that.

“Well, you’re always so shy and quiet,” Jungkook explains, and you gasp at him. He thinks you’re quiet? Your director has had to tell you to and your friends to stop chattering on numerous occasions. And Jungkook, the golden boy, the born singer, thinks you‘re quiet?

“It’s big of you to make so many assumptions when we’ve never interacted,” you say, growing miffed. “How many times have I said hello to you in the last three years? And how many times have you responded?”

You see Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly. “I...”

It’s a valid question. Choir always puts you in a good mood, and you get outgoing when you’re cheerful. The number of times you’ve said “Hiiiii, Jungkook” and “Kookie, you’re my favorite” is embarrassingly high. He’s never replied with anything more than a nervous laugh or an “okay”. 

As you watch Jungkook struggle to answer, you feel a smile spreading across your face. Have you two really never had a conversation? Why?

The conversation wanders, as conversations are apt to do, and you begin talking about your fellow choir members. “Did you see Nayeon literally wearing stilettos on the cobble street? How does she still have ankles?” you wonder aloud. “See, this is why I wear this stuff.” You pluck at your plain black T-shirt and utilitarian beige shorts. “I mean, I look like literal trash, but-”

“Wh-why...” Jungkook laughs again and you can’t for the life of you figure out what’s so funny. He’s got a cute laugh, though. “Why would you say that?”

“Say what? That I look like trash?” You giggle inwardly at Jungkook’s nod of disbelief.

“It’s called self-deprecation, hon,” you say, lacing your fingers together.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that about yourself,” he protests.

“Why? It’s funny and an unhealthy coping mechanism. Win-win.”

This time his laugh isn’t one of discomfort or shock, but rather a chuckle of fascination and amusement. Who’d have thought it, Mister Perfect is really growing on you.

You awake the next morning with a yawn— you and Taeyeon snuck over to Rena and Hyuna’s room after curfew last night to gossip, which was fun at the time but the choir is performing tonight and now you barely have the energy to make it through breakfast. Rena and Hyuna are already chattering when you join them.

Right when you’ve finished your toast and downed a pot of coffee, your director claps his hands.

“We’ve got a concert tonight, so bring your attire,” he says loudly. “We’re going to walk around Tuscany today. The bus ride is a few hours long, and we’re not coming back to the hotel, so bring your attire.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” Taeyeon whispers.

“Because it is,” you reply.

You and Taeyeon are walking together to the bus after stopping by your room when a thought hits you.

“I’m an actual idiot,” you gasp. “Tae, go on without me, I’ll be right back.”

“What happened?”

“I forgot my attire,” you call over your shoulder, already running. You take the stairs two at a time, cursing yourself— you don’t want your director to call you out for being late to the bus. You burst into your room and grab your choir dress and shoes, hurrying back to the bus within seconds. The bus is nearly full when you get there, and Rena is already sitting with Hyuna and Taeyeon is sitting next to Jeongyeon and the only seat available is by... Jeon Jungkook. You approach him. “Is this seat taken?”

He moves his jacket off of the seat next to him in lieu of a response and you sit down quickly, so grateful you don’t have to do the awkward shuffle to find a seat. When your director is done lecturing on what proper tour behavior looks like, you pop in your earphones and put your show tunes playlist on full blast. An hour in, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You ignore it, sure it’s just Seokjin or Hoseok bothering you.

You feel another tap, this one more urgent. You look behind you in annoyance to find Seokjin and Hoseok asleep on each other. Then who’s...?

“Hey, I just wanted to mention,” Jungkook says, and his voice behind you makes you shiver. “You’re sort of singing out loud.”

You go red. “What? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He snorts again and you roll your eyes. “Yes, I do swear,” you remind him. “Anyways, I’ll stop making noise now, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I liked that song.” He begins humming along, picking up where you left off, and once again you’re struck by the rich tenor voice. You carefully remove your earphones, drinking in the snippets of lyrics and his quiet smile and the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

You realize you’re staring and Jungkook must realize it too because he clams up. “Well, anyways...” he mutters, clearly embarrassed, and you press your lips together. Jeon Jungkook gets shy?

“Here.” You offer him an earphone. “Do you like show tunes?”

“I love them,” he replies with a smile. “I remember the first day of freshman year— you walked into choir singing a song from Wicked.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “How do you remember that?”

He shrugs. “How was I supposed to forget the girl that was so unafraid of being herself?”

You feel your heart flutter at his words and you swallow thickly. Time to ease the tension, or you might actually fall for him. “All that, and you still think I was the quiet type?” You poke him in the shoulder with your earphone. “Now, I’m offering this once. Listen to music with me?”

He grins, and a hint of a dimple appears on his cheek. “Once,” he agrees, taking the earphone while you queue up your favorites. 

Once turns to twice turns to more than you care to count and it becomes a regular thing, you and Jungkook sitting side by side, heads bobbing and fingers tapping in unison, and on those rare moments when he begins to sing along you fall silent and let the music wash over you. 

Obviously he’s out of your league but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice feelings bubbling up every now and then— when he understands your fandom references, or takes your music recommendations to heart. You tease him relentlessly about his perfect pitch and reputation, and he in turn begins to loosen up with you. On the sixth day of the tour, he makes a self-deprecating joke and you nearly choke on your pizza.

“Did you just...?”

“Maybe I did.”

“Am I corrupting you?”

The next week you fall in line with Rena and Taeyeon as the group traipses to the Trevi Fountain. “Hey, girls!”

“Shouldn’t you be walking with Jungkook?” Taeyeon says with a wink.

“I sat on the bus with him earlier— plus, you know I miss y’all.”

“Oh, no!” Rena squeals. “We’re going to the Trevi fountain, the most romantic spot of Rome. Go walk with Jungkook! You know everybody ships you two,” she nudges you forward, where Jungkook is walking with Jimin, Taehyung and Namjoon.

“Wh-guys!” You protest, your cheeks going red.

“You can’t walk with us,” Rena sings with a glint in her eye. “But I think Jungkook wants to talk to you.”

You sigh. “You’re not gonna leave this alone, are you?”

“Nope!” Your friends chorus. You roll your eyes, increasing your speed to catch up with Jungkook and company. As soon as Taehyung spots you, you see him whisper something to Jimin and Jimin and they all melt into the crowd.

“What was that about?” You ask as you fall in step beside Jungkook.

The tenor sighs. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“My friends are ostracizing me, so...”

Jungkook laughs. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Your guide claps his hands, halting the group in a small plaza. “Alright gang, the Trevi fountain is just around the corner— home to iconic scenes, the most famous being Roman Holiday or that one episode of Futurama. The story goes that if you throw one coin in, you’ll return to Italy. If you throw two coins in, you’ll fall in love on this trip to Italy—“ here the choir oohs and shrieks— “and if you throw three coins in, you’ll come back and get married in Italy.”

“No one is throwing more than one!” Your director calls, and the group laughs.

“Want a coin?” You offer Jungkook as the crowd disperses. He looks like he’s going to say something, but instead nods and takes the coin, his fingertips lingering on your palm. There’s a tug on your heart, some crazy, stupid, impulsive longing to throw two coins into the fountain. Fall in love... on the choir trip? Pfft, how cliche. You shake your head and sit next to Jungkook on the edge of the fountain before throwing a coin over your shoulder.

“Just one, I see,” he teases, and you shrug nonchalantly.

“I’m not that powerful, Kookie. I don’t have a chance of falling in love— I don’t have your charm,” you reply, only half joking.

That night, you’re chilling in Rena and Hyuna’s room when your phone buzzes with a message. Hyuna swoops in and grabs it, shrieking excitedly at the notification: “it’s from Jungkook!”

“What?” You scramble forward, nearly falling off the bed in a bid to steal your phone back.

“Have you listened to Newsies?” Hyuna reads aloud. “Only a music recommendation? Ugh, boring.”

You snatch your phone away. “Y’all are the worst, you know that?”

“Love you, y/n,” Rena replies dreamily.

You look down at your phone and your heart skips a beat: Jungkook is typing. And then stops. And starts again. And stops again. You’re growing so antsy that by the time he actually sends a message, you nearly drop your phone out of surprise.

Jungkook: hey save me a seat tomorrow on the bus ok?

You rub your eyes and type out a reply: ofc, who else tolerates my love for Dear Evan Hansen? You think for a moment before sending a follow up: although if we keep sitting together I think people will talk

Another buzz.

Jungkook: people already talk

You barely have time to take a shaky breath before a second message arrives.

Jungkook: can I ask u something

Moral support, you need moral support. 

“Guys...?” You ask, your voice almost cracking from the tension. You know you’re overreacting, it’s only been two weeks, so why do you care so much about whatever he’s going to say? With your luck it’ll end up being, can you share your playlist? Do you have the sheet music? The girls crowd around you to read over your shoulder. “Wait, oh my god, wait, is he...?” Taeyeon squeaks excitedly.

“Shut up, shut up,” you implore, eyes locked on your screen. Once again Jungkook begins typing, stopping and starting multiple times, each time eliciting groans of frustration from your friends. “Ugh, never mind,” you throw your phone on the bed and faceplant onto Rena’s pillow, your heart thudding from anticipation.

“He’s typing again,” Rena says from behind you— how does she know your password?— “wait, he actually sent something this time... oh my god!” Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s probably something dumb, or maybe bad news: I heard people ship us and I think that’s awful, perhaps.

“Are you into me?” Rena reads aloud. “Y/n, what are you going to say?”

Oh, fuck. He really does want to set the record straight. “I-I don’t know.”

“What do you feel?” Hyuna urges. What do you feel? You feel flustered, so flustered when he accidentally brushes your hand or laughs in delight at something you’ve said. You feel delight at the conspiratorial whispers when you try to walk ahead or behind your small groups together, and the scandalized gasps when one of you spills the latest choir tea.

“I mean fine, maybe I like him a little,” you admit, to the shrieks of delight from your girlfriends. “But what if he’s asking because he doesn’t like me? I mean, it’s Jeon Jungkook! He could have literally anyone— I heard Nayeon had a crush on him last year— why the fuck would he like me?”

“You won’t know till you try.” Rena says, raising an eyebrow. “Tell him. And ask him, too.”

You take a deep breath and type out a response: Yes. Do you like me? You’re tempted to send a follow up, an apology, saying you don’t want to ruin your friendship with him, it’s okay if he thinks you’re weird, but you don’t get a chance before he responds.

Jungkook: Yeah. After these last few days, I really do.

A/N thank you for reading!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome and thoroughly appreciated. My inbox is always open, and I hope you enjoyed! (And if you didn’t, tell me anyways so I can improve!)

[rtmains]

Vampire survivors stages

VAMPIRE SURVIVORS STAGES PATCH

Survive in Moongolow for 14 minutes with a standard character to gain access to Holy Forbidden. Unlock the Moongolow bonus stage in Vampire Survivors by unlocking the hyper mode for four normal stages. Here’s a step-by-step guide to the process, and fans should use their cards in Vampire Survivors to find Zi’Assunta’s coffin once they gain access to the stage. For the uninitiated, Capella Magna is the fifth stage of the game, which opens after passing Holy Forbidden. To get Vento Sacro, players must unlock Zi’Assunta Belpaese by finding her coffin in Cappella Magna. How to Get Vento Sacro in Vampire Survivors For those players who are interested in accessing and developing Vento Sacro in Vampire Survivors, this guide contains complete information on how both of these things are done. This is the starting weapon of Zi’Assunta Belpaese, a new character that was also part of the update, and it can really be developed.

VAMPIRE SURVIVORS STAGES PATCH

It does not store any personal data.The Vampire Survivors 0.7.2 patch has added a lot of new content to the game, including a weapon called Vento Sacro. The cookie is set by the GDPR Cookie Consent plugin and is used to store whether or not user has consented to the use of cookies. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Performance". This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Other. The cookies is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Necessary". The cookie is set by GDPR cookie consent to record the user consent for the cookies in the category "Functional". The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Analytics". These cookies ensure basic functionalities and security features of the website, anonymously. Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. You will not survive, for the record, but you’ll have a boatload of fun for very cheap. You can find Vampire Survivors on Steam to enjoy arcade roguelike vampire minion slaying action. Thanks to your incredible support and a once-in-a-lifetime surge of luck, the game turned out to be an incredible success instead,” they said. “When I first launched Vampire Survivors, all I wanted was to have a little game that would allow me to have fun making new game content in my spare time. Viral success has propelled it into a game with a proper development team that’s going to be playable in a real video game engine. It’s a bonkers change from a few months ago, when Vampire Survivors was just a weird cheap game that’s also very fun. A dozen new weapons have been designed and a handful of new power-ups thrown into the mix,” says developer Poncle. The amount of playable characters planned for version 1.0 of the game has been doubled and so has the number of stages with the introduction of bonus/challenge ones. “Thanks to the overwhelming success and support from the players, new content has started to come out at a much faster pace than anticipated and the roadmap has also been expanded significantly. Alongside that, more achievements are coming, as are more Relics, like the recently-released Treasure Map, and Arcanas, which look like tarot deck cards and who knows what they do-but the roadmap says they’re coming in April! There are nine more characters, five more levels, 16 more weapons, and two more power ups coming. It’s pretty exciting if, like me, you’re mesmerized by the $3 game about killing skeletons and ghosts with weapons you can’t really control very well. In a post on Steam, game creators poncle have outlined what they want to do with the game moving forward. Vampire Survivors, a game we called “ the best pocket change you can spend on Steam“, has a proper development roadmap now.

[haviart]

Vivaldi: Stabat Mater dir. Sebastian Pańczyk | Official Trailer from Dobro on Vimeo.

A year ago we met on the set. Above all, it was an inspiring meeting, encounter of two worlds; film and opera. Vivaldi: Stabat Mater directed by Sebastian Pańczyk is our experiment, a musical film.

An attempt to reinterpret the symbolic Sorrowful Mother figure and contemplate empathy in this unusual form and feature narrative.

Today we present you trailer of the movie and a glimpse of this stirring performance.

The timeless opera masterpiece performed by amazing Jakub Józef Orliński & Capella Cracoviensis will have it’s own music album premiere - Vivaldi: Stabat Mater as a film will be a part of this publication by Warner Classic - coming in 2022.

In the meantime, take a look at the cinematic story and listen to mesmerizing vocal of Jakub himself.

Written & Directed by Sebastian Pańczyk Cinematography by Tomasz Augustynek

Dobro x Platige x Juice

Featuring Jakub Józef Orliński & Capella Cracoviensis Organized in collaboration with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute.

[misccee]

13x16 Fix

Repost for time difference

Castiel is jetlagged. He is billions of years old—he was once able to fold time & space!—but an airplane has foiled him. His Grace thrums unhappily—it wants to reestablish his vessel’s circadian rhythm—but Castiel has the feeling he shouldn’t be expending energy so close to his task. Who knows what tribulations he will encounter. Could be another set of clay warriors. Could be a giant snake. Could be Chuck casually reading the paper. Who knows really, with the way these things usually go. Castiel has learned not to have concrete expectations.

As Castiel swipes at the djinn in front of him while another tries to grab him around the waist, he realizes that he did have expectations after all. He was expecting maybe a mythical beast to defeat; or a trial of riddles; a booby-trapped walk of faith (and damn, he’s watched that movie with Dean too many times if that’s the expectation his otherworldly brain has conjured up); but certainly not a rouge pack of djinn who took up residence because they were bored and they could.

“I can’t wait to taste your dreams, Angel,” the one currently grappling at his waist hisses into his ear as he licks it.

Castiel swings an elbow back into the djinn’s gut as he flips his angel blade and throws it at the one dancing in front of him. The blade pierces its throat, and it gargles pathetically around the blue-black lifeblood it aspirates on.

The elbow wasn’t as effective,and Castiel feels himself being pulled down. He’s deadlier with his angel blade, but without it he’s just deadly. He manages to wriggle around and place a smiting hand on the djinn who was behind him…but he trips over the feet of another djinn Castiel had—sliced? stabbed? (he can’t really recall all of the ways he’s dispatched the djinn at this point)—and he finds himself on the ground. On his back.

Again.

All these years and he still cannot balance right without the aid of his wings.

He only has a moment to berate his clumsiness before two more djinn appear at his opponent’s side. Castiel spits blood out of his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue on impact. He waits for them to close in before he rolls away from their outstretched, grabby hands. Blindly he reaches behind him and—blessedly—his fingers curl around the hilt of his blade. Castiel swipes out in an arc and manages to wound two of his attackers, who hiss and jump away.

The third—the pest who has consistently gotten the closest to Castiel’s vessel—grabs him by the lapels of his trench coat and hoists him up. The djinn’s smile bleeds across his face revealing his sharp teeth, his breath an acrid breeze across Castiel’s face. Cas stomps on the djinn’s instep and gives him a patented Dean Winchester head-butt, and the creature stumbles back.

The other two have collected themselves, and—with Mr. Too-Close-for-Comfort—begin circling Castiel. Cas just rolls his shoulders and chuckles. On his feet, angel blade in his grasp, he has the upper hand.

His laugh must have unnerved them somewhat because they are glancing at each other. They start conversing in their sibilant language (one he’s heard Sam refer to more than once as Parseltongue and would not be dissuaded against the inaccuracy of that label). Castiel doesn’t know if the djinn do it because think he can’t understand them or because they know he can.

“I am unsure of this.”

“He is bloodied, but does not appear to be tiring.”

“He has already sent six of us to Purgatory. Do we wish to join our siblings there?”

“You know,” interjects Castiel, “if you just give me some fruit—as I asked when I first arrived—I’d be happy to be on my way and spare the rest.”

Their attention snaps back to him and they hiss in unison.

Castiel flips his blade a few times and raises his eyebrow. “Or I could cut a swath through you and let you join the ‘party’ in Purgatory.” Flip, flip. “I was fighting wars before your alpha was even a glimmer in Eve’s eye, but sure—test me combat.”

They hesitate knowing the truth behind his words, but indignant about being called out over their battle prowess. A look passes between the three of them and their stances relax.

Mr. Too-Close speaks at him, “You will speak with our Malikah.”

Castiel straightens but doesn’t relax. “Do I have your word I will come to her unharmed?”

The djinn smiles at him, baring his razors again. “We will bring you to her as you are. What happens after is none of our doing.”

The djinn queen is sitting in an obviously handmade wicker chair under the tree, one leg slung lazily over an armrest. She considers Castiel with a look that wouldn’t melt butter. She gestures airily at his ‘escorts’ and they leave his side to join with the others in their pack. Her face is graced with a wicked smile.

“Are you a present?”

“No, Malikah. I am here on a…quest of sorts.”

She swings her leg down and leans forward, raising her brows at him.

“And am I not the treasure you seek?”

Castiel squints. The devil is loose, a Prince of Hell sits its throne, a war-torn angel army threatens to invade this Earth, and he’s getting hit on.

Again.

“Your…uh…beauty is a…treasure indeed. But…um—”

The djinn huffs out an amused laugh and waves at him to stop.

“I know what you seek. It is what every being who comes here seeks.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder and Castiel sees the pile of bones.

Lovely.

She rises from her chair languidly and saunters over to him.

“But you, Angel. For you I require a very different price. Hmm. No, a favor is more like. Will trade a favor for a bit of fruit?”

Her hand comes up and she trails a tattooed finger along his stubbled jawline.

“Um. Ok,” he sputters.

The pack of djinn on the sidelines titter.

Castiel is sitting in another wicker chair. He shifts self-consciously under the weight of the flowers on his head the necklaces of teeth—of all kinds—wound around his neck. Three female djinn are painting his forearms (he’d staunchly insisted that he’d keep his shirt on, but his sleeves rolled up), neck, and bare feet. He feels naked without his trenchcoat.

“What exactly is—” he starts, but the djinn painting his left arm shushes him.

“Don’t move. You’ll ruin the line.”

“Ok.”

Castiel surveys the area. The pack of dijnn are mostly standing about in clumps talking animatedly with each other. Even with his heightened hearing and understanding of the language, he can’t seem make anything out—the sounds are too breathy and too many of them overlap—so when they all quiet, Castiel perks up.

The three djinn attending him stand and move away (the one who spoke to him earlier snaps at him, “do not move too much before it dries!”) and a djinn he didn’t fight appears on a platform. The djinn begins to sing a capella—there are no words, but the melody is ethereal and heartrending. Hand movements accompany the notes, but Castiel can’t tell if it’s a language he doesn’t speak, or if the movements are of the signer’s own making.

He leans over to the closet djinn, “So do I, um—" but he is cut off with an aggravated hiss.

“Do not interrupt!”

So Castiel sinks back into the chair. He starts a little when the pack of djinns start clapping and stomping. At first it seems uncoordinated, but after a few beats he realizes there’s a cadence and pattern to it, with some djinns clapping and others stomping in turns. As the song and beat pick up, a cadre of djinn break free and start wheeling and spinning and slapping and clapping at each other’s hands in a mesmerizing sort of ballet.

There is a cry—it doesn’t appear to be a part of the song—and Castiel sees the djinn queen approaching. She is decked out in her own set of flowers and creature teeth. There’s a certain sort of thorny beauty to her that reminds him of Meg Masters.

Another djinn appears before Castiel suddenly and holds a carafe of sweet-smelling…something…out to him.

“Now. You drink now,” the djinn says in English. Castiel hesitates, but the djinn is insistent, “You not displease her.”

So Castiel accepts the carafe and takes a sip. The attendant makes an aggrieved noise and tips the bottom of the carafe so that Cas is forced to drink down the sudden onset of liquid on reflex before the last of it is spilling out of the sides of his mouth and trickling down his neck. He hopes the tracts don’t smear the calligraphy on his skin. He looks around inconspicuously—he does not see the artist who yelled at him to take care, but he still refrains from wiping at his mouth.

The sounds of bodies pounding on other bodies begin to beat within his vessel. The djinn queen is getting closer to him, but she suddenly seems very far away. The dancers start spinning, but Castiel can’t tell if that’s part of the dance or because of the sudden inebriation he realizes is occurring to his vessel. His Grace pulses in agitation, but it feels like swimming through molasses to try and access it, so Cas just closes his eyes.

A warm hand is on his cheek, and—as he opens his eyes—another is pulling him to his feet. Castiel sways and tries to focus. The djinn queen gives a joyful laugh. She takes the crown of teeth from her head and places it in his hand at the same time as swiping the crown of flowers from his head. She grabs his noodle arm and raises it up.

“Put it on your head!” she shouts, pointing at his head as she fixes the flower crown jauntily on her own.

“Oh, um. Right.” Castiel slams the crown of teeth on his head—it was closer to his hand than he’d judged—and adjusts it to stay.

The djinn queen is looking at him, so he says, “So…uh. What exactly is this favor? This seems…um…ritualistic in nature. If I had to guess—” she claps her hands directly in his face.

“Now we dance! That is the favor that you will give to me. A dance at this celebration!”

She grabs his hand, twirls him awkwardly, and yanks him into the sea of serpentining bodies.

Castiel is rudely awakened by a jab of toe into his side. Curious. His does not need sleep, but there is a slight ache behind his eyes that informs him he didn’t sleep so much as “pass out.” He calls his Grace and the ache alleviates. He sits up from where he’d been lying in the dirt to squint up at the djinn who belongs to the offending toe.

It’s Mr. Too-Close-for-Comfort—because of course it is—and he’s looming over Castiel, holding a full bag.

“Get up, angel,” he says.

As Castiel stands he takes stock of himself—he’s still clothed, but the designs on his skin are no more than blue smears now; his crown is nowhere to be found, but there are a couple of crushed and bruised flowers stuck in his hair. What. The. Hell.

The djinn shoves the bag into Castiel’s chest, producing a slight oomph from him.

“Your prize for favoring the queen. Now leave. We have both honored our words. Let us not break them now due to lingering.”

Castiel looks around—he sees a mound of sleeping djinn in clumps all over the territory—but he does not see the Malikah herself.

“I…thank you.”

The djinn laughs at him.

“Have fun with your…quest. Do not forget that you are now bound to us of your own free will. She may yet call claim on that again.”

Castiel shifts the bag in his grasp as he turns to leave—it contains the sought-after fruit (which Cas is just now wondering how he’ll have to mojo though customs)—and heaves a full body sigh.

It would appear that he’s gotten married.

Again.

Src

[addressedtothefire]

 Guide to Perfect Places:

Regular: Audio, video, live in concert (with an incredible outfit, galactic princess witch in sensible shoes).

Decaf partial acoustics:

Lorde on Fallon. White suit, angelic and masculine, adorned with peacock flowers. A perfect angry shrug at “take ‘em home”. Destruction at the end. A perfect ellision of the curse.

Lorde on Seth Meyers. Sparkling night sky, outside of time, against orange red-brick smoke. Verses are acoustic Lorde, the chorus is an upbeat choral staccato, a capella group-ready, smiling but broken up into bite size pieces where words don’t connect. Lorde is part of it but also apart, dancing against the music, at their party but having her own, flowing her hand as a conductor and then stepping aside into her own train of thought. At one point she knocks into her drummer by accident but plays it off almost unbelievably well, like she’s used to these kind of small gracelessnesses, wraps her hands in her hair in an anxious, hurting gesture, distraught but fluid with everything before and after it. The song never breaks into a full orchestra or a beat drop, and it shouldn’t. Seth is also there and he’s cute.

Lorde 1Live at Germany: Full acoustic, the most acoustic, black and white, lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling (stars or an interrogation? a dimmed, acoustic set or a fight club -- little punching bags, violence in the air...) The chorus pulls down an octave.

Not Lorde:

A robotic, sparse piano tutorial that is mesmerizing, lonely and sad.

The official (?) instrumental, a quiet whirling galaxy of beats.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Burning Roses - Sirius Black/Remus Lupin x Reader

Request: Hey! As requests are open, can you write an imagine where your friends with the marauders and both Remus and sirius have a crush on you, but don't realize the other does, until it comes out that one of them wants to ask you out, and essentially the reader has to choose? Hope that made sense xx Warnings: My English. Angst, my heart can’t handle it. Language. Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to their original owners.  No, I don’t believe I will be writing a second part. Sometimes, we have to choose on our own.  Word Count~2.3k MASTERLIST Pending Requests

“Honestly, Rem, you really believed that I didn’t know?” you questioned him with a playful smile on your lips. That was the thing between you two. You were friends- family, really- with the Marauders since day one.  It felt natural like it was meant to be. That was six years ago. You had formed different bonds with each of them- all of them strong, just different. James was your brother. He was your older, overprotective, self-absorbed, completely infatuated with his Lily-flower, a brother. Even though you never had one and you couldn’t possibly know how a big brother acts, you did believe that James was excelling. You were never capable of holding a grudge against him- even though you truly wanted sometimes- as you witnessed how awfully in love he was with Lily. Any person capable of love is capable of being forgiven. Meaning that as much as he made you tick with his stupid plans to destroy your dates, you could never hate him or be mad at him for too long. Peter was your younger and more reserved brother. He was this kind and quiet person that had a lot of trouble adjusting. He had a lot of issues, especially with his confidence and he would barely speak up, but when he did, he would leave everyone dumbfounded by his intelligence. He was keen but he never believed it. You had acted up as his over-protective sister and helped him as much as you could.   Sirius… Sirius was different. You could say that you were closer, in a way. You had tried to be his sister but he already had a brother and family issues, so you just dropped it. He was such a great actor that you would almost fall for his carefree and laid-back attitude. Almost. You saw the flicker of pain and that small twinkle of unwanted memories that was pooling in his eyes. His act was impressive. In fact, those were the very words you told him when you confronted him. Since that very long night, you were inseparable. Somehow, you had managed to make him open up to you and let his walls down- something he had never done before, not even with his fellas. You had found yourself staring at him and his steely gray eyes more than once and you had quickly realized that you may or may not have feelings for him. And it sucked because he was with a different girl every other night. Also, because he was your friend. With Remus things just happened. He was actually, the first one to befriend you from the infamous Marauders. You had hit it off immediately because how could you not? He was sweet and caring, kind and polite. You would meet up in the Library, trying to study together but you would end up eating chocolate and drinking tea in the kitchens. You knew he was a werewolf since the moment you laid eyes on him. You just waited patiently for him to trust you enough to tell you. You had waited six years. You didn’t feel betrayed; it might hurt a bit but you understood all the possible reasons why he had kept it to himself and his friends. They were guys- they had practically formed a cult. The only problem was that somewhere between the books and the chocolate you had kind of developed a tiny crush on him. Something about his soft caramel eyes. You fancied two of your best friends. What a cliché. “Wait- you do? You know?” he whispered almost breathlessly. His eyes were wide and bewildered like he expected you to start running away from him.That was likely, you thought sarcastically. You raised an eyebrow. He should have known better- you were clever, disturbingly crafty. “Don’t you think that the nicknames give it away?” you simply suggested. He shook his head lightly but chuckled. He looked at you, his honest eyes were almost too honest for you to handle. “How long?” he asked you in a small voice. You tilted your head, trying to decide if you wanted to tell him that you knew all this time. “Since day one” you answered truthfully. You knew that he was going to scowled himself for not telling you a bit earlier. His mouth hung open. You offered him a soft and warm smile. “Yet you are still here and you never pushed me into telling you. Why?” he asked again, this time his voice cracked. You could sense the tension that was lingering dangerously close to you. “I am not afraid of you. On the contrary, I am afraid that you will get hurt because of it. And I don’t know… I guess I waited for you to trust me enough” you stated and held his gaze. He opened and closed his mouth too many times that it became hilarious. You lightly giggled at his reaction. “I trust you with my life. I hope you know that, love” he told you intensely. You smiled brightly at his words. “About ti- wait, what did you call me?”. What had started out as a sarcastic remark had turned out to be a befuddled question. You could have guessed that your cheeks were pink. His face fell as he realized that something had slipped. He didn’t mean to but it came almost too natural to call you that. But that did not mean that you liked it- or so he thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just didn’t-” “I don’t mind” you blurted out, cutting off his ramble. You saw his lips forming a genuine smile that could melt your heart.

It was late and you were wide awake. Again. It was a habit of yours to go to the Astronomy Tower whenever you couldn’t sleep. It was already cold but you didn’t mind that much. You simply sat down near the edge and looked up. That was all it took for you to get lost and stay there. You felt your heart finally finding peace in the beautiful anarchy that all those galaxies created. Nothing was random in this life. The stars were consuming themselves to spread light-for you to see; planets were moving and colliding together, leaving behind what you thought as a mesmerizing chaos. Yet, you could witness the harmony, the perfect serenity in that havoc. You started naming all the constellation you could remember. “Capella, Pegasus, Betelgeuse, oh… the Pleiades star cluster and-” “Orion” you were cut off. You didn’t even need to look at him to know that it was Sirius. Your heart skipped a beat but soon you felt comfortable again. “Orion” you repeated softly, eyes glued to the velvet sky and the silk stars. His eyes, however, never left your face. “Everything that ever was still is. Everything that ever will be, already exist. We imagine that it is in motion and unfinished, that it’s still morphing- I don’t believe that” he gently commented and sat down next to you. You knew that he was here because he couldn’t sleep. You knew about his insomnia and nightmares. “How can you not? It’s because it’s unfinished that it’s astonishingly beautiful. Otherwise, it would be boring” you observed as your hands traced the patterns of the sky in mid-air- you longed to touch them, become part of them. He didn’t answer but you knew that he was comparing himself to it. You could tell that he truly believed that he had nothing else to live for because he didn’t think he could change. It broke your heart seeing him like this. Just like it broke your heart when Remus was like that-not believing he was worth it. Everything. You just sat there, not too close, not too far away, stargazing the night away. You didn’t talk but you didn’t have to. The silence wasn’t deafening-it was pleasant and very welcomed. You hadn’t noticed but he was looking at you the same way you were looking at the sky- full of awe and wonder. He had found his chaotic serenity. You slightly shivered but before you could say something, Sirius’ arms were wrapped around you, bringing you closer. Perks of being an Animagus- he was a heating pad. You could feel his heart beating and you could feel his body radiating warmth and somewhere between those two, you felt yourself losing touch with reality. He didn’t dare to close his eyes. 

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves” ― Federico García Lorca. They were so damn oblivious to each other’s feelings. James could see it, Peter could see it, Lily- well, she knew it since the moment it happened, even if they couldn’t exactly pinpoint it themselves. It was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose.  Today was the day. They were in their dorm, both of them lost in their own thoughts that so happened to be about the same person. They both wanted to ask her out- to let her know their feelings at the very least, but life had other plans. They had bought roses to give her but once they saw each other holding flowers they smiled because they thought that for the first time they were both going to be happy. But that changed the moment they opened their mouths. “Do you think Y/N will like them?” they said in unison and their smiles fell. They looked at each other completely stunned. They wanted the same girl. They had fallen for the same girl. As the realization hit them like a tidal wave, the flowers dropped to the floor. “No. Please, don’t” Remus whispered to Sirius, pleadingly. “Don’t do this to me” Sirius begged in return. What they didn’t know was that you were listening behind their closed door. You felt so sick of yourself. Nauseatingly awful person. “Why Sirius? Why? Out of all the girls, you could possibly want, why do you have to want the only one I care about?” Remus asked his ‘friend’. He knew that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t somebody’s fault. He knew why. You were kind and sweet, sarcastic and witty, caring and… different. You were perfect to him. “You have no idea how much I care about her. She is the first person to make me feel like this, Remus. I can’t just let that go. I can’t let her go” Sirius confessed in a small voice. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t care about her? I am in love with her. I have been, for as long as I can remember. And I don’t know if I should smile because she is my friend or fucking cry because that’s all she is ever going to be!”. You had never heard Remus so desperate. So painfully consumed. Your heart broke. You couldn’t do this to them, you had absolutely no freaking right to put them through that god-awful feeling. “She has been the only light in my life” Sirius replied softly. You couldn’t bury it any longer, so you ran away, reached your room, only to find Lily and James already waiting there. “You knew?” you breathlessly rasped out. Before you could help it, you fell apart and four arms were wrapped around you. You had just lost your two best friends. And a part of yourself-or even your whole self.  How much pain can a broken heart undergo? You were alerted by the smell. Something was burning. You got up and quickly made your way to the boys’ room with James. When you opened the door, you saw ten beautiful pink roses on fire. The two of them were just staring at each other, occasionally looking at the burning flowers. That was the visual representation of how you felt inside. Their heads snapped towards you and they tried to cover up the fact that they have been arguing- not exactly arguing- all that time. They were failing. “Alright, I am done playing games” Sirius announced and you knew what was coming your way. “There is something that needs to be said” Remus continued. You just couldn’t take it. “No, don’t. Please, don’t put me in that position. Don’t you dare put me in that position” you were almost crying again. You knew that sooner or later you would have to face this. “She heard you earlier” James clarified with an arm around your waist, supporting you and protecting you as a brother would do. Because he knew that you had a thing for both of them. Their faces paled. “Then, who is it, love?” Sirius almost demanded. You closed your eyes and almost felt like passing out. You couldn’t do this. You simply couldn’t. How could you choose? WHY does it have to be a choice? Why things aren’t easier? You thought of all the times you wanted to grab Remus by his shirt and kiss him with such passion that the sea would be jealous. And then your mind traveled to Sirius and all the times you had thought about the exact same thing about him. Something sparked inside of you. You knew. You opened your eyes.

Tags: @orionsirivsblack @kapolisradomthoughts @nadinissavage @sirius-black-deserved-better

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[bigyack-com]

Marriott Opens First Aloft Hotel in Bali, Indonesia

Marriott has opened the first Aloft hotel in Bali, Indonesia. Located within walking distance of the beach, the Aloft Bali Seminyak features 80 guest rooms, of which eight have direct access to a lap pool. Each guest room features free Wi-Fi, 55-inch smart TV, Bluetooth speakers, and a mini bar, while bathrooms have a walk-in rainfall shower.

A variety of dining and social spaces are available to guests, including its main attraction: The Kahuna rooftop restaurant, which serves up a fusion of eclectic fare with a playful twist on international and local cuisine complemented by mesmerizing sea views as a backdrop. The hotel also features a W XYZ bar, 24/7 fitness centre, a rooftop infinity pool that features live music and DJ’s spinning until late, as well as two multi-functional meeting spaces which can be transformed into an intimate event venue accommodating up to 66 people. “We are thrilled to open the first Aloft hotel in Bali and to welcome the next generation of travellers to Indonesia’s most famous island destination,” said Kristanti Tannady, General Manager, Aloft Bali Seminyak. “Aloft Bali Seminyak offers a fresh hospitality experience, which brings a contrast between contemporary and traditional designs as well as a blend of both lively and serene lifestyles for guests. 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