#fascination street studios

[thisnoise]

So shut down your sky - bow down, lights out and die.

[gbhbl]

Album Review: Rotting Christ - Pro Xristou (ΠΡΟ ΧΡΙΣΤΟU) (Season of Mist)

Monolith of extreme metal, Rotting Christ return with their 14th studio album, Pro Xristou, set for release via Season of Mist on the 24th of May. Three decades have passed since Sakis Tholis and his brother Themis formed Rotting Christ together back in 1987. Over those decades,  the Greek titans have left their blackened imprint all over the metal world. They’ve released 13 studio albums and…

[dissapointu]

Arcane characters with a musician s/o

———————————————————————

Jinx

Jinx leans against the wall of your music studio, eyes wide with fascination as you strum the strings of your guitar. Her feet are bouncing to the beat, and her grin stretches from ear to ear.

“Hey! That was sick! Do it again! And this time, I’ll play the drums,” she insists, her voice bubbling with excitement. She practically bounces over to grab a set of drumsticks, a playful glint in her eyes.

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re gonna make it sound like chaos.”

“Exactly!” she says, grinning wildly, and without hesitation, she begins tapping on a nearby surface, adding her own rhythm to the song.

“You’re crazy,” you say with affection, but you continue playing, letting the sound flow as Jinx adds her own wild touch to it, creating a perfectly imperfect song.

Vi

Vi sits on the couch, arms crossed over her chest as she watches you tune your guitar. She smiles to herself, admiring your talent even if she doesn’t always understand the music.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” she says casually, her voice warm but soft. “The way you just lose yourself in the music, it’s… something else.”

You smile back, always appreciative of the way she supports you, even when you’re not performing in front of anyone. You start to play, and Vi leans forward, her eyes locked on you. She gets lost in the sound of the music, her usual tough exterior softening as she listens to the rhythm.

“Play me something slow,” she asks, her voice low and gentle, a hint of a smile on her lips.

You nod, playing a slower melody, and as she sits back with her eyes closed, you feel her relax entirely, letting the music speak for both of you.

Sevika

Sevika is used to being surrounded by the noise of the streets, but when you pull out your instrument, the world seems to quiet. She watches as you carefully place your fingers on the strings, starting a slow, melodic tune.

“You sure know how to calm things down,” she says with a raised brow, sitting across from you, her arms resting casually on her knees.

You grin. “Music does that for me.”

Sevika leans back, folding her arms and letting the music flow. She’s not the type to show much emotion, but the quiet peace in the room makes her softer. When you finish, she gives you a rare smile, her voice low, “You’ve got something special, you know?”

Her appreciation is quiet but genuine, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell.

Silco

Silco watches you from across the room as you practice your scales, his gaze sharp and calculating as always. When you finish, you look up, meeting his gaze.

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for,” Silco comments, his tone cool but oddly approving. He doesn’t say much, but the way his eyes flicker with interest shows how much he values your talent.

You laugh softly, strumming your instrument. “You’re just saying that to make me feel good.”

“Perhaps,” Silco replies, his lips curling into a small, cryptic smile. “But you have skill. It’s rare to find someone with both your drive and ability.”

You smile at his praise, even if he doesn’t show much outward emotion. In his own way, Silco appreciates your music more than he lets on.

Vander

Vander watches you carefully as you play a soft tune, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest, and there’s a content look on his face as the music fills the space.

“You know, I didn’t expect a musician to be so good at making things look so easy,” he says, chuckling softly. He’s not often one to give praise, but he’s genuinely impressed.

You finish the piece, glancing up at him. “Guess it’s just practice.”

“I’d say more than that,” Vander comments, his deep voice carrying warmth. “You put something into it that most people don’t.”

You feel a quiet pride swell within you, appreciating his kind words.

Ekko

Ekko grins as you play a fast-paced beat on your drums, his hands tapping rhythmically along with your beats. He leans in close, his voice animated. “You know, you’ve got a rhythm in you, just like the city. Fast, unpredictable, and damn fun.”

You chuckle, picking up the tempo and watching Ekko’s eyes light up with excitement. He’s always so full of energy and life, but when it comes to music, he’s as serious as you are.

He leans against the counter, glancing over at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You think you can keep up with me? Let’s see what happens when we try to make a song together.”

You nod, tapping your foot to the beat as Ekko grabs his makeshift instrument. Together, you create a melody that’s all energy and chaos—a perfect reflection of both of you.

Jayce

Jayce watches you from across the room as you gently play a soft tune on the piano, his expression a mix of admiration and fascination. He can’t help but be in awe of your ability to make something so beautiful with your hands.

“You know,” he says, walking over and leaning against the piano, “I always thought science was the most intricate thing in the world. But what you do… there’s a kind of magic in it. A complexity I don’t fully understand, but I can’t help but respect it.”

You smile at him. “Music’s like science in a way, don’t you think? It has its own set of rules, and you have to find the rhythm.”

Jayce tilts his head, thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right. And I’ll never tire of hearing you play.”

Victor

Victor listens intently as you play a soft, melancholy melody on your violin. The sound resonates in the air, and for a moment, he seems lost in thought, his usually stern expression softening.

“I didn’t expect this,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “I always thought you were only about your work.”

You laugh lightly. “Is that what you think of me?”

Victor looks almost sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve been so focused on… well, other things. But this? This is something special.”

You smile softly, appreciative of his unexpected praise. He’s not often one for words, but in this moment, you can tell that he genuinely respects your music.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn watches as you play a soft tune on the piano, her eyes softening at the sound. “You have a real talent for this,” she says, leaning against the doorway, her voice tinged with admiration.

You smile, continuing to play. “Music helps me think… and sometimes it’s just nice to let it all out.”

Caitlyn steps closer, watching your fingers glide over the keys with ease. “I can tell. It’s beautiful.” She moves to sit next to you, her smile gentle as she admires you. “I think I’m in love with more than just the music.”

You glance at her, heart swelling as she looks at you with affection.

————————————————————————

(This was my last saved prompt, so uploads might be slower since I have to write new ones)

[hannieehaee]

Svt members types like would some prefer opposite attracts, similar

their preference in a partner

content: established relationship implied, neutral reader (not exactly a reader-insert though), etc.

wc: 818

a/n: these are just based on assumptions of mine! i dont think any of them are into one single specific type of person, so i mostly focused on personality and style!

masterlist

seungcheol -

i think he'd be into a baddie lmao. he gives me the vibe that he likes someone who exudes confidence and has people falling at their feet. he'd love the immense pride he'd feel knowing that he pulled them and no one else.

jeonghan -

someone unexpected. most people would assume that he'd go for someone with an innocent and angelic look (similar to him), but i think he'd be into someone with an edgier style. he would still like someone with an innocent and sweet demeanor, but an edgier look (and ofc a similar sense of humor to his).

joshua -

im torn between thinking he'd love either a baddie or someone with a more reserved and cute style. either way, i think he would love someone who carries an air of confidence. someone who's just as charming and likable as he is. would probably want someone who seems very well put-together and just looks expensive.

jun -

i see him going for someone similar to the girl who played his love interest in the drama he was recently in (regardless of gender; just someone he can comfortably joke around with and is very comfortable with). as for style, he might be into someone who exudes an expensive and put-together vibe; someone who carries an air of confidence.

soonyoung -

i picture him going for someone very smart and well-read. he seems to be fascinated by learning new things (he's always asking carats questions and engaging in convo during lives), so i think he'd love to learn from an s/o and would be turned on by intellect. as for style, probably someone who has a similar style to his own, very chic and street-style-ish. i also think he'd love someone who's clueless about dancing or music bc he'd love to show them everything he knows.

wonwoo -

he'd probably go for someone similar to him. by this i mean that it'd be someone lowkey and calm like him. someone who shares his interest (photography, video games, editing, music, etc) and also shares a similar vibe to him. he'd look for someone who brings comfort and has a similar mindset to his own.

jihoon -

i feel like he would go for someone who's very different from him. someone who's very 'out-there' and who would try to get him out of his shell (and out of the studio lmao). style-wise, he does not give me the vibe that he has a preference, but maybe someone with a similar style to his (mostly darker colors and very relaxed).

seokmin -

i think he would be into the 'perfect ___ next door.' he would be into someone sweet and charismatic, but maybe a little shy. he would want someone who would be the perfect recipient for all his affections; likely someone a bit more introverted than him, because i think he would enjoy someone who's a bit shy to his affections (it'd make him have cuteness overload at you). as for style, i think probably that cute sorta preppy korean street style you see a lot on pinterest.

mingyu -

he'd probably go for someone who has a similar extroverted personality. someone who will flirt back with him and just exudes the same heartthrob energy he does. as for style, a mixture of a baddie and a cute/relaxed style. i dont think he bases his interest in style, though. he probably goes off the compatibility your personalities may have.

minghao -

its hard to tell with him ngl. im torn between someone with edgy style or someone who exudes poise and elegance (like him). regardless of that, i think he would want someone who is very self expressive and has a very unique style and personality. would love someone who shares his interests for the arts.

seungkwan -

i see him with someone who has a preppy and cute style, very similar to his own. he's sooo extroverted he could probably be extroverted for the both of you, so he would likely go for someone either introverted or extroverted. personality-wise, i think he'd like someone he can banter with in the way he does with his brothers.

vernon -

like jeonghan, i think he would go for someone with an edgier style. if you have a goth or edgy type of style, he's on his knees for you. would also go for someone chill and self-assured, similarly to him. he would either rlly enjoy a s/o who was equally into music and movies as him OR someone kinda clueless who he could teach about his fave movies/music.

chan -

he'd 100% want someone in his field. dance is his life, so i think he'd go for someone who understands his love for it and also shares it. this means he would likely go for someone active that could keep up with him. as for style, i think he would simp for you regardless of how you presented yourself.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Catch of the Eye | Azriel x Hippy!Reader

Summary: After you moved into Velaris, your bright demeanor and clothing seemed to demand Azriel’s attention, as well as the rumors of the Princess of Autumn’s disappearance.

Word Count: ~ 800

Warnings: None!

A/N: This request had me cracking up while writing it bc the idea of a hippy bamboozling az into silence is so funny to me, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Ever since Azriel had met you, since you’d moved from Autumn Court, you always managed to utterly flabbergast him in ways that shouldn’t be possible for the stoic shadowsinger.

It had all started when he’d noticed the bright, almost obnoxious clothing you always had. Some weren’t bad, like the jeans you would wear with bright floral patterns accenting them, or the flowery shirts or skirts you’d wear.

Your fashion sense was the complete opposite of his, and since you had moved to Velaris under his suggestion, he got to see your wacky outfits every day.

Sandals were a common choice, not to mention warm-toned clothes, cardigans, and knitted tops. The earrings you wore were nothing like he’d seen before, not even trying to be elegant or beautiful, just giving an extra pop of color and flare to your outfit.

It fascinated him.

He’d always seen proper noble women trying to be beautiful or elegant or alluring, but you weren’t that at all. You were just…yourself. You didn’t care about what others thought, you were a rule unto your own law. You were just so out there, sticking out like a sore thumb, but in a good way.

Your bright clothes and personality became a comforting sight for him amongst the dark color theme of Night Court, with most residents opting for black.

And your opinions?

Completely outrageous. But also funny.

Like when you rambled on about how Fae should need a license to winnow, to ensure that they weren’t endangering themselves or others if their skills weren’t good enough. Or how any winged Fae should also need licenses, for the same reason.

He will never forget the time that you told Rhysand to his face on one of your first few times meeting his family that if Velaris was already peaceful and perfect, why not expand that principle to Hewn City, too?

And when he’d tried to explain that the people of Hewn City were too stubborn and hateful for that, you’d just called his reasoning “stupid” and an “excuse” because he just wanted to live in his little paradise city and not deal with the problems of the Court.

That had frazzled Rhys.

In fact, you frazzled almost everyone in the Inner Circle. Except Cassian. He seemed to find you extremely entertaining. You’d nearly given some of them a heart attack, especially since your fiery red hair and hazel eyes oddly resembled the Princess of Autumn, who hadn’t made a public appearance in months, and some people were getting suspicious.

Once getting over the initial hurdle of them adjusting to you, Feyre invited you to her art studio, and when Azriel got there (he’d volunteered to help with some of the paints since he didn’t have any missions that week) he saw you, an absolute mess of paint, helping all the children. You were surprisingly good at it, knowing just what colors to mix for them, giving them what they needed and when, and generally working well with Feyre even if all your paintings were bright and usually neon, and hurt his eyes a bit if he looked too long.

“You’re good with them.”

He spoke to you as he walked down the street, you alongside him as you finally left her painting studio.

“I’ve handled kids before, they’re pretty fun usually.”

He raised a brow at that.

“Did you…babysit, or something?”

He asked, the mental image of you watching and caring for a child for an extended period of time not exactly a great one.

“No, I helped raise my little brother. He was always a more mellow kid, but he had a tongue on him, that was for sure. I oughta visit Luci sometime soon.”

He listened. You’d never mentioned brothers before, or any family at all, really. It didn’t help his suspicions.

“‘Luci’ is an odd name for a boy.”

He commented dryly, and you, clearly not catching onto his sarcasm, as you rarely did, only laughed.

“Boys can be named whatever, but his full name’s Lucien.”

He stopped walking at that, and you continued, oblivious to it until he jogged to catch up.

“You’re Lucien’s sister? As in Lucien Vanserra?”

He asked in a quiet but surprised tone. You only nodded, grinning at him in that lazy, relaxed manner you always had.

“Our secret!”

You declared, before prancing off to go look at the bright fabrics of your favorite salesmen in Velaris. You’d already befriended more than half of the people there, and they all seemed to like you.

Cauldron help anyone who befriended you, and definitely help the shadowsinger stuck as your mate for eternity.

[justalittlerandomartist]

Daddy’s Little Monster

•Alastor x teen! daughter! reader

•Platonic, you sickos

•What if… Alastor had a daughter who wanted to be a serial killer too?

You woke up to a red sky. There was a great pain in your head, and your vision was blurry. Once you were fully oriented, you stood up. What was this place? It was like prison, and god, it smelled awful. When you looked up at the pentagram over the sky, it dawned on you. You had died. You were in hell.

It was no surprise why you were in hell. You weren’t the best human. You indulged in a bit of cannibalism, and wanted to be an assassin when you were older. Older. That was something you’ll never be. You were just 13, thirteen and dead. However, how you died was a mystery. You had no memory of how you died.

Could it be you were murdered? No, you hadn’t made many enemies. Maybe fell from somewhere high? No, you were too scared of heights to be anywhere high. Hit by a car? You were always careless crossing the street. Yes, that had to be it.

You looked down at your new form. You had bright blue skin, and dark blue hair(She kinda looks like Ruby Gillman). The hair in your pigtails was now in thick, tentacle, like strands. Your ears were similar to fins, and your limbs were long and stretchy. You were some sort of kraken.

It made sense you were a sea creature though. You had always found yourself fascinated with the sea and the animals that inhabit that. You wished that one day you would be able to dive in there, and never have to return to the surface. You had longed to be down there with the fish and the animals. It felt like home more than the surface ever did.

You felt…at peace in hell, like you wanted to stay here. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, but it felt like home. But your friends…everyone you left behind. Wouldn’t they miss you? For a moment in time, you wanted to go back. Go back to tell your best friend you loved her one last time. You felt her pain and her tears, and it broke your heart. But you can’t change the past. All you can do is love her and remember.

You decide to walk around your new environment. The buildings look old and run down, and people are fighting. You pass a porn studio, and laugh to yourself. Hell seemed like the kind of place where a giant porn studio would be a normal occurrence. Something catches your eye. A vending machine for drugs. You think about it for a second, but decide not to get anything.

You walk near a place called Cannibal Town, and saw some demons eating a guy. You wanted to join in, the taste of human flesh lingering in your brain, fueling your desires. In front of you was a singing demon, with a resemblance to a porcelain doll. She seemed to improv her whole song, and it amazed you. You loved to sing, and was impressed by her skills. You wanted to tell her, but you would feel bad for interrupting her song.

After exploring hell, you found a street corner to cozy up in. As your first day in hell concluded, you thought to yourself ‘is eternal damnation as bad as I thought?’

______________________________________

•Hi! My names Vicky, I’m a sucker for platonic au’s. My head cannons take a while, but if my requests are open, I might make your idea for a fanfic, so be sure to ask.

•This was fun to write and it is not done. I’m just tired.

•Part 2 •Part 3 •Part 4 •Part 5

[gothicflowers]

John Price x f!Reader

“Of course my love, always”

SFW + Fluff

“Hello, names John price. Laswell has told me all about you” the broad shouldered British man eagerly shook your hand.

You could feel your face heating up at the sight of him “All good things I hope”

“Well you are as beautiful as she said” he said before he could think.

“You always this cheeky” you ask

“Of course my love, always” he grinned

Stretching out your arms you look to John “Thank goodness we got all that paperwork done”

“Agreed, i don’t even want to look at my computer for the next week” John lets out a sigh and sinks into his chair.

“Understandable” you giggle at his tired expression “and with how late it is I refuse to cook dinner when I get home” your stomach rumbling since it was almost ten at night.

John perks up with a idea “Pub down the end of the street has good food, come with me”

Cocking your eyebrow you take a chance to flirt with him “You asking me out to dinner John”

“Only if you accept” a cheeky smile shines across his tired face.

“A dance studio” John asks intrigued.

“That’s the dream, I still work as a choreographer when I actually have time” you giggle at his surprise. Walking back over you hand him a cup of coffee.

“You sure are full of surprises” John never fails to be amazed at your talents.

“They charge you too much for rent for this bullshit” John grunts as he’s trying to fix the kitchen sink

“I know, landlord won’t even call a repair company for anything” your hands on your hips as you watch him work. He insisted you go back to watching your show, but who would pass up watching him in a fitted shirt and jeans.

“How about we stop trying to keep this place from flooding and you just move it with me” John’s expression was dead serious.

“You’re ready to wake up to me every morning”

John sets the wrench on the floor and looks at you with adoration “Of course my love, always”

“We should get a dog” you casually said as you made the way up the steps to his mom’s home.

“A dog” John had never considered getting a dog before, always on missions without someone to watch a furry companion.

“Yes, like a corgi” your fascination with the dog breed was something you loved to talk about.

“How about a fish”

“How long” you asked trying to gather your feelings. You’re still getting used to the idea him leaving not just as your boss, but as your partner.

“Two months, give or take a few weeks” John nonchalantly says as he throws the ball for the corgi puppy he got you.

“You promise to come back to me” you wrap your arms around him looking into his golden brown eyes.

“Of course my love, always” John leans in to kiss you.

You heard the front door open and close and a gruff voice trying to calm the excited dog greeting him.

“You’re back” you round the corner excitedly.

“As promised” John looks up at you and his body language visibly relaxes at the sight of you. Home.

“Sooner than expected” you smile

His hands pull you in close “Told the boss lady to speed things up, have someone waiting on me at home” a smirk comes across his lips as he leans down to kiss you.

You both relax on the beach watching the sunset during your much needed vacation. Sitting on the blanket with your drink in hand you watch as John shifts to his knees.

“I had a whole speech planned out for this. But I don’t think I’ll ever have the right words to describe my love for you. Will you marry me” John asks breathlessly awaiting your response.

You couldn’t get the words out at first, just nodding yes over and over. “Of course” you blurt out as a tear of joy falls.

“How long” you ask. You could tell by John’s body language he was not confident about this mission.

He sighs as his hand come to the back of his neck “I don’t know”

“You come back to me, promise” your loving voice says to him. You’d wait an eternity if that’s what it takes.

“Of course my love, always” John nods with a half assured smile, worried that he might break his promise this time.

“John, what happened” you caress his cheek looking at the stitched up cut. Hugging him gently not to hurt his slow healing bullet wounds.

“I’m alive don’t worry about the rest” he knew seeing the tears coming from your eyes he couldn’t let this happen again.

“You came back, and that’s all that matters”

“Of course my love, always”

“You don’t have go to the store with me, you’ve been gone nine months. Rest my love” you tell him. He hasn’t left your warm embrace all week since his return.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m going with. Being around you is my peace and rest”

“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat” the doctor says to you both. Your heart shatters into a million pieces. John’s heart breaks at the loss and watching the most important person in his life fall apart in his arms.

“Is it something I did, is there something I could have done” you sob.

“Unfortunately miscarriages are more likely in the first trimester. You did nothing wrong Mrs.Price.” The doctor softly replied as you cried into John’s chest.

“It’s going to be okay, we’re gonna get through this together” John whispers while kissing your temple.

“I love you” you say through the tears.

John’s hand squeezes yours “I love you always”

“Enjoy the retirement captain” ghost says to John. A bittersweet moment to their paths departing one another. They’ll meet again someday you’re sure, but not like this. Just as friends

“Take care Simon” John says softly

“Always John” Simon says with a soft smile.

“You ok love” you whisper to John as he sits up in the bed from his nightmare.

“You’re still by me, so of course my love, always”

John quickly grabs the ringing phone “Thank you for calling Artistry Dance Studio, how can I help you. Yes the owner is in, would you like to speak with her” if you would have told John fifteen years ago he’d be retired and helping run his wife’s dance studio he’d have laughed. But he’s happy.

“boy or girl” he softly asked.

“It’s a girl” the nurse said.

John didn’t have words, he only had tears of joy as the newborn was placed on your chest.

“Are you gonna be here to pick me after” the shy little girl asks John.

“Of course my love, always” he was wrapped around his daughter’s finger. He watched her walk into the preschool classroom and take her seat trying not to cry.

You all sat down outside on the porch enjoying the weather and John’s culinary skills that prepared dinner.

“Taste alright” John questioned.

“Of course my love, always” you happily replied.

Looking at your daughter you nod at John giving him the green light. “You know how you asked for another sister” John told his little girl. She nods excitedly.

“You’re getting two more little sisters” you happily say. Yours and John’s little five year old couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Can you grab your sisters blankets from inside” John asks his eldest daughter.

“If I do can I grab a chocolate from the jar” your daughter that is so much like her father asks.

John whispers to her. “Yes, don’t let your sisters see though. They’ll wipe the jar clean of what’s left”

“Thanks dad” her little voice whispers back.

“Of course my love” he smiles watching her run back inside.

John bear hugs all his daughters after handing them each a bouquet of flowers. The twins first ballet show and your eldest first solo performance. “You did such a beautiful job my loves. I’m so proud of you all” he turns to you after putting them down. He hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers “and you my love, as amazing show as always” he gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

You giggle “Thank you. You know, I should have gotten my assistant flowers as well.” Your finger hooks onto his belt loop discreetly, pulling him just a little closer “He actually hand sewed three costumes, I think I’m gonna give him something better than flowers.” you sweetly said. John’s face turns just a little pink at your words.

“Hey dad” your oldest runs into the house almost yelling “I passed my permit! Can we go practice driving now” she was overjoyed to learn.

“Good job kiddo, of course we can. Let me grab my coat” John was excited to teach her, but it also means his baby was getting older. She looks just like her mom only with John’s dark hair. And no matter how old she gets he still sees her as a chubby baby, gripping his finger as he rocked her to sleep.

“Mom! She took them again!” The oldest twin yells out from her room.

You sigh as your two teenagers always bicker over yet another pair of shoes, last week it was over a pink skirt. It wasn’t even theirs, it was yours.

“I’ll talk to her when she gets home, just wear her black ones” never in a million years did you think that this was the hardest part of having twins. Clothing and shoes.

“Oh love, come here” you pull a tearfulJohn into your arms. Today was the twins high school graduation. John was excited to see his girls graduate, but was devastated his little girls were growing up. “I’m just not ready for them to leave, they’re so big. My little girls” john says trying to choke back the tears. John cried when his oldest graduated and now as his twins do.

“You know, they didn’t get it from me” he looks down at you in his arms as you both cuddled on the couch. Looking at your adult daughters who all came home for Christmas.

“Get what” you laughed.

“One is a lawyer, one’s a doctor, one’s an astrophysicist. I could barely write a report. All those incredible brains are definitely your dna.” John points out.

“I’d say it’s a mix, I might be smart but they have your determination to succeed.”

Simon and John sit on the porch drinking tea. They’d been at their conversation for over five hours.

“Three” Simon repeated John’s words shocked.

John laughed “Yup, all three are getting married this summer”

“John my love” you whisper to John as he tosses and turns in the bed from his nightmare. It had been almost thirty years since his last mission. The nightmares are few and far between now days.

John opens his tired eyes and looks at you.

“I’m alright my love” his hand hold yours as you both fall back asleep.

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Come play with us!” Your youngest grandson yells for John. All three daughters and their spouses plus the seven grandchildren gathered in yours and John’s home for Christmas. Laughter filled the air as the children played. John’s arm still hung around your waist.

“And to think this is all because Laswell insisted I have an assistant” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I almost told her no” you giggle.

“You never told me that” John said surprised.

Laughing at the memory “Laswell showed me your file. I didn’t even read it fully. I seen your photo and knew I had to have you”

John’s hand came down to your butt to give it a little pat “You cheeky woman” even in his older age John always flirted with you.

“Alright kids, smile” your eldest daughter tells all the kids as the photographer takes the photo. You made it a mission to get family photos done every two years. And this year was the easiest with all the grandkids being in their teens.

“Smile or I’m tickling you all till you buggers are blue” John says resulting in laughter from everyone.

“You look just as beautiful as the day we got married here” John says as he helps you to your seats at your grandsons wedding.

“Oh john, you always remind me. You’ll never let me forget” you kiss his cheek admiring his now aged face and grey beard.

“Of course my love, Always”

“Three daughters, seven grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren” John’s deep voice pulls you from your book.

“Grandpa, how did you meet grandma” your great granddaughter asks.

“Come, all you rascals. Let me tell you about how I managed to get such a wonderful woman.” John proudly boasts.

The living room that once was just you, John and your firstborn has turned into a crowded room full of generations. Everyone gathered around in the living room as John starts his story.

“Promise you’ll wait for me” your old aged hand grabs his weak one. You smiled at the love of your life as you’re both surrounded by your daughters.

“Of course my love, always” he smiles as he looks around at the greatest love he’s ever known and the three beautiful women they raised. He closes his eyes smiling and took his last breath.

You open your eyes as you stood in your small home in the country. Your favorite record playing on the turntable, sweet sent of vanilla filling the air. You turn to the mirror. You’re young again. In the reflection you see him, standing in his faded jeans and a half buttoned up shirt. Turning to him you smiled

“You waited for me” you both walked towards each other meeting in the middle of the room. His arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close. Admiring the details on his face, just as he was the day you first met. Eyes filled with the same love he departed the wold with.

“Of course my love, always”

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[canmom]

Animation Night 173: Takashi Nakamura

Hi everyone! It's that time of the week again~

The day that puppets bite their gloves off.

Tonight on Animation Night we'll be taking a look at the works of Takashi Nakamura (中村 たかし).

Nakamura is a director who flies under the radar a bit over here, but for those who know him, he's a unique director - one who we've actually encountered a couple of times before, actually! He directed one of my favourite shorts in Robot Carnival [Animation Night 158] Chicken Man and Red Neck, in which the machinery of a city comes alive to have a violently strange Bosch-like party led by a strange red-robed robot, witnessed only by one salaryman on a moped...

...and if you remember when we looked into the three adaptations of Project Itoh's novels [Animation Night 127], he co-directed Harmony with Michael Arias, a powerfully understated film about a high tech biopower future and people who reject its utopia through a suicide pact. We also saw him in the Japan Animator Expo, with the charming Bubu & Bubulina...

But let's give a fuller story...

As an animator, Nakamura entered the industry very young, signing on as a colourist and inbetweener at Tatsunoko in 1974 - at which point he was only 16, an aspiring mangaka newly arrived in Tokyo. Working in Tatsunoko's distinctive 'industry within an industry', he was introduced to Hirokazu Ishino's 'Anidō' association, in which he was introduced to not just many important animators but also had the chance to see animation from around the world, from Norm McLaren to Japanese independent animators like Kenzō Masaoka. The two films that got him most excited were Takahata's Horus, Prince of the Sun [AN41] and Disney's Fantasia [AN15], both of which contained incredible flexes of effects animation.

(Incidentally, it makes me happy that a lot of the films Watzky mentions showing at Anidō showed up on here! Following in the footsteps of giants and all that.)

Once Nakamura got the animation bug he put aside his manga aspirations and became a key animator, going freelance a couple years later. In 1979 he saw Galaxy Express 999, and got to witness the insane 'liquid fire' effects of Kanada, and he instantly became a devotee - soon enough getting a chance to work with Kanada directly.

And by the early 80s Nakamura was definitely making a name, already working in animation direction and solo-animating entire episodes of Gold Lightan for Tatsunoko. The next couple of years he'd end up working on Nausicaa, Macross DYRL and the with Rintaro [AN53, 134] on Genma Taisen. By now he was specialising hard in effects (not unlike Anno!), and his work had become terrifyingly elaborate, look at this building collapsing into every single element or the clothes coming to the life under the power of a psychic. His work also inspired another incredibly significant animator to enter the industry - Kōji Morimoto, future cofounder of Studio 4°C - and they ended up working together on Genma Taisen.

Meanwhile on Nausicaa, Morimoto handled some of its most memorable scenes like the opening sequence where Nausicaa is pursued by the giant Ohmu. Once again you see his fascination with effects and debris, like the shot where the Ohmu explodes out of the forest, sending stalks flying in every directions. In Macross DYRL he animated the scenes of the gravity flipping sideways and a street's worth of stuff tumbling down all at once, elaborating on a scene by Itano from the TV show.

In short, if there's lots of bits of stuff flying around in a mid-80s movie, there's a good chance that Nakamura was involved somehow.

Such a focus made him a perfect fit for the 'realist school' developing in the late 80s - whyat you might loosely call the Otomo circle. You see his work on both Manie-Manie/Neo Tokyo and Robot Carnival, and naturally enough he ended up part of the team for Akira. Given what he'd already accomplished, could he somehow step it up another notch? You bet.

Going by sakugabooru comments, Nakamura's role in Akira was mainly related to two things: explosions, and animation direction. Considering how iconic the explosions in Akira are, and how challenging it was to animate Otomo's very solid and 3D designs... the success of the film depended a lot on Nakamura's insane drawing skills. Further, he was a kind of 'teacher' to the rest of the staff, such as Morimoto. But this was apparently the 'limit' for Nakamura, and after Akira he turned from creating animation for others.

And this point marks a major stylistic turn in Nakamura's work. Starting with the World Masterpiece Theatre adaptation of Peter Pan, on which he worked as character designer, he adopted a highly stripped-down, simplified style. With all the Akira goodwill, he was able to pull in many of the new stars of the 'realist' school, from Okiura to Ohira. But his work became a lot less flashy, focusing more on a Disney-like approach where it's about creating a consistent sense of life rather than individual flashy sequences.

The Hakkenden [AN 122] was one of his first chances to experiment with the new style as a director, with Episode 4 really kicking off the series' trend of completely redesigning the characters according to the sensibilities of each director. He also worked on the kinda obscure but gorgeous realist-school film Junkers Come Here [AN 118] as his own film debut, Catnapped!, progressed.

So Catnapped! This is a weird movie. Many people see a Disney influence in its style, and it definitely broke the 90s trend with a younger target audience - but Disney could never make a movie filled with as much imaginative strange shit as this one. Watzky points out how much Otomo influence there is in the direction - dense environments and elaborate multiplane shots, in contrast to simple character designs which afford a lot of movement. These designs allow great animators like Okiura [AN139] (who animated most of the finale) to really go to town. There's a great para in Watzky's article on the different directions taken by the 'realist' animators.

Catnapped is a pretty short film at less that 80 minutes, a revel of visual imagination; Nakamura's next film A Tree of Palme is just as distinctive but in a different direction. It's another take on the Pinocchio story [c.f. AN138], but a very 'dark, metaphysical' one, with its biggest inspirations apparently being French - Moebius and René Laloux [AN71, 93], with Mutsuo Koseki coming up with art direction capable of comparing to Laloux. The three year megaproject pulled in animator legends from across the board - Inoue, Ohashi, Ando, Masuo, Matsutake, Umetsu! (Count how many directed part of Robot Carnival).

The character designs of Palme look simple in stills, but once you see them in motion, they're anything but - incredibly volumetric and full of life and movement.

In the 2000s and 2010s, Nakamura ended up working with Colorido and 4C a lot (naturally enough given the connection with Morimoto!), increasingly making effective use of CG in his projects. This led up to The Portrait Studio (写真館 Shashinkan) (c.f. AniObsessive) in 2015 - an almost solo short film, with Nakamura writing, storyboarding, designing characters and doing all the key animation, which is a kind of slice through Japanese history through the lens of a photographer who just wants to figure out a way to get his client to smile.

Much like Palme, The Portrait Studio combines simple character designs (in a stylised picture-book look) with very precise, realist animation on 2s and 1s to lend them a sense of density and 'existence'. Moreover, unlike most anime, it uses the raw pencils as finished lines instead of redrawing them clean on a computer. The style might call to mind Otomo's Cannon Fodder, and in fact the two films share a colour designer. 3D is integrated with an unusual degree of skill and subtlety. It makes for a fascinating combination, a very memorable and impactful film for all its apparent simplicity.

So, that's our focus for tonight! We'll be watching Catnapped!, A Tree of Palme and The Portrait Studio, and getting to find out what the deal is with Nakamura - one of the Very Important Guys in the history of anime, influential on so many of my faves... but all too often overlooked by people who aren't like, huge animation nerds.

If that sounds fun, come join me at twitch.tv/canmom - going live in just a minute! I've been wanting to do Nakamura for ages, and today I finally found energy for a writeup. See you there~

[aventurineswife]

What about...Aventurine, Ratio and Boothill w/ a s/o who's a model?

“Confidence is the best outfit. Rock it and own it”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Fluff, Romance, Established Relationship, Model!Reader, Playful Affection, Introspection.

A/N: VICTORIA'S SECRET ANGEL ADRIANA LIMA!! 🗣️🔥

Aventurine leaned against the entrance of the studio, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched you prepare for the photoshoot. The elegant, confident way you moved, every step purposeful, made his heart race. He wasn’t one for admiration, but there was something about the way you owned the space that made him see you in a whole new light.

"Do you always look this dangerous?" he asked with a smirk, his eyes scanning your outfit—a daring, high-fashion ensemble that reflected both your elegance and your strength.

You turned to him, a playful smile curling at your lips. "You know I always keep it risky." you replied, giving him a wink. The mischievousness in your voice matched the glint in his eyes.

As the photographer called you to the set, Aventurine’s gaze never left you. He saw not just the model but the strategist—the one who played the game as skillfully as he did. You and he had a shared understanding, a bond built on your mutual appreciation for calculated moves.

"You’ll own this shoot," he whispered, his voice low and intimate. "But remember, the risk is what makes it fun."

Later, when the shoot wrapped up and you joined him in the lounge, you shared a quiet moment over drinks. He leaned in close, his hand gently brushing yours. "I think I’ve found my favorite model." he teased, his words filled with affection and unspoken admiration.

The soft hum of the city echoed in the background as Boothill stood by the window, his mechanical arm resting casually on the ledge. His gaze never wavered from the skyline, but his mind was elsewhere, focused on you. The way you commanded attention in front of the camera, the way the light reflected off your model features—everything about you made his mechanical heart(?) skip.

He wasn’t one for the glitz and glamour of the fashion world. He was used to the roughness of the streets and the harsh realities of the galaxy. But there was something captivating about you—your beauty was as fierce and untamed as the storms he chased in the wild.

You approached him, the elegant attire you wore shimmering in the low light. Boothill’s sharp eyes softened as you smiled at him. "You think I look good in this?" you asked with a teasing grin.

Boothill let out a soft chuckle, the sound foreign to his usual gruff demeanor. "You look like you could kill a man with a single glance." he said, his voice laced with admiration.

You smirked, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Then you won’t mind me stealing your heart while I’m at it."

Boothill placed a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. His usual bluntness softened in your presence, and for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace. "Never met anyone quite like you, darlin'. You’re a lot more dangerous than you look."

Ratio stood with arms crossed, his hair cascading down one side of his face as his eyes focused intently on you. You were sitting across from him, preparing for your latest photoshoot, and though he would never admit it, he found the entire process... fascinating. The way you held yourself with such poise, the way your movements were as precise as any equation he solved in his lab—there was something undeniably perfect about you.

“Your posture,” he remarked, breaking the silence. “It’s… immaculate. A study in controlled elegance.”

You chuckled softly, adjusting your position slightly. "You’re too kind. But I do strive for perfection, as you do."

He tilted his head slightly, his piercing eyes narrowing with approval. "Perfection is an elusive concept," he replied, his voice always measured. "But you, my dear, come closer to it than anyone I’ve encountered."

The photoshoot proceeded, but Ratio remained transfixed by your every move. He had seen brilliance in many forms, but your beauty wasn’t just skin deep—it was the perfect blend of intellect and grace. As the shoot ended, he walked over to you, his hand brushing the edge of your attire as he offered a small but genuine smile. "You are a work of art." he said, almost to himself.

You smiled back, a warmth radiating from you that even his stoic nature couldn't ignore. "And you, Doc, are the one who can truly appreciate it."

He studied you for a moment longer, his expression softening. "Indeed, I am." he admitted, his voice tinged with rare admiration.

[byhees]

polaroid memories.

엔하이픈 형선 ・ female reader + word count 400 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read kissing skinship — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung

would probably take you to a cute little fair for a date; him showing off his carnival game skills by winning you heaps of prizes— there’s the prettiest smile etched on his features when he catches sight of your grin, your arms full with different stuffed animals; standing by street-food carts, and waiting for your orders to be churned out— him stealing a peck on your cheek, head turning to look away from your widened eyes almost immediately after; going on the ferris wheel, and sitting close to one another, hands interlocked and rested on his thigh— his eyes subconsciously shifting to gaze at your side profile every so often, admiring the fascination imbued in your features.

jongseong

would probably take you on a night hike for a date; it’s so comforting to just enjoy the tranquility of the city— there’s the chirping of cicadas, and the occasional honking of faraway cars; lying on the grassy expanse— him offering his arm for you to rest your head on; pointing out the many constellations above, and simply enjoying one another’s company; he’d pepper your face with soft kisses, and shower you with pretty affirmations; him offering to piggyback you on the way down, not wanting you to tire yourself out.

jaeyun

would probably take you to a pottery studio for a date; he’d help you tie a knot at the back of your apron, fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of your shirt. returning the gesture, you’d do the same, a small smile blossoming across your features; him guiding you through the moulding process, his hands lightly resting on yours, your back softly brushing against his chest; carving one another’s initials as a memento for the cute date; him resting his chin on your shoulder, looking over at the little finished product on the tabletop with the prettiest smile.

sunghoon

would take you to an aquarium for a date; carries a little camera around with him— takes pretty candid photos of you, eyes twinkling as he views the picture in the image gallery; pointing out peculiar sea creatures, and horribly butchering their names; playing around at those interactive exhibits, and watching in amusement as projected beams of light paint the walls of a room, small fishes now being illuminated; him buying cute souvenirs from the little shop by the end of the aquarium— winds up getting a matching set of stingray headbands.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[gbhbl]

EP Review: Fascination Street Sessions by Ihsahn (Candlelight Records)

Norwegian progressive metal pioneer Ihsahn returns with his latest release, Fascination Street Sessions EP on March 24th via Candlelight Records. Since 1991 Ihsahn has defied expectations and pushed boundaries. More than any other artist to emerge from the fertile black metal scene of the early ‘90s, Ihsahn has firmly established himself as an unpredictable maverick. Frontman and chief composer…

[cool-fancier]

A Digital Dance of Hearts

Synopsis: In a fascinating Instagram Live, you and Bada intrigued fans with warmth and sincerity through humorous banter, passionate interactions, and true love.

Word count: 3k

In an array of your shared history with Bada, 2021 represented a significant chapter—a year that saw a silent dance transformed into a musical symphony of love.

Your paths had crossed in the most unexpected of ways, a collision of worlds within Seoul's thriving dance scene. Bada had been a source amidst the sea of dancers, a power that caught your attention from the first interaction.

The relationship between you and Bada was created  during a dance showcase, an event filled with the energy of skill and creativity. She danced with a grace that appeared to defy gravity, her movements  creating a story of passion and emotion that spoke to the audience.

After the show, among the abundance of praise and honours, fate drew you both into each other's circle.  A conversation began, a meeting of minds that extended beyond the realm of dance moves and choreography.

Days passed into evenings, spent in the quiet corners of small cafes and on Seoul's bustling streets. Laughter became the soundtrack to your conversations, and the unspoken connection grew into a common understanding that extended beyond the dance floor.

The turning point arrived during a quiet evening stroll through the city park—a symphony of crickets accompanying your footsteps. Bada glanced to you with a vulnerability that connected with the silent wishes racing within your own heart, her eyes mirroring the glittering city lights.

"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," she began, her voice a gentle melody in the peaceful  atmosphere.

You stopped, the suspense evident in your stare as you encouraged her to continue.

"I feel something special between us, something beyond the dance studio," she admitted, her earnestness like a lighthouse in the dark. "I'd like to look into it further." Would you... be open to that?"

The question hovered in the air, tinged with hope and fear.  Yet, your heart whispered a resounding 'yes' before your lips formed the words, sealing an unspoken agreement to embark on a journey of love and discovery together.

And so, in the glow of city lights, amidst the symphony of crickets, you and Bada began on a romance that grew with each shared moment and every whispered confession.

Fast ahead through the seasons, and your relationship with Bada became stronger—a tapestry of shared dreams, worthwhile conversations, and stolen moments amidst the bustling cityscape.

As the year progressed, the world around you changed, but your relationship remained a constant refuge—a safe haven for both love and creation.

It was a peaceful evening, with the lovely hues of sunset painting the sky, when an unexpected decision was made. You and Bada found yourselves on the rooftop of your favorite spot in the city—a secluded haven that overlooked the twinkling skyline.

The mood was ethereal, with the city's symphony humming distantly against the backdrop of a sunset-kissed sky. Bada's laughter, carried by the breeze, echoed like a mellifluous melody as she turned to you with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

"This feels like one of those movie moments, doesn't it?" Her voice was full of affection and love, she remarked.

You chuckled, the situation being suggestive of a romantic film scene. "Yes, it does. But it's even better because it's true."

The lighthearted banter gave way to a peaceful silence, the air thick with unspoken feelings. Bada's eyes, shimmering like orbs reflecting the dying sunshine, expressed volumes—a subtle invitation to embrace the unsaid feelings whirling between you.

Without words, she closed the distance between you, her gaze a gentle caress against your skin. As she held your face in her hands, the world appeared to stop, a subtle comfort in the delicate touch of her thumb against your cheek.

Lips met in a lovely, secure kiss amid the golden colours of a sunset-kissed sky—a union that echoed the symphony of feelings that had bloomed between you. It was a treasured moment, a beautiful dance of affection and longing sealed with the tenderness of a shared bond.

The city below continued its lovely hum, oblivious to the private scene happening on the rooftop sanctuary. Bada's sensitive touch, the softness of her lips on yours, spoke volumes about the love that bloomed in the quiet moments you spent.

Finally, as the kiss gently drew to a close, you and Bada remained in the embrace of the sunset's glow—a silent understanding lingering in the air, a promise of a love that continued to bloom with every passing moment.

— — — — — — —

Bada was the dancer who captured viewers with her beauty and grace, especially after her awe-inspiring journey on "Street Woman Fighter," a revolutionary experience that launched her into the spotlight.

Your relationship with Bada had been a hidden gem in the tale of her journey to popularity.  Bada's rise had been nothing short of meteoric since her Street Woman Fighter days. Her grace, talent, and presence on the dance floor captivated people and earned her a cult of devoted followers who eagerly awaited every move she made, both on and off the stage.

Though fans were aware of your relationship with Bada through shared dancing videos and subtle indications on social media, it remained a matter of intrigue and interest. Fans yearned to see your worlds collide—the shared laughter, gentle glances, and love that formed the canvas of your relationship.

In response to the never-ending questions and outpourings of affection, the decision was taken to hold a joint Instagram Live session that would offer a glimpse into Bada the dancer's connected life as well as the hidden story of her love—of your love story.

You and Bada prepared for the live session with your hearts racing. Your apartment's cosy environment became the setting for this digital rendezvous—a venue that witnessed both the burning passion of dance and the emotional moments exchanged between the two of you.

"Okay, are we ready for this?" Bada asked, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm and a hint of fear.

You smiled, feeling a rush of love for her. "Absolutely! We've got this. Just be yourself, and everything will flow naturally."

Bada took a seat near you with a nod of agreement, the anticipation evident in the air. The screen filled with hearts and a rush of greetings from excited fans joining the stream as the 'Go Live' button was hit.

"Hey, everyone!" You greeted, your voice full of passion and love. "We're so thrilled to be here with you all today."

Bada chimed in, her unique charm shining through. "Hello, everyone!" This is something we've been looking forward to. Let's having a good time!"

The comment section erupted with a colorful array of emojis and messages, fans expressing their excitement at the prospect of spending time with you and Bada.

@DanceDreamers: Ahh, finally! So excited for this live session! 🌟

@BadaLoversClub: You both look amazing! Can't wait to hear your stories! 🥰

The questions started flowing in, each one containing the fans' interest and adoration—a monument to the influence the two of you had on their lives. You and Bada shared stories from your dance adventure, memories from the early days when your relationship developed among shared steps and synchronised moves.

As the talk progressed, you and Bada found yourselves in your own little realm, where witty banter, shared looks, and unsaid gestures built an image of your love for one other.

Lost in a playful back-and-forth about the best dance moves, you and Bada exchanged teasing remarks, chuckling at each other's antics. The comments section mirrored the audience's delight, cooing at the natural chemistry you both exuded.

@DanceMagic: Stop being so cute, my heart can't take it! 😭❤️

@BadaisBaby: Look at how big of a baby Bada is when she's with you! 😂👶

Occasionally, amidst the laughter and anecdotes, you and Bada would share a glance that spoke volumes—a silent language of love that needed no words.

Then, a fan's question caught your attention, causing a wave of nostalgia to wash over you.

@NostalgiaDreams: How did your first date go? Please share!

Your eyes met Bada's, a silent agreement to recount the memory that had etched itself into the tapestry of your relationship. You began to remember about that amazing day with a pleasant smile—a stroll through the city streets, impromptu dancing sessions in parks, and a shared dinner at an enticing café.

Bada's eyes shone with affection as you told the story, her laughter ringing across the room as she offered her own fun commentary to the tale.

The comment section transformed into a cascade of heart emojis and exclamations, fans expressing admiration for the story that felt like a scene from a romantic movie.

@RomanticSouls: This is the definition of a perfect date! 🌹✨"l

@LoveIsInTheAir: Can you two be any more adorable? I'm in tears! 😭💖

Moments of tenderness intertwined with playful banter, creating a beautiful symphony of love and camaraderie. There were instances where you and Bada, engrossed in your own conversation, momentarily forgot the live aspect of the stream—a testament to the comfort and familiarity you shared.

The comments overflowed with observations of your interactions.

@AdorableCouples: Are they even aware they're live? They're lost in their own world! 🥺💕

@SoftLoveVibes: Look at how they look at each other! My heart can't handle it! 😍❤️

The live session had already been a mix of playful banter and heartfelt exchanges, but there was always room for more interactions and conversations. You and Bada settled back, eager to engage with the fans and each other in a more personal manner.

A question popped up in the comments section, catching your eye.

@DanceEnthusiastforY/N: What's the most memorable dance routine you've performed together?

You glanced at Bada, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Oh, that's a tough one! Remember that performance at the charity event last year?"

Bada's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, yeah! That was incredible. The energy in the room was electric, and dancing with you felt like pure magic."

Fans flooded the comments with emojis and excited exclamations, expressing their excitement to hear more about the memorable performance.

@DanceLoversUnite: Tell us more! What made it so special?

Bada chuckled, reminiscing about the event. "Well, it was for a cause we both deeply care about, and the routine was a fusion of different styles. But the best part was dancing side by side with you. We were in perfect sync that day."

You nodded in agreement. "Definitely. It was one of those moments where everything just clicked, and the emotions poured into every movement."

The fans' reactions flooded in, their comments brimming with admiration for the connection you shared both on and off the dance floor.

As the conversation flowed seamlessly from one topic to another, there were moments of candidness between you and Bada—moments where the live session seemed to capture genuine snippets of your everyday interactions.

Bada leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, remember the time you tried to teach me that intricate salsa move and I ended up stepping on your toes?"

You chuckled, the memory causing a playful twinkle in your eye. "How could I forget? It was a dance lesson turned into a comedy sketch!"

Fans chimed in with comments of their own, reminiscing about your shared dance moments and expressing their adoration for the playful camaraderie between you and Bada.

@DanceLover_23: You two are hilarious together! 😂❤️

@SalsaSquad: Even stepping on toes, you're still a perfect match! 🕺💃

In the midst of the playful banter, there were moments of tenderness—a glance shared between you and Bada that spoke volumes, a touch that lingered for an extra second, unnoticed by the rest but carrying an unspoken promise of affection.

Then, a question surfaced, shifting the tone to a more personal note.

@SoftHeartY/NBada: What's the one thing you admire the most about each other?

Your gaze softened as you turned to her. "You first."

She took a moment, your eyes reflecting genuine admiration. "I admire your strength, Y/N. Not just as a dancer, but as a person. Your resilience, your dedication to your craft, and your unwavering support for those you care about—it's truly inspiring."

Your cheeks tinted with a subtle blush, a soft smile gracing her features. "Thank you, love. That means a lot."

Encouraged by the heartfelt exchange, Bada returned the question. "And for me?"

You didn't hesitate. "Your passion, Bada. Your passion for dance, for life—it's infectious. The way you pour your heart into everything you do, it's something I've always admired."

The comments section filled with an outpouring of admiration and heart emojis, fans expressing their appreciation for the genuine affection shared between you and Bada.

@PassionUnleashed: My heart can't handle this! 😭❤️

@LoveAndDance: You two are goals! 🌟💕

The questions from fans ranged from dance-related inquiries to personal reflections, and the comment section buzzed with excitement as you and Bada delved deeper into your shared world.

A particularly endearing question popped up, catching both your attention.

@Soft4Love4Vibes: Fans often say Bada becomes a total baby when she's with you. Is that true? How do you guys balance the leader mode with Bebe and the adorable Bada we see with you?

You chuckled at the question, a knowing glance exchanged between you and Bada. "Ah, the infamous leader mode versus baby Bada. Care to explain, love?"

Bada grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, you see, with Bebe and the crew, I'm in full-on leader mode. It's all about coordinating, planning, and making sure everything runs smoothly. But when I'm with you, it's a different story. I get to drop the tough act and just be myself—a bit of a baby, as they say."

Fans flooded the comments section with playful remarks, expressing their affection for the duality they observed in Bada's personality.

@BabyBada: Bada, you're such a softie! 🍼💖

@LeadershipGoalsBebe: We love both leader Bada and baby Bada! 🌟👶

Bada, embracing the playful banter, continued, "I mean, who wouldn't want to be a bit of a baby when they're with someone as amazing, right?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the comment section filling with emojis of laughter and hearts.

@AdorableCouple: Can we just talk about how cute they are together? I'm melting! 😭❤️

As the conversation meandered through various topics, fans got a glimpse into the playful dynamics between you and Bada. There were moments where Bada couldn't resist stealing a glance at you, a subtle smile playing on her lips—a stark contrast to the leader mode she often embodied with Bebe and the crew.

A fan asked, @LoveGazing: What's your favorite inside joke or nickname you have for each other?

You shared a conspiratorial look with Bada before responding. "Well, we have this inside joke about Bada's 'secret talent'—her uncanny ability to quote almost any K-drama line on command."

Bada chuckled, shaking her head in mock embarrassment. "It's true. I might have a slight addiction to K-dramas, and now I've got a walking encyclopedia over here as a witness."

The fans, in on the joke, flooded the comments with laughter and playful emojis.

@DramaQueenBada: Guilty as charged! 😂🎬

As the Instagram Live session continued, there were moments where the two of you became lost in your own world, a shared glance turning into a cascade of laughter that seemed to momentarily forget the virtual audience.

@DreamyDuet: Are they even aware they're live? They're like in their own romantic bubble! 😍🌈

@LoveStruck: My heart! This is like a scene from a rom-com! ❤️✨

The playful banter and affectionate glances continued, each moment drawing fans deeper into the genuine connection you and Bada shared.

Then, a question sparked a more contemplative tone.

@SoulfulDance: What's the biggest lesson you've learned from each other, whether it's about dance or life in general?

Bada turned to you, her expression thoughtful. "You first, lovey."

You took a moment, reflecting on the profound lessons intertwined with your shared journey. "From Bada, I've learned the beauty of perseverance. Her dedication to her craft, the way she approaches challenges—it's incredibly inspiring. She taught me that passion, coupled with hard work, can create something truly extraordinary."

Bada's eyes softened, a genuine smile gracing her features. "And you've taught me the importance of balance. Life isn't just about dance and work; it's about finding joy in the simple moments, in shared laughter, and in building a life together. You've brought so much warmth and balance into my world."

The comment section transformed into a digital applause, fans expressing admiration for the wisdom and love shared between you and Bada.

@InspiringCouple: This is relationship goals right here! 🌟👩‍❤️‍👩

@WisdomInLove: Learning from each other—now that's the epitome of a healthy relationship! ❤️🙌"

As the Instagram Live session approached its conclusion, a sense of warmth and gratitude lingered in the digital space—a collective appreciation for the genuine moments, the laughter, and the glimpses into the beautiful love story you and Bada shared.

"Thank you all for joining us today!" you expressed, your voice carrying a blend of gratitude and genuine warmth. "This has been an incredible experience, and we can't wait to do it again. Your love means the world to us."

The screen filled with hearts and farewell messages, a digital send-off that echoed even after the live session ended. As the virtual space quietened, you and Bada shared a moment of quiet contentment, a reflection of the beautiful connection you shared—a connection that thrived in the midst of adoring fans, playful banter, and the warmth of a love that danced to the rhythm of its own melody.

Amidst the digital celebration of your relationship, you and Bada found solace in the comfort of each other's presence—a reminder of the beautiful connection that blossomed amidst the rhythms of dance and the whispers of shared dreams.

As the live session drew to a close, a collective sense of gratitude lingered—a mutual appreciation for the unwavering support and the chance to share a snippet of your world with the fans.

[in-amor-veritas]

Hey hey,

Idk if you are still taking prompts but I thought I'd shoot my shot as I missed that you were participating. I absolutely understand if you aren't taking more though.

Wilmon+

"No, no, no, please no!"

Hiii I am still taking prompts :)

This is some kind of silly arts university AU where Wille and Simon are both dance majors (Wille is ballet and Simon is modern/street/hiphop idk what’s the exact term for what im imaging I just know he wants to be a choreographer and run his own studio) also idk why but Wille has s1 hair bc ballet Wille to me always had longer hair 🤷‍♀️

"No, no, no, please no!" Wille stares in horror at the four letter word greyed out under the stupid text message he’d meant to send to his best friend, Felice, and instead sent to the insanely attractive, intimidatingly outspoken and extremely talented boy in his dance history class.

He had sent it to Felice, moping about his crush and hadn’t expected the message to be read so immediately after sending it, so it had been with a horrified gasp when he realized after rushing to unsend that it was no use because Simon had already seen the stupid message talking about how distracted he gets sitting behind him and how badly he wants to get to know him better.

Fighting the urge to throw his phone across the room he lays back on the mattress, staring with some kind of masochistic fascination as the typing bubbles appear, fingers running through long strands of his blonde hair, twisting and pulling the ends in anxiety as he think about what Simon must have thought when he read it, what he’s writing back right now.

Simon must think he’s weird, after-all he’s always been socially awkward and quiet and they’ve barely exchanged more than a few words since the start of this class together, someone as social and popular as Simon Eriksson probably has plenty of people interested in him, Wille can just imagine the other boy showing his friends the message and laughing at how weird that Wilhelm guy is.

He almost doesn’t want to look when he feels his phone vibrate, but he’s too curious and when he see opens the notification he has a slight panic attack as what’s written there, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his eyes he reads it again.

sorry for being too distracting for you to pay attention in class…guess i owe you one…why don’t we get together and study or something sometime….for the record ive watched you in rehearsal and you’re pretty distracting yourself ;)

Wille grins, feeling his cheeks flushed and a sense of curious wonderment bloom inside of his chest—holy shit Felice wasn’t going to believe this.

…..

this is technically 6 but ive decided im not counting the text message as a sentence 😌

[astrophysicist-guitar-god]

Behind the scenes pictures of Queen on iconic I Want to Break Free music video gives extraordinary glimpse into closeness of the band

The fascinating pictures show the band fooling around on the video shoot 

By DAN SALES

Published: 03:42 EST, 24 September 2023 | Updated: 04:20 EST, 24 September 2023 (x)

Never-before-seen pictures of Queen making the trailblazing I Want To Break free music video shows the incredible bond between the band members. Candid images - all shot by veteran photographer Simon Fowler - show the sheer joy and fun of the group during the now-legendary filming of the promo. The video stunned music fans when it came out and had the rockers dressed up as housewives in a suburban home. In one of the newly-revealed pictures the band are shown in hysterics, with one crewmember wiping away tears of laughter as Freddie Mercury fools around behind a bewigged John Deacon. Freddie appears to be pretending to be a hairdresser as John chuckles in his seat, as Brian May beams by a back wall as they stare into the mirror at their new look. Later Brian can be seen clutching his curlers as he gazes into the distance as he is captured on film. Roger Taylor also looks to be having a ball in one of the archive pictures, pouting in his schoolgirl-style costume. Photographer Simon, who took pictures of the group throughout their career, opened up his archives to allow MailOnline to publish some of the incredible shots.

The band are seen having a great laugh backstage as they get ready to shoot the video promo

Roger Taylor in costume pouts as his picture is taken on the set of I Want To Break Free in 1984

He said he had no idea the theme of the video before he had turned up at Limehouse Studios in London to take the pictures. Simon recalled: 'On Break Free I didn't get any idea of what it was going to be. I turned up and saw them and thought "Whoa, what is going on?". 'It was obviously a pastiche of Coronation Street. I remember on the day everybody was just fooling around laughing. 'It was so much fun that I was amazed that they actually got a video done. 'They had no concerns about doing anything that was unusual - they would just do it. 'They were just messing around in between the filming. I remember one funny moment when they were trying the stuff on and asking each other "what do you reckon of this wig?". 'That was the great thing about it, you have got Freddie with his big old 'tache, giving it all. 'It was without doubt the most fun shoot I have done. 'Every time I think about it I smile, the day just went so fast because everyone was having such a good time - it just whizzed by.

Simon revealed that the band preferred to be photographed all together for their promo shots

Brian May looks like he has awoken from a deep sleep with the curlers in this of Simon's shots

'When you get there I didn't know the story and the PR told me and I thought "that sounds great". 'I went backstage and the first thing I saw was them getting all their clobber done.' Simon had photographed the band before after getting a phone call during the recording of their Hot Space album. That record spawned the Under Pressure anthem and at first the photographer admits he had no idea who he would be going to shoot. He recalled: 'I got a call out of the blue to do a job and originally thought they had said Cream at the time, which I thought couldn't have been right. 'Back in those days you would get millions of calls. I only realised later it was Queen and I was told I would only get ten minutes with them and it turned into three hours. It was for the album Hot Space. 'I think we just got on pretty well - I wasn't expecting much time at all and it was brilliant. 'Roger actually got me to do a bit of tapping when they were recording. I like to think I'm on Hot Space somewhere. It just went from there really.' The band loved his work so he was invited back and ended up doing numerous shoots with them.

John Deacon - whose character in the video was miserable - laughs in a moment of down time

Freddie Mercury poses up on the set, leaning on a cabinet as he looks to the side of the room

But he counts his work on I Want to Break Free as one of the most exciting jobs of his career. He admitted: 'I knew when I got called in for it, that it was going to be interesting. 'They wouldn't scrimp on stuff with the videos, they were big productions. If CGI was around then I am sure that would be what they were doing. 'When you were on set you would have to have eyes in the back of your head in some of the bigger productions, where there were cranes and stuff going round.  'When we went for lunch Brian was on the catering bus talking to me. He was still in the outfit with the curlers. 'I remember thinking "that's Brian May opposite me". It was so surreal. 'At the end of the day we saw the cut and it just looked great. 'I remember John taking a nap during the day, which he would have needed because the reality is they would have got there very early. 'They were trailblazers with videos, they really were. Queen were so unique in whatever they did. Brian with the sound and the guitar. I loved every minute of it 

Veteran music photographer Simon Fowler is selling prints in aid of the Mercury Phoenix Trust

'Freddie was a trooper right up until the end. One of the things people don't notice about pictures of Queen is that you could never often get them out of the line-up 'They would not often move out of all four of them together for pictures. 'I think that's because they were a band but they were also incredible close friends too. 'They all had each others backs, none of them thought of themselves as the star - they were all equals.' The behind-the-scenes pictures were brought back into the spotlight as Simon as he compiled Fine Art Prints of Freddie, Brian, Roger and John from The Miracle shoot. They are being sold to help the fight against HIV and AIDS, with 50 per cent of proceeds going to the Mercury Phoenix Trust. Simon added: 'I was thrilled to do this and just give something back and help a really great cause. 'I was delighted by the response and hope it can keep helping people.' (x)

Prints of Freddie, Brian, Roger and John from The Miracle shoot can be found here 

[emagios]

Punctured Canvas

[ Reverse 1999 Vernetto Fanfic ]

Each day always carried a consistent routine. Sonetto would wake up at sunrise, do her morning stretches, and take a walk through the gardens. By seven, she would return to the dining area to eat breakfast together with mother and father, which would last no longer than thirty minutes.

Breakfast was simple, and uneventful. Mother and her would converse about the state of the garden and flowers in bloom, while Father would read the daily paper with a cup of coffee on hand, occasionally humming from time to time to show that he too was following in their conversations. 

When the clock hit the thirtieth minute mark, Father was the first to rise from his seat and went on to prepare for work. Mother would soon follow, speaking with the maids and kitchen staff, listing to them directions and tasks for the day before she too would leave to attend whatever social function their family was invited to.

Sonetto was left last, though she did not linger for long. Instead, she made her way to the study. There, she would read right by the window, seated on the velvet chaise lounge and soaking up the natural light of the morning sun. 

Books were one of Sonetto’s favorite things, and were also one of the rare requests that her parents would readily agree to gift to her. 

To Sonetto, a book was a gift within a gift. Vast expanse of contents bound together between two covers. Within its pages lay inked words whose intended recipients were anyone and everyone. Daring adventures for wide-eyed children, whirling romance for those struck by cupid, or something technical and deeply informative for erudite scholars.

Fiction, and Nonfiction. All of this fascinated Sonetto, who always sought to devour each book and absorb all its contents like the way the soil soaked up water.

But there was one specific piece of literature that she liked to read the most, and it was poetry. 

Poetry rent open an author’s soul. Poems bared the author for all to see- what they were, what they are, and what they would be. Writing, she found, was like painting in that regard. The only difference was the medium of their work.

Perhaps that was why she loved it so.

And perhaps, she mused one day, as she saw the regular postman standing on the wide cobbled streets below her, delivering the bundle of letters to their housekeeper, a stout and kindly old woman. 

Their housekeeper, who would bid the postman farewell in turn and promptly make her way up to the attic-turned-studio to drop off the package of letters. 

The studio, a room Sonetto was heading for next, and a room all to herself with its familiar scent of parchments, wax, and turpentine felt like hearth and home to her. 

Reaching for the newly arrived letter, Sonetto would smoothly unseal it with a palette knife to begin reading. The further she read, a multitude of emotions would swarm through her heart, encasing it with a river of joy, sorrow, anger, love.

All of these feelings, she evoked into life as she weaved strokes of colors onto the canvas before her. Perhaps this was why she began to make personal inquiries- questions that then became a request for  letters. Letters that were written from the heart. That laid open one's innermost desires and wishes— a truth that rested well within one’s soul.

The paintings then, as important as they were for her, were just as, if not more so important for her clients'. 

“We exist to serve.”  A saying that her father often quoted.

The fulfillment of their wishes was something Sonetto was taught, yet at the same time it was also a thing she equally valued. To see her clients' faces light up in joy, awe, or gratitude gave her warmth and even pride. 

But… it was not a pride she could freely display. For, at the end of the day, it was her father that would hand the framed canvas over. It was her father who would accept all the gratitudes and admiration for her masterful work, while she remained behind on the shadow of his back, silent as the whispering breeze. A picture of the perfect daughter. Silent, but attentive. Polite and accommodating towards the guest, there to make sure everything remained in order and all concerns seen to.

Once, when she was younger, she would’ve questioned and maybe even fought for the seemingly unfair arrangement. But she was older now, and understood better the actions of her parents. Arcanists like her were kept away at arms reach by the rest of the world, with some treating them worse. While 19th Century Italy was fortunately not the latter, the concurrent inner turmoil of the nation that remained even years after the unification also meant that the political climate, and in turn the perception of Arcanists, was shaky at best. 

So, yes. Sonetto understood why her father and mother wanted her to keep as minimal interaction with people and the outside as much as possible. To hide herself was to protect herself, and she would always be grateful to her parents for the lengths they went through to ensure that she remained safe. 

And so she would remain paces away from her father’s back, to keep a polite distance between the guests in their house. This was the routine she followed her entire life. This routine, that which provided her and her family safety, and security.

A routine that,  after nearly twelve years, was broken during one Saturday afternoon during a simple luncheon between a not so simple guest. 

The disrupter, in the form of slate green hair and eyes, and a coat a navy blue color like the sea at the provinces where she and her family used to live. Her boater hat, a similar color with her coat with a cyan ribbon wrapped around it, tilted sideways, covering her left eye. 

She had looked, disbelievingly, similar to her in age. Sonetto’s self-discipline was the only thing that kept her from questioning out loud the identity of the young woman seated across from her, who was chatting deferentially with her mother. Surely she could not be who she says she was?  Then again, her sealed letter and badge proved otherwise. 

And living sequestered away did not mean she was wholly ignorant of the comings and goings around her. Sonetto has read and heard of the St. Pavlov Foundation. A renowned public institution dedicated to sheltering arcanists and teaching them how to use their abilities in order to peacefully live alongside humans. And for an organization as well known as the Foundation,  rumors were bound to spring up. One such rumor  was how the Foundation took arcanist children specifically in order to indoctrinate them during their most impressionable years. 

Maybe that rumor held a grain of truth after all. 

“I hope the tea is to your liking, Miss Vertin. We’ve sadly not had the chance to restock our coffee you see.” Her mother spoke up. The three of them were at the garden, seated at a bronze round garden table large enough for four. Her father, the only one missing, had excused himself to his office, promising to return later.

The Timekeeper- Vertin, perked up, and gently placed her cup of tea down. “It’s entirely alright! I’m not much of a coffee person anyways. Besides,” her voice took on a sheepish tone. “Our visit was quite sudden, and I must thank you for graciously hosting me on such a short notice .” The gentle breeze

Her mother sat up straight. “Ohoho, nonsense. My house is always prepared. Ah, but it is a shame that your friends were not able to join us today.” 

A delight, actually. Sonetto thought. Having the Foundation's attention was cause for concern enough, they didn’t need more of their members eating at their house. 

“It’s alright. They were only here to escort me, and they have other businesses to attend to. If I may, is this chamomile? I admit I’ve never really explored my tea drinking tastes other than green tea. This tastes amazing.” 

“Why, indeed!" Her mother replied. "But I can’t take the credit for that. My Sonetto, here, is the one you should be thanking. She’s an excellent brewer, never once made a bad cup of tea in her life.” 

Curious gray green eyes turned to look at her. “Sonetto, is it? Thank you very much. The tea was splendid.” 

Sonetto’s fingers twitched from where it was resting atop her knee, hidden under the table. “You're welcome. I am glad that the tea is to your liking.” 

“It very much is. " The Timekeeper affirmed. " You know, I haven’t really realized just how large your family’s estate is, Mrs. Alessi. Especially the gardens. It's quite a home indeed. Would it perhaps be alright to take a tour of the outdoors?” 

The Timekeeper’s gaze still remained focused on her, despite addressing her mother. Sonetto narrowed her eyes. The former’s lips curled into a slight smile. 

It was Sonetto who spoke first. “I’m sure Mr. Gian, our gardener, can spare a few moments to provide you a tour right now if you really wish to.” 

But, it seemed, her mother had other ideas. “Now now, dear. Don’t you remember that Mr. Gian requested for a short leave just recently this week in order to return home and attend his granddaughter’s birthday? Your father won’t likely be back for another hour, goodness gracious, You know how long those meetings of his can go on. So why don’t you go and take Miss Vertin around while I help the cook prepare for our lunch. Aside from Mr. Gian, you’re the only one who knows the garden and layout of the maze best.” She finalized, inviting no argument. 

Seemingly having no choice, Sonetto could only release a sigh, rising from her seat in compliance. “Very well then.” Gesturing her hand towards the granite slabs that lead further into the garden, “If you would follow me please, Miss Timekeeper. It would be best to still be back in time for my father's return.”

She turned around, ignoring the scraping metal sound of a chair being pushed back as she began to walk away.  ***

It didn't take much for the Timekeeper to keep up with her. She was panting lightly, one arm lifted up, the white frills of her sleeve brushing against her hair as she reached to fix the hat nestled atop her head.

Her other arm remained lax at her side, holding- Sonetto realized, a dark, brown leather suitcase. 

“You should have left your suitcase on the patio.” She started. “Is it not heavy? We can still walk back.” 

The Timekeeper shook her head. “No, thank you. I'd rather keep it close with me. ” She replied. 

Likely important documents from the Foundation.

And probably hefty too, if her earlier struggle was indicative. Wary she may be, Sonetto nonetheless let the matter drop.

Along their path began a line of flora of different types and colors. Oleanders, Sages, and Roses lined up this side whilst the Bougainvilleas, Sunflowers, and Lavenders on the other. She recited them all to her, including a short trivia on what each name meant and what each plant symbolized. 

Sonetto found that doing so kept the guests more entertained when touring the gardens, but that too much information made the listeners uninterested and even impatient which she couldn't quite understand, because would it not make sense to want to learn more of the things you liked? But regardless of that, she had to settle for a shorter script. One that has been effective since.

While it was no surprise to see the Timekeeper nodding along at each tidbit of information shared to her, what was a surprise were the technical questions the Timekeeper asked right back. What were the type of soil used for the plants? Did they used fertilizers to maintain the quality and growth? How difficult was it to maintain such large assortments of flora and in such a space and how often? Or is it all just simpler than it looked?

Needless to say it left the painter momentarily dumbstruck.

“I'm sorry,” The Timekeeper apologized. “I didn't mean to bombard you with so many questions. I've been told that it gets people overwhelmed whenever I do that. You don't need to give me an answer if you don't want to or if you don't know-”

“No!” Sonetto’s voice raised up. She winced at the loud volume of her voice, but continued to speak again at a normal volume. “I have no problem with answering your questions. I was just unprepared, that's all. “

“Then, I would appreciate hearing any answers you are willing to share.” The Timekeeper replied gently. And so Sonetto began, answering the Timekeeper’s questions first, but later turned into relaying all of what she knew. 

Oleanders, of all the plants in the garden, was one that needed the most attention when it came to tending due to its toxicity. While Lavenders were commonly soaked in water during baths, and infused to make wonderful scented perfumes, they also served well as essential oils  and for many ailments. Here, they were often used as tea and Sonetto shared to the Timekeeper her method of making it. The Timekeeper seemed to genuinely follow along, asking follow up questions, begrudgingly much to Sonetto's delight. If she noticed the upturned lips of the Timekeeper when she defended the planting of a sizeable amount of plants only to be used for such mundane purposes, she ignored it.

The two were in the middle of discussing the possible medicinal uses and overall defining qualities of each plant when Sonetto heard the familiar rushing of water. Their conversation came to a close as the white, marble fountain came into view. The fountain was relatively small, spanning three feet wide. At its center stood a pedestal that reached maybe twice its diameter, with two layers. At its top was a statue of a cherub pouring a vase of water, which was the source of the pouring river that trailed down at the base. 

“Is that a key around its neck?” The Timekeeper raised her free arm to point at the glinting object around the aged statue's neck.

"Yes, it is." She confirmed. “The garden has two fountains, you see. The other fountain is at the heart of the maze. I believe you'll soon find out what it looks like, so I feel no reason to divulge the fountain’s appearance for now.”

“Not even if I say please?” There it was again. The subtle smirk.

She could not help it. “Not even on my deathbed.” Sonetto drolled out.

At that, The Timekeeper's grin grew wider and clearer. “So you do have a funny bone in your body.”

Sonetto looked down, fighting the growing grin that threatened to lurk its way out. She forced a sigh.

“I do possess the ability to be… humerus at times, you know.” 

No. She refuses to acknowledge the raised eyebrows and look of mirth on the other's face.

 “The entrance to the maze is just behind the fountain. Now, would you like us to move on?”

“Sure, sure.” 

The two circled over the fountain’s perimeter, the spray of the water causing a mist of prism to form as it caught the sunlight. The silver key around the cherub’s neck also caught the same light, sending a sharp glare into Sonetto's sight. As they reached the back of the fountain, they stopped at the open gates. The wrought iron was intricately carved in arabesque patterns, weaving seamlessly with the vines crawling all around it making it look as if said undergrowth turned to metal halfway.

Sonetto took the first step, the Timekeeper following in pace beside her. The wall was seven feet tall, therefore when the two stepped inside they were welcomed with overcast shadow.

“The maze takes up a fourth of the estate.” Sonetto informed, lightly kicking a small pebble and watched as it rolled away. “Reaching the other side would take us close to an hour, but we may be able to reach the center in twenty minutes or less. I could give you the full tour next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

“I mean- That is, assuming you are to return again and that you wish to have another tour of the estate. Apologies, I shouldn’t have presumed too much of our-”

“No!” Vertin protested, cutting off Sonetto’s trail of thought. 

Drat.

Biting her tongue would have been better than embarrassing herself like this.

Vertin however, was oblivious to the inner turmoil of her mind. She continued to speak.

“I would love to be able to explore the gardens with you next time. The Foundation has a request for your father and so my meetings with your family would likely take a week. If you want, we could even spend time the duration of my- Miss Sonetto? Is everything alright?”

The Timekeeper had said all this, with a light tone that Sonetto dared to once more assume bordered on hopeful. But that quickly shifted into worry seeing the baleful expression that had morphed into Sonetto’s face.  That was right. In their conversations, the young painter had forgotten who exactly their unexpected guest was. What unnerved her, was how easy it had been to do so. ‘But not this time.’ She resolved.

“...The Foundation.” She tilted her head to face the Timekeeper. Whether it was the tone of her voice or the look on her face, the Timekeeper stood straighter. Her arms rested stationary at her side, her brows furrowed but eyes attentive as she listened closely to what the painter had to say.

“I realize, Miss Timekeeper, that whatever business you have is between only you and my father. Yet still, I cannot help but be curious and so, I must insist.” Sonetto ladled her gaze with ice, holding it steadily against the Timekeeper and yielding no vulnerability. “What exactly does the Foundation want from my family?”