#he thought that they had passed the whole stage of discussions

[tiramisumin]

i see it in your eyes

pairing: park junmin x f!reader 𝜗𝜚 word count: 1.32k 𝜗𝜚 content: fluffish, suggestive towards the end, swearing, best friends to more ig, 🗣️ DIE FOR YOU JUNMIN MENTIONED!!!!!! u have been warned, that performance changes the trajectory of readers life, hunjae stirring the pot before they even know the pot exists, a very Passionate kiss, not beta’d or proofread! u alr know

synopsis: you had never thought of junmin in this light prior to tonight, but you don’t think you could ever see him the same.

୨ৎ watched a fancam that happened to be from one year ago last night and well… let’s just say my fingers had a mind of their own! ur welcome :3

You think you’re going crazy.

Scratch that. You’re positive that you’re going crazy.

One would think that being best friends with Park Junmin of xikers was probably a dream come true. To an extent, you guess you could agree. Junmin was the attentive type. He always had this sixth sense for whenever you needed something. But that was just who he was a person, an idol or not.

Right now, however, you were wishing that you weren’t best friends with Park Junmin.

He, so kindly, invited you to a show of their first tour and as you watch his unit stage with Hunter, you feel yourself slowly descend into insanity. As long as you’ve known him, you have never seen this side of Junmin before. He’s done a pretty good job at separating his idol and personal lives, so even when he was practicing, he’d never let you see. Now you know why.

The way he moves to the song, Die For You by The Weeknd, has your heart stuttering in your chest. You’ve known since his trainee days that he was a good dancer, but for him to evoke such strong emotions from you… Yeah, you were screwed. Royally.

And to put icing on top of the cake, he pulls up his shirt to show the audience his fucking abs. 

Under the blue lights and the spell that entrances him every time he performs, Junmin looks breathtaking. Anybody with eyes could see visually that he was attractive, yeah, but for the first time in your friendship, you’re finally seeing it for yourself. His skin glistens ethereally and his expressions capture the mood of the moment perfectly. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were drooling with how awestruck you are.

Minjae, who was observing the two from off to the side of the stage with you, can’t stop himself from laughing at your reaction. He pats your back as the song draws to a close. The action is supposed to be comforting, yet it’s anything but, considering he was poking fun at you not even two seconds ago. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.

The rest of the concert is kind of a blur, your brain hyper fixating on Junmin’s Die For You performance. Time has long since passed, and the lot of you have found yourselves all crammed in the dorm with a table full of food. Your appetite is hardly there, nerves eating away at you as you sit beside your best friend, unable to look him in the eye. 

The two of you haven’t had the chance to talk about the show yet, and you can tell he’s just itching to ask for your opinion. He frowns when he realizes you haven’t touched your plate, something very out of character for you. You’d had an entire discussion about not eating much before the concert so you could enjoy this grand meal with him and his members.

”Is everything—“

Hunter interrupts him with a clearing of his throat. “So, Y/N, how did you like Junmin and I’s stage?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you and it takes absolutely everything in you not to burst into flames. You dig your nails into your palms before answering. “If your goal was to seduce the crowd, then you guys did a really good job!”

The table erupts into laughter and you silently praise whatever higher being exists that you kept your cool. Minjae makes eye contact with you across the table, pretending to zip his lips and throw the key to the other side of the room. You mouth a ‘thank you’ to him, jumping back into the conversation when someone else asks you about the show. 

Ultimately, your dinner continues without a hitch. No one finds out how you truly felt in regards to the Die For You performance, and you assume you’ve made it out scot-free. You should’ve known your best friend was too perceptive for his own good. Especially when it comes to you.

One of the group’s drivers brought you back to your apartment and, of course, Junmin tagged along to ensure you got home safely. The entire drive over there is silent save for whatever music was playing lowly on the radio. There’s a weird tension in the air between you, even as he asks to walk you to your door. As you’re unlocking it, Junmin stops you. 

“Did I do something?” He blurts out, halting you from entering your apartment. His hands shove into the pockets of his sweatpants nervously.

“Wh— Huh?”

“You haven’t talked to me much since we got back from the concert. I thought it was just in my head at first, but then we were in the car together and you didn’t say a single word to me. Did I do something to upset you? Please, let me know so I can apologize and never do it again.” He explains. 

“No!” You shake your head profusely. “You did nothing wrong, Junmin… I’m just— I’m the one being weird.”

”Can you tell me why at least? It’s gonna bother me all night until you do.” He fiddles with his fingers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Part of you is way too embarrassed to admit the true reasoning behind you avoiding him. Though, the bigger part of you is well aware that he would never judge you. And the last thing you need is to keep secrets from your best friend.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” You raise your pinkie, and when he locks it with his own you let out a heavy sigh. “I… can’t stop thinking about the Die For You performance…”

His eyebrows furrow together, eyes cast down at the carpeted floor beneath you in deep thought. God, even when he’s confused, he looks so cute. You might actually explode right here in the middle of the hallway. You had never thought of Junmin in this light prior to tonight, but you don’t think you could ever see him the same. Because of that, you needed to tell him how you felt. 

“I don’t underst—“

”I couldn’t stop staring at you, Junmin. You’ve never let me see you that way. You’re always so modest and so shy and I don’t know I— seeing you let go of that on stage, seeing how confident you can be made me feel…” You trail off, averting his intense gaze. 

He takes a step closer to you, unwavering when his index finger slides under your chin, lifting it so you’re forced to look at him again. “‘Made you feel’ what exactly?”

Your lips part in surprise, that same confidence from earlier controlling him. His eyes are darker than usual. You swallow thickly when you say, “Like I could fall in love with you.”

Junmin wastes no time connecting your lips in a sweet, passionate kiss. Despite never imagining what it would be like to be in this situation, it’s somehow simultaneously everything you thought it would be. Sparks ignite from where your mouths meet all the way to the tips of your fingers. One of his hands comes up to cup your jaw and the other rests on your waist. Meanwhile, one of yours tangles in his hair and the other fists at the front of his shirt— fittingly a white tank top. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispers against your lips, eyelashes brushing your cheeks. “How long I’ve been waiting for you to look at me this way.” 

It’s difficult not to gasp into his kiss, a small whine escaping you. Perhaps they weren’t lying when they said boys and girls could never just be friends. You slot your lips with his once more before parting gently, peering up at him with the softest of smiles. “Then show me.”

He doesn’t think twice about urging you into your apartment.

© 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏.

[nelkcats]

New place, same fight

Danny loves his friends, they have been with him since they were little and they have experienced too many things together, things that have helped them grow, things that only strengthen their friendship. Because Sam and Tucker were everything to him, as he was everything to them.

But at the same time, Danny could admit that he hated his friends; not always, but there were times where they wouldn't stop fighting, where they forced him to choose. The halfa could understand, Sam and Tucker had different world views, they saw different things and occasionally Danny thought they only got along because of him.

That was okay, he learned to live with them, to be the center of their arguments. And when they moved from Amity to Gotham, when they decided to rent an apartment together and go to the same college (which miraculously had all their majors), he thought everything would be fine.

It was idiotic of him. Because at the time he could only see a repeat of what had happened in high school; Sam was having a protest about the cafeteria menu and Tucker had organized the meat lovers (again), and the halfa knew how it was all going to end.

The point is, Danny was tired of repeating the same cycle, a cycle that apparently included Waylon and Poison Ivy fighting in the cafeteria at his new college (and how the hell did his friends manage to get the Rogues of Gotham into their fights?), so when he saw the people in bat suits he exploded.

When Sam and Tucker turned to ask his opinion he shook his head, pointed at Lunch Lady, who had her arms crossed and decided it wasn't his problem before disappear. Literally, no matter if half of Gotham was calling him meta, he was tired.

Red Robin gawked at him before turning his attention to Lunch Lady, who was gathering all the meat around her to form a giant meat monster. And Danny decided it wasn't his problem.

Apparently, Sam and Tucker decided that the bats could take care of it before they looked worried and started looking for Danny. It became obvious that the bats needed help when Danny looked at a giant meat monster two hours later, the halfa arched an eyebrow in dismay, weren't they supposed to be professional heroes? Lunch wasn't even trying...

[pearlywritings]

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Here is the second part btw

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly. 

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge. 

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?” 

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan. 

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it. 

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven! Just a question that’s been confusing me for awhile, and I think if anyone can answer it you can lol

In Book 6, when we go out searching for Grim in the beginning, he scratches the MC, who then passes out. When we wake up, it’s to Ace’s voice telling us to wake up, and we’re back in Ramshackle. How? For a little while I figured it was because we had texted them telling them Grim was missing, and that maybe we had told them where we were going and they found us? But then I realized with Ace’s wording, it makes it sound more like we were there in bed when they arrived. It may be very well that there is no answer as of yet, but I thought maybe there was something I had forgotten or hadn’t picked up on.

Thanks!

That's right; Adeuce's wording at the beginning of book 6 implies that they found you in your bed, not outside on the VDC/SDC stage. Therefore, these two are not the ones who brought Yuu back to Ramshackle following the cat scratch.

I discussed this topic ~2 years ago (in this post)--and two years later, when we're at 7-139 of the main story (in JP), we still don't have any more clues about who is responsible for returning the passed out Yuu to their dormitory.

As I've mentioned in another older post, it's possible that we get more details about this later in book 7. My guess is that the most likely culprits are either Crowley (who still has unknown motives) or Malleus (who is the only character I know of that wanders the campus at night). There is quite a distance between the VDC/SDC stage and Ramshackle. This would have to be traversed while accounting for carrying a whole ass body (Yuu), so the culprit would have to be someone with considerable physical stamina... or perhaps powerful magic.

[citruscitrushope]

Why Ken Shiraishi is Still Written OK (aka why Vivid BAD SQUAD will never surpass RAD WEEKEND, and why that's a good thing)

An essay I wrote in someone's Twitter DMs as we discussed their belief that Ken's writing has been becoming out of character ever since On Your Feet, and my attempt to present a counter-argument that turned into an analysis of VBS stories up to this point.

1,089 words, warnings for swearing, spoilers, and the fact that this is barely formatted like an essay at all but was just a ramble I thought I gave some good points in and wanted to share.

So bro is openly going against the things that made rw what it was ("ok Toya make all the songs" <- that is not what happened with radder)" and I doubt bro would be full on ignoring it (nor clpl full on ignoring it seeing as they have all of the group's full stories planned from the beginning) and I personally theorize that it's to emphasize the four's strengths as well as to make them come face to face with their weaknesses to grow stronger (I think concerto is the most obvious case of this). Nagi's goal with rw wasn't to make something to be surpassed, it was to pass radder's dream to the next generation to reach the heights they couldn't (i.e. worldwide popularity) and I very much feel like the vbs story has enough backing them going in that direction (Toya's wl chapter, what I've seen of radder flashbacks, even Ken's whole reason for opening weekend garage).

For context, the preceding conversation was about how Ken has been going against a lot of his initial things (Running weekend garage to help the next generation, helping them not work as hard, etc), how he knew Taiga was gonna tell vbs the truth of RAD WEEKEND and that he should first but he didn't, and then how he's been overworking the kids and going against the team effort rw was by radder

Again, clpl kinda suck at writing vbs sometimes but dammit they ain't bad at foreshadowing, they teased Nagi stuff for a year or two before lutf and stuff after all. Plus they've never had a sudden decline with a character, it took two years for Mafuyu's mom to fully be revealed as bad, and even with Taiga that was a solid year. (Now what they do do a lot of are sudden "redemption arcs", sure the Otori brothers' was decent but all the times they've tired to have Shinodad or Toya's dad grow as people has been so bad like bro some people are just shit).

Plus vbs' story has been slower than most of the other units until this current arc (hell they took the longest to end their first arc), slow building blocks to surpassing RAD WEEKEND. So for this current arc to have them saying "our next event will surpass them" so suddenly just doesn't add up. It has to be a red herring. And again, Taiga's been this game's only true betrayal arc, others have been characters going from neutral to bad (Mafumom, one-off characters) or ones meant to be bad that eventually become allies to their respective groups (Arata, Iori, Otori brothers). Taiga going from an explicit ally to an enemy is an outlier, and I've noticed that they usually won't repeat plots and stuff in this game (well outside of Smile of a Dreamer and Our Happy Ending but I think that was on purpose).

I highly doubt that vbs' ending will involve them surpassing RAD WEEKEND, they're probably the only group who's initial goal hadn't changed over time (L/n "I wanna be with my friends again" -> "We wanna be pros that touch others with music". WxS "Let's save this stage" -> "let's travel the world to make our dreams come true" n25 "i need to save mafuyu" -> "she's seemingly saved but shits still tucked"). Even MMJ's which has seemed to always be "Let's be idols and give hope to others" has had steps to go through, it wasn't instantly "Let's perform in the dome" it was "Let's be idols" -> "let's do a live show" -> "let's do a solo show" -> "let's perform in the dome". VBS hasn't been like that, it's always been "let's surpass RAD WEEKEND" and never been anything but that, so their progression has just been them saying "this'll get us closer to surpassing RAD WEEKEND" with little to actually show for it.

It's a lofty, impossible task, and I think Ken and Taiga know that, but they view it in different ways. Taiga sees it as "you'll never live up to it give up stop trying" while Ken's is "you'll never live up to it but that doesn't change that you're still talented performers". Even though how characters always compare each other to radder (An and Taiga seeing Nagi in Kohane, Taiga seeing Ken in Akito) , they're not radder, they'll never be them, and I feel like that's what the story wants to have them and the audience eventually realize. That's what Nagi wanted, right? To have the next generation do what she and the rest of radder couldn't, to keep singing and to be known around the world. They've already contrasted how both Taiga and Ken have attempted to keep Nagi's wishes alive before (i.e. the whole "Don't tell An until she's ready" thing), and Ken handled this better than Taiga but both weren't the best at it, and vbs had to find the strength themselves to keep going. Taiga did it in a brutal and dream-crushing way, while Ken's was gentler and more honest but came too late, and I feel that they wouldn't get rid of that contrast with Nagi's other dream. Taiga ran off and became famous overseas, but never fully processed his grief. Ken is encouraging the next generation, but still isn't doing it perfectly.

So I feel that Ken's plan is to show vbs *their* strengths. The ones only they have. Not in the context of reaching radder's level, but in reaching their own, and truly fulfilling Nagi's wish. He's not doing it perfectly, he's overworking them severely, but I highly doubt that this is purposeful. Again, I just don't think they'd make the dilf have a villain arc.

But nothing anyone has done in response to vbs's dream has been perfect. Even from the main story with akitoya and Kotarou sabotaging Kohane, to Arata in sbd, to Taiga to Arata in bfby, and then lutf is obvious. It's a messy tale of unprocessed grief and unfiltered dreams, things that can lead to both triumph and tragedy. But I truly can't see any malice in Ken's actions, or even Taiga's to an extent. While there obviously was some there, to him I assume it was to protect the legacy of his sister and to not tarnish her swansong.

I don't fully know where I was going with this but all in all I think Ken has good intentions albeit with unintentional extreme expectations, VBS was never meant to surpass RAD WEEKEND, and the vbs story's messy pacing lately is purposeful

[lorre-verie]

i NEED more recent neteyam content from you, the 5 stages of love thing was just- UGH mwah mwah i love it

can i request neteyam x reader where neteyam's jealous bc reader has been hanging out with other people? but please make the ending happy, i beg (im recovering from your aonung series antics 😭)

everything else is completely up to you i trust ur judgement so much 🥰

tysm anon AAAAA made me smile so much after reading this, i hope dearly that it doesn't disappoint!

“I will always love you.”

🗝 oneshot summary: seems you’ve been paying other people a whole lot more attention lately, and it’s making your dear boyfriend feel uneasy (jealous) inside. blablabla sweetie pie stuff happens, by the end of the night u two are cuddly lovey dovey again 💗

🌿 the lovely couple: neteyam x reader

📓 notes! - reader’s gender is not specified + no implications + no given name (used: [Y/N]) - takes place in the forest

🎞 word count: 2.3k

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“Yo bro!” Lo’ak waved towards his older brother, Neteyam’s hair whipping around with his head as he turned to see what Lo’ak wanted. 

“What?”

He was in the middle of rebraiding his hair in his family’s marui, something he would’ve asked you to do if he could even find you in the first place. 

Lately, you’d been really absorbed with developing your hunting skills, something he respected and never thought twice about, until now. 

“Did you and [Y/N] break up?” 

“What would even make you think such a thing like that?”  He completely abandoned his delicate ministrations through his hair, looking at his brother like he was insane. But deep down inside, he kinda wondered if you did too.

He rarely saw you these days, except for those fleeting moments where you two would wave at each other when passing by, and whenever he visited your tent you were never there. If he asked your friends they would constantly say you were out hunting, and he dropped his attempts at trying to find you. 

But seriously, hunting for almost the whole day for almost 3 weeks? There had to be SOMETHING else you’d been doing. 

“I never see you together anymore. N’ I heard from their friends there’s someone called Akxyeì in the picture. But if you did, there’s no shame in it bro, it’s all goo—”

Neteyam kicked him out of the tent. 

He huffed as he finished braiding his hair, not bothering to give it a last look before stomping out in search of you. Who the hell was Akxyeì?? 

Deep in his chest came a mixture of doubts and emotions regarding your relationship— had he not been showing you how much he loved you? How come you had to hang out with some other stupid dude? What if it was even worse, what if you were beginning to lose your interest in him? He would die without you, honestly. 

Or what if it was even worse, what if this Akxyeì character manipulated you into falling for him? He didn’t know whether what he was feeling was anger or sadness. But I’ll sum it up for you. 

Envy. 

Everyone stared at him as he stormed into the forest, the expression on his face taut and unreadable. The gossipping elders immediately got into their little groups, discussing what could possibly happen to the two of you in great interest. 

Not mud nor rain stopped him from tracking you, crouching along the forest floor, sniffing through the strong smell of rain in order to pick up your scent. The moment he found it, he bit back a growl; an unfamiliar scent was there with you.

He placed his hand on his forehead, taking deep breaths before heading in the direction you were supposed to be, reaching what the omaticayans dubbed the ‘lovers lake.’ He frowned remembering the nickname. 

Lo and behold, his love was crouched under a large leaf just near the opposite edge of the lake, a lovely smile on your face, like always, as you looked at the rain splashing in puddles on the dirt in front of you. 

Just the sight of you made his heart soar. But his mood quickly plummeted back down once he saw a na’vi boy crouched down behind you, also laughing at the predicament you were both in. 

He had half a mind to take his bow and shoot him in the crotch to ensure he wouldn’t ever be able to clone himself, but he had to bite back the urge. Instead, he resorted to letting out a heavy sigh. 

Just then, you looked up, eyes meeting with his as he stood far across the lake. A pang of guilt ran down your body, but it wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong, right? So then why did your heart drop fifty feet into the ground? 

Akxyeì’s laughter stopped once he saw the deathly stare Neteyam was giving him, which your boyfriend was satisfied with. But not satisfied enough. 

He turned his back on you both, disappearing into the thin fog that was starting to cloud the forest.

“..I have to go.” you whispered to Akxyeì, before diving head first into the lake to catch up with Neteyam. 

The only thing you thought about besides holding your breath was how angry Neteyam must’ve been with you. He totally misunderstood the situation, and it pained your heart to think of what he was thinking right now. You had to explain yourself as soon as possible. 

You frantically searched through the camp, your heart racing with worry and fear. Light pitter patters of rain land on your face, causing you to wipe it every few seconds in order to be able to see. You called out Neteyam's name in every spot imaginable, even his own family’s marui, but he wasn’t there.

As you made your way from tent to tent, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling of worry weighing down on your shoulders.

You checked the hunting groups, but Neteyam was nowhere to be seen. You asked the elders if they had seen him, but they claimed to not know anything. 

You were drenched from head to toe from your swim earlier, and the wind didn’t make it any better, shivers threatening to stop your search. The nosy elders murmured harshly at the sight of you this way, according to them you always seemed so put together. 

You finally make your way back to your own tent, hoping that maybe he might have gone there. Although it was unlikely, it was the only spot in camp you hadn’t checked. But as you pushed aside the flap, you were met with your empty home, no sign of your boyfriend anywhere. 

Panic began to set in as you realised that he was truly gone. You sat down, fingers pressed to your lips as you took in a deep breath, thinking of all the possible places he could be. 

He wasn’t anywhere in camp, so that would have to mean he was still out in the forest. But where? You couldn’t possibly— 

Ah. 

He might be at you guys' spot.

You hadn’t been there in what felt like years. It was where he asked to be your boyfriend. It was so silly of him; a smile crept up on your face as you hopped up through the trees, reminiscing the day. 

You were both admiring the night sky together, counting the stars, and he suddenly whispered, “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

Even now, he denies ever uttering those words, claiming it was a figment of your imagination, and that you heard what you wanted to hear. But you remembered vividly the way he nearly fell off the trunk of the tree when you said yes.

The grass underneath you turned into soft clumps of moss as you continued, the rain slowly stopping as eclipse took over the sky. Finally, you reached the two intertwining trees, standing underneath the archway. 

You didn’t have time to look up before you heard his voice among the cricketing insects. 

“[Y/N].” he said, his voice as low as a sigh, your ears flattening once you heard the utter distress from his throat.

You said nothing, instead climbing up the slanted tree, crouching and setting aside the leaves covering your view. 

And there he was, in all his glory. 

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan.

His feet dangled over the edge of the tree trunk, his hands planted firmly at his sides. He was hunched over, staring blankly at the ground at which you stood before. 

“Neteyam—” you were barely able to finish saying his name before he interrupted you. 

“Did I do something?” he croaked out, his gaze fixed downwards. 

“What?” you blinked. What was he saying? 

“Of course not,” you said softly, sitting on a spot on the tree just inches from him, you looking directly at his crestfallen face. 

A tear ran down his cheek, reflected by the lights of the stars in the night. He wiped it away quickly, now looking to his left, so that you were met with only the back of his head. 

Your heart dropped at the sound of his sniffles. “Neteyam, Akxyeì is just a friend,” you started, trying to formulate the best way to try and explain the situation to him and then beg for his forgiveness. 

“It’s not about that.” he sucked in a breath in attempt to calm himself down. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

Your heart felt like it was splitting into two. 

You’d constantly been reassuring yourself that you weren’t avoiding him, you were just hanging out with your own separate group of friends, but in truth you basically had been. 

“I’m not avoiding you,” you paused, sighing as you faced the fact that you were going to have to be truly honest with him about your feelings now. 

“I just…wanted to be seen.” 

At those words, he turned towards you, eyes glistening with tears. “Wh…What do you mean by that?” 

“With them, I feel like what I always wanted to be— A strong, brave warrior with talent. With them, I feel like I can just truly be myself, and I don’t have to hold back.” 

He looked at you, beckoning you to go on. 

Your eyes flickered down, unable to meet his eyes as you continued, “Sometimes when I’m out with you I feel like I have to keep up appearances. You’re the next olo’eyktan, the next leader for our people, and I feel like I’m always in your shadow.”

“I get comments from the elders like, “How is it dating the next in line for Olo’eyktan???”” you mocked their shrill voices with a face as you quoted their exact words, the corner of your boyfriend’s lips twitching up in amusement. 

“So..I don’t know. When I finally was seen as a leader myself, with Akxyeì and the others, it felt like I was…free. Free from the expectations that other people put on me.” you bit your lip, imagining how selfish you must’ve sounded to him right now. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neteyam part his lips slightly.

“..I never knew you felt that way,” he half whispered, looking down at his hand and yours, suddenly aching to intertwine your fingers together.

“It’s..not that I didn’t like being with you, you make me so happy,” you let a small smile appear on your face, “It’s just that it makes me feel worse about myself when people only care that I’m your partner. They don’t see me.”

“So…that’s why I’ve been hanging out with my other friends,” the air felt awkward after you finished, and you felt like you had to add on to your words so that the atmosphere didn’t feel so..empty.

“ I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything before.”

“.....So I take it you’re still in love with me?” 

You looked up at his totally unserious response, slightly baffled. He had a childishly wide grin on his face. The tears from earlier had already dried up, leaving no trace behind. 

Your mouth was open in surprise of his lighthearted reaction. Had he even heard anything you just said? 

“Just so you know, Akxyeì is totally not more attractive than me,” he pushed on, determined to see one thing and one thing only. 

Your beautiful smile.

And his not-so-cunning ploy worked, as a little grin made its way up onto your face. 

He placed his hand on top of yours, slightly gripping your fingers. “But in all seriousness, I’m sorry too.” 

His mesmerising eyes were widened ever so slightly, as if he was trying to take in more of the sight of you. 

“For what?” you mouthed, the volume of your words barely above a hum. 

“For not noticing how you felt. I’m supposed to be good at gauging other people’s emotions–” he sighed, before you stopped him mid sentence with one of your fingers to his lips. 

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you anything. I was worried you’d feel even more pressured with having to worry about me too, besides everything else already going on,” you tilted your head downwards, glancing once more at the barely illuminated bark you sat on.. 

You wanted to tell him more, to explain further, but the doe look in his eyes as he gently took your finger off his mouth with his free hand told you he’d already understood everything. 

He flipped your hand around, placing a soft kiss on your wrist, maintaining full eye contact with you as he did it. The motion sent butterflies raging frantically in your stomach, the thrill causing you to blush slightly. 

“So. Tell me more about your friends.” he smirked, knowing the full extent of his charm and what it did to you. 

You breathed out, nodding before sitting directly next to him, your hips touching his. You began to recite to him all the fun little adventures you had with your hunting group, and the stupid things Akxyeì would get himself into. 

You couldn’t help but smirk a little bit whenever you felt Neteyam’s hand tighten its grip around yours whenever you mentioned the other boy. 

“And then, one other time- Teyam?” you felt his head weigh on your shoulder. Was he…asleep? 

A small pause followed as you stopped talking, and you just froze completely before narrowing your eyes. 

“..You aren’t asleep, are you?” you rolled your eyes, feeling a chuckle vibrate on your shoulder from his throat. 

You always knew how to read him, and he found it amusing that you were the only person he could never fool. It just added onto his everlasting appreciation for you. 

You watched him as he pulled his head up off your shoulder, smiling as he looked at your face with such fondness that it made you feel weightless. 

“I love you, [Y/N].”

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aw how sweet 😊 isn’t that so sweet?? i'm so sorry if this genuinely sucked ass cause i have no clue how to write sweet stuff..but thank u so much for your req anon! thank u all for 500+ followers, it truly means so much to me guys 😭🙏

i hope you guys enjoyed this! as always, thank u for stopping by my blog 💗💚

much love, lorre.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Not Yet, Anyway

Summary: Echo wakes in a panic. Thankfully someone is there to soothe his racing thoughts.

Warnings: discussion of panic, brief mention of blood.

Based off of this post I really couldn’t help but write something for it.

@saturn-sends-hugs this is a gift for you, friend <3

Echo woke with a gasp, a gut punch, almost a garble. For a second he thought blood was in his throat, skin burning as flame licked him, a scream right on the edge of his tongue. Then the rumbling of a ship’s engine reminded him of where he was. The Marauder. Clone Force 99. Safe. But why didn’t he feel like it? With a grunt Echo pulled himself up, hammock swinging precariously while his lungs tried to pump air through him. The dreams wouldn’t leave him be no matter how hard he tried. Days of waking up near panic left him fatigued, wanting for sleep but rarely letting it take him. Echo swung his legs out of the hammock and dropped onto the floor. He grabbing the side of one of the bunks for balance and tried to steady his heartbeat. Everyone else should be asleep - Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair all dozing peacefully - but Echo needed something. What that something was he wasn’t sure but he had to get out of that hammock. He couldn’t go to the cockpit, not while Tech was on watch. Maybe he could switch with him, take over the night watch so he could stay awake. Anything to keep those images away. Anything to make the night pass by without his heart beating out of his chest.

“Gonna keep standing there or are you going to sit down before you topple over?” Without meaning to Echo flinched. Crosshair was awake - apparently - and was staring at him passively. He was sitting on a lower bunk, back against the wall with some sort of flimsi pad in his lap, a pencil held between his fingers. How did Echo not notice him?

Echo shook his head. “No, I’m-” He took a second to swallow the rough feeling in his throat but nearly choked on it. Crosshair’s eyes flickered away from him and to the book in his hand.

”Sit down before you break something. I won’t be peeling you off the floor when you pass out.” Crosshair said, voice low. Echo bristled at the insinuation but couldn’t quite argue. His head was starting to feel light and that tight ball of panic hadn’t lessened in his chest. After a few gulps of air Echo moved until he could sit on the edge of the bottom bunk, scooting back until he was mimicking Crosshair’s position, head tilted back against the wall.

Silence spread between them and Echo’s mind spun. Sitting was a bad idea. Nothing to distract him meant more racing thoughts and those thoughts meant more constriction in his lungs, and if he couldn’t breathe then what was he supposed to-

“Look,” Crosshair urged with a tap of his pencil on the page. Another instruction didn’t come, instead he waited while Echo blinked the stinging emotion out of his eyes and tilted his head until he could see what was being pointed out to him. On the page was the beginning stages of what looked like their ship. There were a few spots where it was clear Crosshair had to erase and redraw but the lines were strong and confident, details already littering the page. The entire drawing was about half way done but he wasn’t sure if Crosshair liked to do more than sketch. Crosshair used his pencil to trace along lines he’d already created, pointing out what he wanted. “It’s more cramped than I’d like it to be but I finally got the whole ship to fit on one page. See, there’s the window to the cockpit and the partial view of the gunner’s mount.” He put the lead to paper again and started adding some details to the wings. A few lines were added to detail the little dent on the wing facing them. Echo took in a deep breath in time with the pencil and let it out, feeling the ache in his gut lessen.

Echo pointed to the page with his scomp. “It looks good. Don’t forget to add the paint splatter from Wrecker’s mishap.” His voice came out scratchy, as if sandpaper was wrapped around his throat, but Crosshair paid it no mind. He hummed, adding the outline for the splatter, then moving on to shade in some of the underside. Echo watched and his fear drifted by. There was something hypnotizing about that pencil, the way it sounded as it scratched along the paper. The panic gave way to frustration and Echo had to wrap his arms around himself to attempt to soothe it away. He’d inserted himself without thinking enough about it and now he was intruding, already making suggestions, why couldn’t he just-

Crosshair let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Your brain runs as much as your mouth, huh?” He asked. Rude. Echo rolled his eyes, looking away.

“I’m sorry. It was just…” The dreams. He should go back to bed. No, not back to bed. Going back to bed would be a bad idea. He should… he should leave Crosshair alone at least, do something else.

”No need to spill your guts.” Crosshair stretched, shifting until his leg was resting firmly against Echo’s. “Not yet, anyway.” Echo swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and tried to focus on the constant pressure instead. Crosshair went back to drawing confident lines on the page, tipping the book towards Echo to ask about how it looked every so often. It was kind of odd, sitting in the dim light watching Crosshair draw a damn good sketch of their ship, but that feeling was less discomfort and more adjustment. He didn’t close his eyes again, not that night, but he considered it when fatigue yanked at his bones once more. He preferred to be up anyway, watching, whispering suggestions, anything to keep his thoughts from spiraling back to the darkness that lined them.

Crosshair did a good job of that.

[junk-story]

Interview: Ongaku to Hito and Sakurai Atsushi - Ichikawa Tetsushi x Kanemitsu Hiroshi, Part I

This interview is on pages 52-57 of the magazine. Footnotes are included in numbered parentheses and can be found at the bottom. Part II of this interview can be found here.

~~~~~~~

From the establishment of the magazine in 1993 to the present day, we are proud to say that, in the 356 releases of Ongaku to Hito, Sakurai Atsushi had the highest number of appearances. Including things like live reports and columns, the count of appearances is close to 130 times. We feel that it’s probable that this number will never be beaten by anyone else. Now, you may be asking why a person such as Sakurai Atsushi was so loved by Ongaku to Hito’s editorial department for such a long time. And, why he, too, responded to us as he did. The first editor-in-chief, Ichikawa, who came to see the incomplete Sakurai of the 20th Century, and the third editor-in-chief, Kanemitsu, who saw the process of his expressive style come to completion in the 21st century, discuss together what Sakurai Atsushi was to Ongaku to Hito.

Kanemitsu: When was the first time you met Sakurai-san?

Ichikawa: When I was working as editor-in-chief in Nagoya for Town Magazine. I was working as the Western music critic, but it was a town magazine, so I thought we needed to do Japanese music as well.

Kanemitsu: It was right when the first Band Boom(1) was going on, right?

Ichikawa: Right. And at that time, there was an older promoter from Victor’s Nagoya Sales Office that had come to do this over-the-top promotion of these new bands. I had no interest in them, but the way he made his sales pitch was very skilled. He was like, ‘Even though they have this sort of gaudy visual style, the melody is like a tulip.” (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: (laughs) It certainly had that scent to it in the early days.

Ichikawa: At the time of their debut, Sakurai Atsushi didn’t really have the basics down of being a vocalist yet, but then, don’t Japanese people love the sound of a natural bass voice with a slightly sweet quality to it? However, behind that, there were a lot of strange wailing guitars, and I ended up taking an interest in them; I decided to do an interview with them, and the ones who came were Sakurai and Hoshino.

Kanemitsu: The person who was playing the weird guitar wasn’t there! (laughs)

Ichikawa: Moreover, even though they came with their hair standing up and in their full stage gear, no matter what I asked the two of them, they would only nod their heads shyly in agreement; it was a situation where they were like a “fleet of silence”. That overwhelming difference was so funny.

Kanemitsu: And the next time was in Tokyo?

Ichikawa: At Rocking on Japan. After interviewing Imai, I was kidnapped by Roppongi’s BOO!WHO?WOO!, and that was where I drank for the first time with Sakurai. For the following month’s issue, we had planned to do it with Sakurai and Anii, but on the day of the interview, we received communication that Sakurai’s mother had suddenly passed away and he wanted to hurry back home to Gunma, so in Sakurai’s place, Imai was to do the interview. When I went to the scene of the interview, feeling sympathetic for the whole situation, for some reason, Sakurai was there.

Kanemitsu: What?

Ichikawa: I asked him, “What’s the matter?(2)” and he said, “I thought I should come to properly greet you and ask you to please excuse me [for missing the interview].”

Kanemitsu: A good person who really respects the social hierarchy.

Ichikawa: It’s a good story, right? (laughs) Even though this man is this sort of flashy frontman, he doesn’t talk much and acts seriously.(3)

Kanemitsu: I really think so too.

Ichikawa: And then, as early as the next issue, Sakurai did a 20,000 character interview.

Kanemitsu: …for the No Blood, No Tears magazine.

Ichikawa: Wahahaha. As you might expect, I suppose I couldn’t touch on anything regarding his mother. When we sat down and had a thorough discussion, he was bad at speaking, but trying with all his might to do it. What came from that was how his adolescence was a rather empty(4) time.

Kanemitsu: After he graduated from high school, he went to work in a factory, correct?

Ichikawa: Yes, that. At a car factory, the job he did was screwing parts together as they came through, but it was like he agonized over it, thinking, “…why am I continuing to do something like this?” That sort of difficult-to-express feeling can really pull the heartstrings of readers, I think.

Kanemitsu. That became the heart of Sakurai’s lyrics.

Ichikawa: Yeah. That’s where it begins, you know, the “What am I?” series. Understanding that there is something there, but not being able to explain it well. So it can only be written as lyrics and sung. In search of an escape, an endless journey of self-discovery began.

Kanemitsu: Interviews became Sakurai-san’s therapy.

Ichikawa: I was his therapist, or, like his infinite hitting partner for wondering about things to himself. At the interview location, through talking with me, he would organize his thoughts and then verbalize them. It was like this repeatedly. And we couldn’t google information like we can now, and in the first place, there wouldn’t be an answer anywhere even if we did google it. So we ended up with lyrics like “Namida ukabete Deca-dance (eng: “deca-dance with tears in my eyes”) in Maboroshi no Miyako, and the kids that listened to it wrote us letters while crying, asking, “What kind of dance is this?!” (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: The fans, readers, and even he himself didn’t understand.

Ichikawa: I think it was just that, even if you couldn’t comprehend it, the emptiness that Sakurai carried drew everyone to him. Like something a person instinctively sympathizes with deeply.

Kanemitsu: At that time, Ongaku to Hito was laying the groundwork for the beginning of an idea to materialize for him.

Ichikawa: Ultimately. (laughs) However, I think he also perhaps didn’t completely understand it.

Kanemitsu: Agreed. Sakurai-san himself tried reading [Charles] Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil” and said he was frustrated by the second page. (laughs)

Ichikawa: That’s right. But, I think he had this indulgence of, “I’m good in the darkness, the emptiness in me is obvious.” So I called Sakurai Atsushi, “The Appeal of Self-Deprecation.” That’s because the lyrics written by the Sakurai Atsushi of the 20th century had these desperate contents of “I’m no good, no good, I’m NO GOOD” all throughout them.

Kanemitsu: But in Kurutta Taiyou, using the sun as a motif, I think he became able to view himself from a bird’s-eye view. And his mother’s existence is at the root of him.

Ichikawa: That complexity is the foundation of Sakurai’s work, right? But he couldn’t use it consciously as a technique. Making Kurutta Taiyou, I think even he could probably see and noticed that. And so then, when a year passed and he was face to face with the new release’s lyrics, he was back to square one again. Every time, he ended up returning back to the source.

Kanemitsu: It never became like, “I wrote this before, so I should do it like this next time”, did it?

Ichikawa: Right. Other musicians are more carefree when writing their lyrics, aren’t they? Once they’ve fallen into their own style, the only discussion is about if they should update it. Kanemitsu: When writing lyrics, do you always have to face yourself, or –

Ichikawa: You can’t escape it. On the other hand, that sort of work has some troublesome aspects to it, so I can’t dislike someone for not doing it. (wry laugh)

Kanemitsu: Meaning?

Ichikawa: The Sakurai Atsushi of the 20th century, and I think this could also be said for all of BUCK-TICK, had no progress - in a good way. Thanks to Imai’s desire for “wanting to put out strange sounds”, there was change every time, but in the lyrics, it was three steps forward and three steps back repeatedly. Because they’d make an album, go on tour, and all the time after that, the 5 of them spent drinking.

Kanemitsu: 365 days of the same cycle repeatedly. (laughs) There was an extremely low amount of [external] input, so there ended up being an absolute need for them to do the work to re-examine themselves.

Ichikawa: This continued the entire time. But, there can be no mistake that this shaped Sakurai’s unique lyrics’ worldview. One always ends up going back to the basics. It was a moratorium, in a good sense.

Kanemitsu: But they didn’t run away.

Ichikawa: That’s because Sakurai was a kind man. He knew better than anyone what would happen if he ran away. So no matter how driven into a corner he was, the one thing he would never sacrifice was the band.

Kanemitsu: I see.

Ichikawa: His rare charm was that the self-indulgent Sakurai Atsushi and the Sakurai Atsushi who took stoicism to its limit both existed together. So this troubled him, and he wanted to run away, but he didn’t. He faced things stoically, so this troubling feeling of wanting to run away is reflected in his lyrics.

Kanemitsu: In the 21st century, he began to act that part consciously. Taking himself to the limit and despairing that he was no good, no good. He would not face the lyrics while exhausted, but instead deepened his expression of them through the premise of acting them out.

Ichikawa: It may have been a shock, but in short, their material elevated(5). Really, because they were able to turn their work into art, we can grasp now how they were able to bring forth a decadent rock masterpiece like 21st Cherry Boy. Although that kind of dark decadence is seen as a negative, they established it as an excellent form of entertainment, which is fantastic. When I listened to that, I wondered, “Why has Sakurai made a breakthrough to this point?” What did you make of that?

~~~~~~~

Footnotes:

(1) This refers to the period of time in the late '70s-’80s where the sort of distinct, Japanese-but-Western-but-neither-but-both style of bands were increasing in popularity and number. Bands like BUCK-TICK came out of this boom. (2) In the sense of like, “What are you doing here?” (3) This can also mean “genuine”. I think both words suit the context, and I’m not sure which meaning he intends. (4) “Empty” here is in a negative context - an emptiness of meaning, fulfillment. (5) “Elevated” here is a word I don’t think translates well into English. This word, in chemistry, also means “to sublimate” - like when something goes from a solid state to a gaseous state, without passing through the liquid state first. I think it’s helpful to imagine this in the use of “elevating” here, too - a sudden, jolting step up from where things were before.

This made sense as a logical cutoff point because the interview slowly starts turning to Kanemitsu's experience in the 21st century with Sakurai from here. I'll include Ichikawa's question at the start of Part II, just to keep things clear.

[girl-in-a-bubbl3]

Glamrock Monty (FNAF) x Reader Part 1

Notes:

AU Fanfic/NonCanon

Takes place after the fire

Animatronics are redesigned sorta

Sun/Moon are the same animatronic

Will probably be some spicy parts so...18+

No use of y/n, your name is Beanie now

Will probably be multiple relationships (I love Monty and Sun/Moon both way too much plz don't make me choose)

Monty saw her before she saw him.

She was a tiny thing. Maybe 5 ft tall with long green hair up in a ponytail that swayed every time she walked. She had tiny little dots on her face, like freckles, except they were multicolored.

All of her accessories seemed to mirror the themes of the Plex. Her earrings were different. Dangling from the left ear was what looked like a Sundrop candy wrapper, one of the Daycare candies, and the right ear was the same except with a Moondrop wrapper.

What stuck out to him the most was the red, star shaped glasses that you had perched atop your head. They weren’t purple, like his, but you knew it was a nod to him.

Monty stared down at you from the balcony in the atrium. He was definitely intrigued.

As he was staring down at you, Monty became lost in thought. Not noticing when you looked up and locked eyes with him.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Today was your first day.

Sort of.

Ever since the fire that happened two years ago, you’ve been onsite helping with rebuilding the Plex and the animatronics who got caught up in the evil plans of humans.

You still weren’t clear on everything that happened. You just got a call one day from a very kind but monotonous lady who told you that your uncle had passed and the Plex was now yours to go further with, if you so chose.

You hadn’t spoken to said uncle in almost a decade. He wasn’t very interested in the family, just his machines. You didn’t know much about him and when he made it big in Fazbear entertainment, he left the family to fend for themselves in a failing economy.

So finding out that everything was left to you was more than a shock. It took you over a week of weighing pros/cons and investigating to ensure it was something you could do. The one thing your uncle and yourself had in common: Robotics was your greatest passion.

You spoke to him about it only once before you went off to college for Mechatronics but the fever in your eyes must have been enough to convince him that you would continue what he started.

And you would. But you’d try to do so, so much better.

Fazbear Entertainment had a history of violence, cover ups, coercion, and a lot of corruption. That was something you aimed to change. It was something you didn’t really had to worry much about with rebuilding the Plex because that was simple but when it came to the animatronics…

The repairs, recoding, and reinstallation of new and old parts took you a whole year and a half. You worked from the time you woke up to whatever time you would end up passing out. The more you read the manuals, wrote your own manuals, and spent time with the unconscious animatronics, the more you could see how easy it was to get attached. Something you were so unsure of turned into the center of your whole world.

You had a little apartment built for yourself that was connected to your office so you didn’t have to worry about commutes anymore. The Plex was now your home too.

You had been gone for the past three months. You missed the animatronics waking up again because you had to be in meetings to discuss the politics of reopening the Mega Plex. That hit your heart. You spent so long getting things ready and you weren’t even the first to reintroduce them to the place that they had worked in for so long now.

You trusted the handful of mechanics that was over that, but it just wasn’t the same. And the grand reopening was in a week so today you were finally back to introduce yourself and have some time with the ones you had grown so attached to, unbeknownst to them.

As you approached the stage where your colleague was introducing you, you couldn't help but feel every eye on you as you approached the stage to make your welcome speech. You had received an ungodly amount of criticism since you took over the Plex in your location.

At 27, you were old enough for people to consider what you said but still young enough for everyone to think that they knew better. You were covered in tattoos and always kept your hair dyed an unnatural color. Multiple piercings in your face and you had to always have your favorite accessories flashing (it just so happened that most of those pieces were Fazbear specific). You were never seen without your rose colored, star shaped glasses. You weren't exactly the image of professionalism.

Stepping up and standing to wait for your colleague to stop talking, you happened to look around and take a quick peak at everyone around. There were about 30 or so human staff members. Janitors, other mechanics, stage hands, etc. And then you saw the animatronics. Your heart skipped a beat as you recalled all of the work you put in to each of them.

You tried to keep as much of their original personalities intact as you could when filling in the gaps that the virus left. You did change their casings. You wanted them to be even more realistic than they were. Freddy, Chica, and Roxy got hundreds of tiny little fibers that gave them that extra soft feeling that fur would. Monty was fun because he got hundreds of individual scales and the design made him virtually impenetrable with the tough, but smooth reptile skin. You didn’t alter much with Sun/Moon except for allowing their faceplates to move and change instead of the one specific smile that they were forced to keep. You figured you’d talk with them personally about more alterations since the daycare attendant was a little more sensitive than the others.

Freddy was sitting forward in his chair, trying to give the speaker his upmost attention. Chica was by the refreshment table, obviously sneaking snacks. Nothing new there. Roxy was sitting beside Freddy with her arms crossed, examining her fingernails, looking bored. You didn't see the daycare attendant and immediately a little of seed of worry started to sprout inside of your stomach. You'd have to go check out the daycare after this.

Monty was also missing. You searched around the atrium and didn't see his large, scaley figure. You happened to quickly glance up and your eyes locked onto a large, green figure leaning against the railing on the third floor of the atrium. Monty's expression was hazy as he stared at you, almost like he was waking up from a dream.

After a moment, it's like he finally realized you were also staring at him. He quickly looked away and scampered off until you could no longer see where he was. You made a mental note to check on him later as well.

“Welcome our new Director, Beanie!”

That was your cue. You stepped on up with a large smile and took the microphone. “It’s so nice to see you all, especially our animatronic friends! We’ve all worked so hard to be here right now. It’s been two long years and a lot of dedication.”

The rest of your speech was pretty generic but you still tried to be as inspiring as possible. You truly did have the biggest sense of pride looking around the Plex and it definitely reflected in your voice. So no matter what you said, the promise of the future reflected in your voice.

After everything was over and employees started to disperse, you couldn’t get the absent animatronics out of your mind. You excused yourself from the last bit of conversation and headed off towards the Daycare.

You were a little nervous since this was your first time meeting the Daycare Attendant but only because you definitely had a soft spot for the twins. Something about their presence was enough to hide the past trauma that always presented itself to the forefront of your brain at the worst times.

You worked so hard to make sure the daycare would be up to their standards when they returned to it. It was the area you spent the most time in. Fortunately enough, the fire didn’t touch their room. You decided to keep it exactly as they had it but you did add a furniture catalog so they could request anything extra that they needed. You knew your uncle never gave any of them that option.

You entered the daycare lobby and briefly marveled at the familiar bronze statue of Sun and Moon in the center. It was one of your favorite pieces that was a part of the daycare so of course you kept it.

You decided to use the normal entrance instead of the ultra fun slide that the kids would eventually use once the Plex reopened. You’d definitely tested it out more times than you could count when you were unaccompanied so you figured you could use the main entrance for now.

Approaching the large, wooden doors you stood for a moment and took a deep breath. Before you could even reach for the handle, the door in front of you flew open and in front of you stood a lanky, 7 ft tall, sun themed animatronic.

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

Hi guys!! So sorry this chapter is so incredibly long. I needed to set the foundation ;-; I'm SO excited to start this story. I haven't decided on what relationships will happen yet. My poly brain refuses to let me just focus on one lol. Definitely Monty/Sun&Moon oriented tho. Might sneak some Freddy love in there. Not sure yet. I hope you guys like the intro! I'm literally about to start the next chapter because I'm so excited. Stay tuned for that and another Bonnie chapter. I have most of it written but I'm having writer's block and can't decide on how I want to finish it. So sorry I keep making you guys wait for that. But here's this to fill the time until then! Much love and hope you guys enjoy what's to come <3

[pikahlua]

Winner Stage-Left, or: Did you know any MHA character’s position in the frame is a spoiler?

(Subtitle: Who’s gonna stop me from converting other old Discord conversations into meta? You? YOU? Doubtful.)

Honestly it’s just embarrassing that I haven’t made this post yet.

I’ve talked before about horizontal and vertical design on the faces of MHA characters, but there’s another visual trick that’s ever-so-present in MHA--nay, in all of shounen manga and anime--that deserves at least a cursory discussion. Ever since I was a wee tyke, I noticed an odd tendency in anime to always place the winner of a fight (or...children’s card game) on the right of the screen. I never thought anything of it for a long time, but a few years ago a friend mentioned something about it to me in passing. This friend was very unfamiliar with anime but had somehow heard something about this phenomenon and its potential origins. Naturally, I had to look into it.

The research I did wasn’t as conclusive as I would have liked, but I did discover something about the topic. What I discovered was that in traditional forms of Japanese theater such as kabuki and noh, stage-left is considered a superior position to stage-right. Someone of a superior ranking to the other would stand stage-left. Sometimes this “superiority” would be as simple as social ranking or whatever.

But then you have various anime with confrontation via martial arts or sports or fights where "stage-left" can take on a different meaning.

As we explore this concept as presented in MHA, I would like to start with this back cover of tankoban #33.

For clarity’s sake, note that Izuku is looking towards the right of the page while Katsuki is looking to the left side. Stage-left is determined by looking to the left of an actor when they stand on stage and face the audience (in other words, from the audience’s perspective, stage-left is to the right). Izuku and Katsuki in the above page are facing each other, and so on-screen Izuku would be standing stage-right and Katsuki would be standing stage-left.

But what does it all mean?

(It means Katsuki is the hero in this moment.)

I wrote above that in anime confrontations "stage-left" can take on a new meaning. Specifically, the concept of what "superior ranking" is can be played with. We end up with the story’s hero often being stage-left. Or sometimes this positioning is broadcasting who will be the winner of the match. Go watch an older anime like Dragonball Z or Yugioh and take note of each match-up: who is standing on the left and who is on the right? Then guess who wins the match. The statistics are pretty clear on this: stage-left is most often (if not always) the winner.

But in many of these older anime, the positioning of the characters remains the same for the entire match. That’s not the case with MHA; Horikoshi loves to change up who is standing where throughout a match (or dialogue, if you will), so it’s important to pay attention to what’s happening when positions get swapped around.

With regards to the above image and the events of Deku vs Class 1-A, consider who is positioned where and when. Just think about these images:

Here in chapter 319, Izuku is stage-left. The depiction is supposed to prime us to believe he is stronger than Class 1-A, which technically he is--in a contest of each individual’s strength.

But then if you read chapter 320, you'll find that once the action starts, Class 1-A is almost always standing stage-left of Izuku, specifically when they're trying to talk him down.

The whole ice ramp chase sequence in chapter 321 shows Izuku fleeing towards stage-right while the others are stage-left and chase after him.

And then you have this moment, where Iida passes Izuku just to get more stage-right of him. This is an interesting way to play with the “winner” side of the stage. In order to save Izuku, Iida is elevating him from the self-destructive “Symbol of Peace" back into Izuku Midoriya their classmate. Izuku, their friend and one piece of class 1-A, is meant to be the “hero” they wish to save, not the loner Deku whom Izuku tried to become.

And then we get to think about what this staging means in the apology.

Katsuki stands stage-left, which we’d expect him to do as the forecast "winner." But this is such an interesting take on staging because Katsuki is essentially debasing himself by bowing to Izuku with his apology--but it’s in order to win, in order to get Izuku back, in order to achieve his goal of saving Izuku. It's almost paradoxical, but it's basically broadcasting to us the reading audience whom we should be cheering for: Katsuki.

This isn’t the first time MHA has played with positioning like this. The sports festival is one of my favorite examples. If you look at how the anime depicts the match-ups and who wins each match, the matches can be listed in stage-right vs stage-left format (bold names are the winners):

Midoriya vs Shinsou Todoroki vs Sero Kaminari vs Ibara Iida vs Hatsume Ashido vs Aoyama Yaoyorozu vs Tokoyami Kirishima vs Tetsutetsu (draw) Uraraka vs Bakugou

Tetsutetsu vs Kirishima (arm-wrestle tiebreaker)

Midoriya vs Todoroki Ibara vs Iida Ashido vs Tokoyami Kirishima vs Bakugou

Iida vs Todoroki Tokoyami vs Bakugou

Bakugou vs Todoroki

And if we take a closer look at the anomalous stage-right winners:

Midoriya vs Shinsou ends with Midoriya's victory, but Shinsou is portrayed as the hero we should sympathize with in the end. Thus, he wins the attention of Aizawa and the audience enough to give him a shot at the hero course, which fulfills his original goal in competing.

Todoroki vs Sero ends with Todoroki's victory, but the end is perceived by Midoriya as "sad," and the audience ends up cheering for Sero when it's all over. Todoroki is still a captive of his hatred for his father, and in that sense he is the loser.

Iida vs Hatsume ends with Iida's win on a technicality. Hatsume clearly has control over the entire match and only loses because she wants to, and even then only after she presents all the gadgets she wanted to, which achieves her goal in competing.

Ashido vs Aoyama can be considered an outlier with Ashido's win until we remember Aoyama as the unwitting traitor may have actually wanted to lose? Either that or this fight is meant as a joke to subvert our expectations because of Mineta's call to see Ashido's underwear at the start. Either way, even if Ashido starts on stage-right, she actually swings her way over to stage-left for her surprise victory at the end.

And then we have Bakugou vs Todoroki, which actually becomes Todoroki vs Bakugou as soon as the story makes it clear to us that Torodoki is wavering on whether or not he'll use his fire. Bakugou switches over to stage-left before the end, and the final non-clash keeps him there, even if that's not how he wants things to play out (he certainly would have a hard time considering himself the “winner.”)

Another one worth rewatching while keeping this positioning phenomenon in mind is absolutely “Deku vs Kacchan, Part 2.” Holy shit, they swap places so damn often, and it's always about what they're saying or doing in the moment.

What’s wild is how in the manga, this sequence is played with Katsuki stage-right...

...but in the anime he’s played as stage-left.

And just think about how that affects the portrayal. In the manga version, is Katsuki being portrayed as a victim who needs saving by hero (stage-left) Izuku? Is Katsuki’s despair the trial for the hero to overcome? In the anime version, is Katsuki’s anxiety meant to be relatable and sympathetic for the audience? Is Izuku’s ignorance of Katsuki’s true feelings the obstacle for hero (stage-left) Katsuki to overcome?

Stage-left is even played with when the boys are airing their grievances! Whoever is speaking gets to occupy the hero spot:

And of course there’s my favorite example from this face-off: the ending where stage-right Katsuki, refusing to lose, grabs Izuku's sleeve and forcefully switches them around to pin Izuku from stage-left.

We have a winner!

These examples, of course, are not the entire list. Read the chapters or watch the episode and count how many times they swap places. It puts that whole sequence in the anime where the camera swoops around the boys as they clash in the sky into a whole new perspective (like the story-boarders just gave up on all the position swaps and pulled out the 3-D graphics in protest.)

So give it a shot next time you read/watch MHA and see if you notice these positions. I obviously pay the most attention to the ones with Izuku and Katsuki (their stage positions get played around with a lot). Consider the first anime opening when they're drawn in one positioning as kids but swap when they hit middle school. And the creek flashback scene? Izuku offers his hand to Katsuki from stage-left. And in the PLW arc? Izuku vs Tomura in the sky? Izuku starts out stage-left, but they swap when Izuku goes feral and Katsuki starts panicking. Katsuki saves Izuku by traveling from stage-left. In the final panel of chapter 285, we see Katsuki still positioned stage-left as he’s stabbed, which highlights his heroism.

Oh, and here’s the new part I’m adding that wasn’t in the Discord conversation that spawned this meta: Katsuki vs TomurAFO. I just find it so telling wherever Katsuki is positioned.

Chapter 359: Katsuki is portrayed as stage-left.

Chapter 360: Katsuki is forced stage-right by TomurAFO...

...but the heroes pluck Katsuki back into stage-left...

...where he stays.

Chapter 362: Katsuki attacks from stage-left and continues to circle around TomurAFO to stage-left.

Katsuki is depicted as stage-left as he meets All Might’s vestige...

...but as soon as he expresses his desire for an autograph, he unexpectedly moves to stage-right...

...and takes a fatal blow.

Talk about a visual plot twist!

(I also happen to think Tomura’s positioning throughout this arc is very curious, and I will continue to pay attention to it.)

Have fun with the new lens!

[alexturne]

I'm having a lot of thoughts and idk if I've fully thought it all out, but I needed to get it down and try to work out how I feel about it all..

I genuinely don't think this whole "discourse" is what's happening. I'm sure they just really wanted to do the whole bit with the strings and that's all.

Nothing to do with Alex and Miles being less close than they once were. Nothing to do with their relationship being less profound than it has always been. They're super important people in each other's lives and there comes a point when you've been that for someone for so long that it no longer requires constant reconfirmation. Their friendship is so solid, so deeply rooted within them both, that they don't need to perform together to assure themselves that they're good. There's no question. They're friends, and they always will be, no matter how much time passes, they'll always be there for each other. I have no doubt about that.

And they asked Miles to come along, they knew they could count on him to make it and do an amazing show, even on short notice. And Miles was there watching, having fun, riding the high of his own show, and I bet it doesn't hurt him the slightest bit not playing 505 with them. And neither does Alex not joining him for a tlsp track. And it's just very fun to watch Miles do such a great job on such a massive stage and to watch Alex (maybe) send some inside jokes his way, and definitely acknowledge his presence more than he has for any other opening act.

Miles has enjoyed playing a couple of the more Miles centric tlsp tunes during the last year at his own shows, and he probably just took them off the setlist when they figured out they wouldn't have the time/energy to rehearse and work it all out. And to not lead anyone on and create false hope that Alex might show up. It's been a long time since they've done it. And Alex is the sort of guy who has probably forgotten his own lyrics, and would require more time and brain capacity to practice to get it in order. Or something else that is perfectly reasonable.

Like, I'm all for delusions but I guess I'm just saying that I don't think it's that deep. They're friends. Close friends. Very important to each other. (Maybe more if that's how you choose to view it). And I bet they don't even think about the shows in the same terms as we do, every little thing doesn't matter as much to them as it does to us. Not everything is a "sign" and there are so many pragmatic and logistical reasons that play into a tour like this that we know nothing about.

I bet Alex is exhausted, excited for the tour to be over and to get to go home and rest, I know I would be! Even if he has loved every bit of it, I would be completely worn out and just ready to go home. But I bet they were also so excited to have the strings and they wanted to really have them shine during the set. It was their show. The Monkey's show, and they finally had the chance to let the vision they had for the album come to life. What an amazing end of the tour.

I won't get too much into why they haven't utilized the strings sooner, because they obviously could've and I don't get why they didn't, and maybe they could've skipped the strings on 505 and had Miles up for it instead. It would've been incredible. So much potential. A lot of fans would've been pleased bout that, and I know they'd enjoy it and have fun playing together too.

But they didn't, and even if I would love to know the actual reason, I'm choosing to let it go and assume there is a very logical and reasonable explanation, and not some big dramatic fallout going on. I can be disappointed about not seeing them, but I don't think it "means" anything in the grander scheme of things.

Miles could've played with them (assuming he doesn't for the last one either), and I won't get into that discussion too much either, because ofc they could have done it together, but so many things had to work out and maybe Miles just wanted to do his own thing. Maybe they never got around to having the conversation, maybe something entirely different happened. We don't know.

And yes ofc I'm disappointed that we didn't get to see them together, I won't deny it. I would've loved it, both as a fan of their music and performances and as a tiny little happy milex lover, my shipper and fic writer heart would've been so so pleased about it. But we didn't get it this time around, and that doesn't mean that their friendship is over or that they hate each other or that they're not close anymore or that they don't love each other anymore. And it doesn't mean that we won't ever see them play together again.

I think they would love to perform together again, but I would assume they also have so many other things they love to do too. So many other things that require their energy. Even together, but also just their personal dreams and wants in life.

They're both into the idea of tlsp being back someday, but as it has always been with them, tlsp will return when the time is right, when it happens naturally. That's the beauty of it. It's something that just happens and that's why they both love and enjoy it so much, I think. It's about freedom and spontaneity, it's without boundaries, it can't be planned or controlled, it's a beautiful chaos between two close friends who love to make music together, and who are incredibly talented at it. But they're also artists who have other ambitions. Other projects they love.

And their friendship doesn't depend on tlsp releasing new music. It is a product of their beautiful friendship, but the friendship came first. Them not writing together right now actually says absolutely nothing about the current state of their friendship. Which we have seen signs of being as healthy and strong as ever, if a bit more private than it used to be. And that's fine. They're super private people, and honestly I would have much more reason to worry for their friendship if they suddenly started posting about it all the time and parading each other around. They're not like that and they never will be and that's fine.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

Yes, they're being dumbasses - both the band and our dear milex boys, throughout the whole tour - with not utilizing the strings earlier on the tour, not playing more of The Car on the setlist, not skipping more of AM, not taking advantage of ALL THAT POTENTIAL. They could've done the strings for Glastonbury, it would've been perfect. They could've easily included Miles in a few more gigs (it was sooooo lovely when they did), these last ones in particular, and it would've been so beautiful and meaningful and they would've had so much fun with it - they could've made so many better decisions than they did. The whole tour came with some question marks. We can all agree on that. They're being stupid and they seem to not always think very far ahead, and sometimes forget to use their brains, and I assume that's why they end up not having time to rehearse and work things out sooner, and that is honestly just so dumb of them. They could be doing so much more and I hope some things will improve next time.

But either way - the tour is over and I've loved every second of it.

The new album is super gorgeous and it finally got the string section it deserved. What an amazing finish to the tour. I sincerely hope they will be bringing a lot of The Car back next time around.

Deeply in my own heart I wish we would see Alex and Miles on stage together again soon, but at the same time, I wish Miles the very best with his own work, he truly deserves all the success in the world. And I hope Alex will get some well-earned rest and time off. I hope he will go free of paparazzi and find peace and quiet after this insanely taxing year, and I hope he finds bunches and bunches of inspiration for new songs. I hope tlsp will be back sooner rather than later and I hope they're happy.

I've loved getting to follow the tour, I've loved being on here freaking out with you guys, and I will miss getting to see their little faces everyday. Truly.

But I think it's so well deserved for them to take a break and I hope they will be back soon.

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 11

convenience store | loneliness | "leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist" (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs) / Ingredients & Spells

After all these years, he still hadn't gotten used to the harsh, flickering lighting of the store.

It provided the slightest bit of mental stimulation, however, in these long nights.

Malleus thought about a great number of things while he worked the counter, metaphoically chasing his own tail as he engaged in endless arguments with himself about books, music, history, and anything else his mind could grasp on.

He'd wanted to try movies, wanting to understand what could be done with the ability to meld so many art forms, but his father, while not forbidding it outright, never liked it when they watched too much TV.

But of course, there was little his father liked about Malleus.

One of the many endless arguments he had with himself, standing motionless at the counter, was on whether or not his father liked him or not.

Some days, it was easier to argue for the defense. On others, he found himself slipping into the role of 'prosecutor' with ease.

The main argument for the former was that he'd kept Malleus. He'd grown up hearing about his father's two great loves, his mother and their mutual friend, and how empty his life had been after they had passed.

Malleus was a lot like his mother, as his father liked to remind him frequently. He knew his father didn't mean it maliciously- at least, not always.

But it was that undercurrent of bitterness that fueled his argument to the contrary.

The match between his mother and his father was an unbalanced one, and as a result of that, his father explained, he didn't often know how to care for Malleus, which is why he had all these strict rules.

He never knew whether it was these unholy traits, or his simple resemblance to her, or the reminder of the life he'd lost, that had left it impossible for his father to look him in the eyes past a certain age.

His father's fears of television weren't totally unfounded. Nor were his father's general fears of his own son.

Sealed milk was fine, but milk left to sit out tended to curdle around Malleus. Cut flowers in vases seemed to wilt extraordinarily fast when he was at home, so his father stopped bringing them in. And animals never stuck around him for long.

They'd tried to go to a petting zoo once, but when all of the rabbits backed away from him and pressed their tails up to their cages, he realized they only stayed because they could not run away.

Malleus didn't always stay on one topic for the entirety of one night, preferring to jump around to the most interesting parts of his discussions, chewing on these bits of conversation like a bone. The one time he did, however, manage to focus on just one idea for the whole night, he came to the conclusion that it must be a shadow of an existence, to resent a child born of so much love.

He was ripped quite suddenly out of his thoughts by the most shocking, surprising thing of all- the digital chime of the bell, and the swing of the door.

Malleus watched in stupefaction as the stranger gave them a small smile, and them began rummaging through the stages of cellophane food and prepackaged cups of soup.

He never swayed. Malleus usually stood stone-still in the best of cases, and it had been a source of ridicule in the past, but right now, his every muscle was tensed, like that one time a butterfly had landed on his nose.

The stranger's face was mostly obscured by the hood they wore over their head, and the shadow it cast covered most of the rest. Only their mouth was visible, and that told Malleus very little.

They took a can of soda from the fridges, then put it back. instead, they grabbed a pack of banana chips, a little toothbrush, two individually-packaged painkillers, and then went back for the soda, as well as a bottle of ginger ale.

Malleus couldn't help but feel the tiniest of pinpricks in his heart at that. He loved banana chips, and his favorite drink in the store by far was the ginger ale. It was his drink of choice, and the combination was his go-to snack, as he was allowed to pick two items every night he worked.

This small, insignificant connection to a complete stranger knocked him so off-kilter that he hardly noticed when they plunked their stuff onto the counter.

Jolting out of his rapture, he picked up the banana chips and scanned them, instinct kicking in.

He moved to drop them into a bag, but the stranger said, "I don't need a bag, thanks."

They said it so routinely, as if they refused plastic bags all the time. Slowly, he placed it back onto the counter, but a little farther away from the rest of the purchases.

He scanned the ginger ale, savoring its coolness beneath his fingertips, when the stranger said, "Are you here a lot?"

Malleus looked at them for a moment, ginger ale in hand.

"Yes," he said, believing he should answer honestly.

"That's good, that's cool," said the stranger. "Must be nice, to stay in one place for so long."

Another thing his father didn't like is when he got too close to other people, emotionally or physically. He always stressed the necessity to leave no trace anywhere he went, to exist as if he simply didn't.

"It can be," he replied, feeling his heart race.

"You guys have a lot of good stuff here," said the stranger, inspecting a few of the smaller goods they kept on the counter.

They were holding a packet of mints between their fingers, Malleus unable to take their eyes off of them as he scanned the travel toothbrush, when something like recogntion flashed through them, and they hastily threw some gum, then one of the little energy drinks, onto the counter.

Malleus looked at them, and they shrugged. "These too, please."

He acquiesced.

"Do you mind if I give you my contact info?" they asked suddenly.

Malleus was caught offguard by the question for no more than a moment, but the stranger was already pulling out something from there pocket.

"Here," they said, handing him a business card. On it, the words "Yuu | Certified Geological Surveyor | Paranormal Investigator | Confectioner" with some contact info below that.

"Can I contact you? About when you guys get in new stuff?" the stranger, whose named he assumed was Yuu, asked.

"Yes," he said again, not knowing how else to respond as Yuu handed him some cash.

"Great," they said, picking up their stuff. "I'll see you again."

As they walked out of the store, their hood fell, revealing a grey cat wrapped around their neck.

Unsure of what else to do, Malleus watched them until they left, and then turned back to face the racks of food in cellophane, stilling as he always did.

[yannaryartside]

ANALYSIS OF THE PORTRAYAL OF DEPRESSION THROUGH MICHAEL BEARZATTO

Why does this character mean so much to me as someone who was once suicidal

tw underneath: talks about self-arming/self-deprecating thoughts and substance abuse, particularly the last section that also will repeat the tw.

Disclaimer: This is about how I think Michael is one of the most helpful portrayals of depression I have seen and how I think it would have helped me, even though he died. The show is about healing from losing someone in this tragic way, but for me and my friends, the part that explores this character also means a lot.

A little about the importance of depiction of suicide and depression in media. You can skip this if it came from the character analysis; this is just to illustrate the characters that helped when I was going through it. See you at part 1.

When I was in my late teens, I entered a dark period in my life, with insomnia, depression, and memory lapses. It was primarily due to the emotional dread and trauma I got from having a narcissistic parent, being an autistic girl (not diagnosed back then), and the impending quarter-life crisis. I had no support group or emotional intelligence to deal with it all; I only got into therapy years before it all passed. That was until I met the girls that are, to this day, my two best friends, probably the only family I have ever known: V and E. V was going through a hardcore case of harassment in her school, and E had been neglected by her mother her whole life, only to definitely being abandoned by her recently at the time. We didn't know it by the time we met, but we would all hit the suicidal stages in our struggles with depression, even after we became friends.

We met in a Christian youth group we didn't want to be in. But in this space, we formed a friendship that will become our refuge from the world, our support, and the place to share our common interest in becoming writers. In the end, more than in the church we were attending, we found the courage to fight our demons in the pieces of fiction we were consuming. Because we could relate to those characters and their struggles. They seemed real to us. When I introduced them to the Bear last year, we discussed the things that the show got right when talking about Mickey.

Part 1: The portrayal of his loneliness

The inciting incident of the show is Michaeel's death. Still, there is a lot of discussion on how he was isolating himself long before that, and you could say the story of Carmy that we know today officially begins the day Michael cast him out of the restaurant. Which makes you think about why he did that.

Things that Michael was afraid of, that made him isolate himself:

For Carmy to see him act recklessly: now, we know Carmy saw Michael's explosive behavior before ("Fishes" and multiple family/staff anecdotes), but maybe he was starting to be afraid of not controlling his reactions or being aware of them. Was he having memory lapses? Was he afraid of losing his temper and hurting Carmy? The drugs could have dragged him to the point of not even recognizing himself.

Was Michael afraid of not being able to carry on the dream they had as kids? Was he buying on the idea that he was a failure and would never amount to anything good?

In addition to the previous reasons, I think Carmy's admiration was what he was the most afraid to lose. Most people have speculated that Carmy and Michael have an age difference of 10-12 years, and their father abandoned them, so Michael was the closest thing Carmy ever had to a father. This is one of the reasons Carmy idolized Miachel so much. Michael cannot even give Carmy a concrete answer in 'Fishes' about the restaurant's future and has emotional breakdowns afterward at the thought of disappointing him. It is even implied (by Richies look when Michael wraps himself in the blanket), that after that conversation, Michael may have consumed drugs. His behavior also becomes more erratic after this moment, losing track of stories he has told before and erupting in violence at the dinner table.

Part 2: The portrayal of hiding

Disclaimer: I can only speak of this thinking of my own family and the families of my friends who were depressed/suicidal like me.

Michael was already doing everything he could to hide his addiction, but I think Carmy was afraid of seeing the signs. Understandably so. People already mentioned that Michael was using, but Carmy never believed them. He was not thinking of Michael as his brother but as his parent. Because Michael was the only "parent" he could emotionally rely on. We can all have clouded vision by fear. Particularly if we are struggling and deeply emotionally wounded. There is no mention of someone else doing anything about it. Even his best friend, Richie, never confronted Michael about his addiction. Michael was the pillar of emotional security to everyone around him. They may even be afraid that confronting him will make things worse. God, after seeing "Fishes," I kinda understood why Michael didn't bring up anything to that environment; not only was everyone fucked up in their own way, but as Carmy said it "When you don't know what are you feeling, asking somebody else how they are feeling seems insane." I wonder how much Michael cared about his own feelings. That is something messed up to say, but is also true.

Part 3: The portrayal of Michael's responsibility.

Thoughts on the "what could have you done" scene. tw of suicidal thoughts particularly apply here.

I love that , when Richie said

"I wish I had done more," Carmy instantly replies 'What could you have done?"

It is essential to talk about suicide prevention while also understanding that nobody has control over your life or your life except yourself. A whole team of supporting, emotionally intelligent people may not have been enough to save Michael. The family is the environment when other genetic factors built it up, but nobody else pulled the trigger.

It is not like people cared more about their happiness than Michael's life; that is never the case. They all wanted to see, but no one is responsible for Mickey's death except himself. The thoughts of "what could I have done" to help him will just prolong a guilt that has no solution. When I was suicidal, I wouldn't have blamed anybody. There were people involved in my unhappiness, even aggressors, but I was the one who would have given up. Even Carmy tried to blame people for Michael’s death, Nat even blamed the restaurant.

I knew it was my responsibility to seek help or not. Finding ways to help my friends was difficult even if I knew them well and their situations. It is difficult to talk about, even if you want help. When my mom found out, years after the worst of it had passed, she would swear that she didn't see signs, but that is such a complicated topic. In the end, my friends and I just kept going. We all want to be the heroes of our own stories, but depending on the stories we tell ourselves, we may end our own chance to fight for ourselves.

Saying "they were afraid to see," is not the same as assigning blame, and I am sure the show will come to a point of having this conversation. It is probable that people tried to help Mickey or that he sought help himself at some point; it is very difficult to actually comprehend suicidal thoughts, more so if the person struggling with them is someone you love. Most of the people surrounding Mickey never would have imagined that he would die the way he did. Probably because that is the way Michael wanted it, even if he also wanted help, even if he dreamed about someone noticing. Because I dreamed of people noticing.

Part 4: The importance of a mirror

In the end, maybe he was more afraid of being found (ashamed, lost) than how much he wanted to be found (saved). He may have thought that all of his desperation/demons were more powerful than him. I once thought similarly, so I can relate to it. Adding the element of addiction makes it all more difficult. The show is about people dealing with the lost of Mickey, but this character made me revise a part of myself that I once wanted to keep in the past, afraid of looking at that darkness, which will prevent me from healing from it, even if the desperate thoughts that once made me suicidal are lone gone. Moreover I think Storer has chosen to show us so much flashbacks of Michael so we also can see the elements that broke him, in the context of knowing his tragic ending.

We get to know of much he meant to people, how much he shaped Carmy for better or worse. I was particularly touched by the fact that even when Nat found love in Pete and Carmy found purpose in cooking, Michael was likely never able to find fulfillment, or worse, if he ever found things that made him happy, he left them behind to keep the restaurant out of family responsibility, he may have thought that was the only thing valuable about himself.

We don’t know what things pushed him to the edge, but we know, as people that value the lives of our loved ones, that those things were based on lies, the lies he had learned about himself. The show made an effort of showing us those lies, the “you are not worth anything” and “you have no future” statements, the implied abuse, the addiction, the beliefs that all those lies could overpower him. We can see the good person that was hidden under that pile shit. The love he felt, the dreams he had. We get to imagine the future he could have.

We know, has people that have dreams of their own, that can feel love for this fictional character and can relate to him in some way, or just out of simple empathy, we wanted him to live too.

That is the most helpful way to depict suicide/depression, at least is the type of portrayal that has helped me the most. Don’t paint over it with thoughts and prayers, let me see it, in someone else struggling with it, I can see clues of the lies I once believed too, let me put myself in the shoes of this person that may be as broken as I am, and because I see the good and value in him, I can start to see the value and good of myself that my depression was forcing me to ignore.

I don’t know how a person that is currently going through depression will think of Mickey, but I think it at least will validate the things that break us in the context of what came to break him. Even if he died, because we wanted him to live, it may give us courage to fight our own demos.

About the future of Carmy.

There is abuse, addiction, emotional neglect, and many other things that caused the trauma they all carry in different ways, but since Carmy is probably gonna struggle with depression, self-deprecating, and even suicidal thoughts next season, I wonder if the characters are gonna reflect more on the ways they can support him, instead of latching to their damaging ways of thinking, that have hurt them all. This show is about healing, so I am happy to think Carmy will find solace in his support system.

Edit: I edited this post, changing actually the whole approach, because I wanted to choose my words carefully, maybe provide other writers on why characters like this are important. Thank you for reading.

[flowerandblood]

The White Flame (Part 1)

[modern! rockstar • Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader]

[warnings: sexual tension, drugs, angst, swearing, fluff]

[description: Aemond is the bassist of the band whose leader and vocalist is his brother. The whole band decides to use the marketing and design help of their guitarist's friend. The story is an interweaving of domination, desire and slowly burning feeling.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"The White Flame" - the name of their band - was Aegon's idea. Ever since he started taking singing lessons he always knew he wanted to start a band. Although Aemond didn't believe in this venture, he gave in to him when he said one day that he had found a guitarist and a drummer. Their house was big, so the first rehearsals took place in their garage.

Aemond loved the bass guitar, its low sound, the way it was always in the back carrying the whole song on its weight, giving it that nice quivering feeling in your chest when it played on stage. Cregan as a drummer was very lively and energetic, he could improvise very well and bring a lot to the whole composition, adding to its expression.

Mathylda, whom they simply called "Momo", was a great guitarist and had a very interesting way of applying makeup. Often blue butterflies were pinned into her short black hair, her make-up was wide and bright, passing through all the colors of blue. She dressed all in black, and despite the glasses that made her look like a nerd, she had a rock star vibe about her.

They managed to get an agent who arranged their first concerts in small clubs. Slowly, they began to receive more and more offers, and after two years they played almost every weekend. Mathylda said that they needed someone to care for their marketing, someone who would run their social media, design logos and gadgets, and promote their style.

"My friend is great at these kind ot things, I can ask her if she would like to help us." She said one day, referring to the girl who would come to their concerts sometimes and then have drinks with Momo at the bar.

She didn't talk to them much, seeing that the boys often disappeared with the girls in some corners, snorted something or just drank. Sometimes, however, she and Mathylda would come over to exchange a few words. One day she was talking to Aegon while eating marshmallows shaped like litte rabbits heads.

"Actually, you yourself look like a bunny." He once said drunk. She laughed and asked if he thought she had rabbit teeth. He said he meant her bun.

Indeed, she often combed her long hair so that part of her front hair was wrapped at the back of her head in a small bun, fastened with a colored terry, which she could tie on demand without even thinking about it. Aemond wondered how she did it that she didn't even look at herself in the mirror, and that the bun always looked perfect.

From then on, Aegon always called her "Bunny", and it stayed that way. Sometimes they used an abbreviation and just called her "Bun." Compared to them, she was very colorful, joyful and, above all, sober.

She had had drinks with Mathylda of course, but Aemond had never seen her drunk enough to gibber or cajole. She talked a lot and was always discussing something with Cregan or Aegon.

She often wore sweatshirts or sweaters in bright, pastel colors, sometimes with a character from a fairy tale. For example, she had a "Adventures of the Gummi Bears" hoodie that Aegon loved. For some reason he called her "Gummi Bunny" back then, to the dismay of everyone, including her.

Although her choice of clothing might seem childish, she always paired it with high-waisted trousers or mid-thigh skirts with high wool socks, which emphasized her slim figure and nice proportions. Aemond found himself staring at her legs a lot when she was wearing a short skirt.

When Momo suggested that Bunny handle their marketing, everyone was comfortable with the idea. Sometimes she would show them her designs and illustrations, and they were all impressed.

Aemond never commented on what she was doing, but he thought she did have talent. Once everything was settled, Bunny came over to them after one of the rehearsals with her laptop and sketchbook. She wanted to show them some designs for their new logo.

“I decided that a classic typographic solution would be the best. Your music refers to classic rock, so I went the way of Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin or AC/DC.” She said calmly, unfolding the pages. Aemond was surprised that she had done her homework. Her designs referenced the typography of the 60's and 70's, making the inscription "The White Flame" look retro.

Everyone loved the direction she was going. After a lively discussion, they came to the conclusion that the most interesting design was the one in which the L was a flame, with the rest of the thick, serifed letters.

Bunny suggested that if she could, she would stay with them while they practiced and start making a logo on the laptop so she could consult with them on changes. Nobody had any objections to that.

After a few weeks, the logo was ready. Bunny one day brought everyone stickers with it on it, saying it was a cool and inexpensive gadget and that they could use some t-shirts and bags too. She also took care of their social media. One day she brought her little purple Instax and said she wanted to take some cool retro pictures of them.

She took one of the photos of Aemond from hiding, standing to the side. Aemond stood against a completely black background, his eyes narrowed in concentration, a cigarette in his mouth. His sleeve with a large tattoo peeked out from under his black T-shirt, his white hair, bright face and black&white guitar contrasted with the whole setting.

Bunny approached him with excitement, saying that it was one of the best pictures and that it turned out great. As she stood next to him, he smelled her scent, some pleasant floral perfume. He just grunted, exhaling smoke through his nose, tilting his head to the side so as not to blow on her.

After concerts, there were always at least a few girls waiting for autographs at their door. Usually half of them wanted to fuck. Aegon took advantage of this every time and went to the toilet with them. Cregan didn't, at least not right away, but sometimes he gave his phone number to girls he liked.

Aemond only fucked the most desperate ones. It excited him to think that he could give them everything they wanted, give them hope and leave them with nothing. He wondered, what they expected?

However, he felt uneasy when, after one such action, he left the men's room with one of the girls, who was quickly adjusting her skirt, and Bunny was waiting on the other side, apparently waiting for the women's room.

The look she gave him was not one of reproach or disgust. She looked like he was physically hurting her. She lowered her gaze as he turned and walked away, deciding that he didn't have to explain anything to her.

During one of the rehearsals, she sat on their couch. She'd been working on her laptop for a few hours now and took off her shoes, putting her hunched legs together.

Aemond involuntarily, sitting in the armchair next to her, tuning his guitar, looked at her legs dressed in high, cream socks to the middle of the thighs. She was wearing a big, long, light-colored, long-sleeved Gryffindor sweatshirt and shorts. That's why she looked like she was wearing nothing underneath.

Aemond felt a tightness in his pants at the thought of being between those thighs. He wondered if she would moan sweetly under him as he fucked her, if she would be wet and tight for him. He looked away, clenching his jaw, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

He looked up at her in surprise when he saw her put the laptop aside, walked over to him and leaned her hip against his armchair, showing him one of the sketches on a piece of paper she must have done earlier.

“Aegon once proposed to decorate your guitars. I already have a project for Momo, but I decided to do something different for you.” She said calmly, a note of satisfaction and pride in her voice. Aemond looked at her drawing. It accurately reproduced his bass guitar.

In her illustration, a black and white dragon with claws, drawn in a sharp, simplistic style, was eating its own tail as it curled around the shape of the instrument. Aemond took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the smoke onto the ashtray, that was on the small table beside him.

"I like it." He spoke briefly and to the point.

A few days later, he, Momo and Bunny drove their guitars to the printing house. At first, Momo and Bunny were going to go there alone and get his guitar too, but he told them that if he saw even a scratch on it, he would kill them. Frightened that something might escape their attention, they simply told him to come with them.

They went in and explained that they had come to print the guitars with the designs Bunny had sent them earlier. Bunny frowned as they showed her the stickers that would then be welded into the fabric and secured.

"Why is the print resolution so poor?" She asked, looking at the man in surprise. The man shrugged.

"Perhaps you sent such a project." He said dismissively. Bunny frowned.

"I have sent you a high resolution file." She said coldly. The man sighed and checked everything on the computer again. He pursed his lips as he realized she was right. She raised her eyebrows, obviously expecting an apology.

"After all, since you play on stage, you won't be able to see pixels from a distance anyway." He said calmly. Bunny opened her mouth, nervous, but before she could say anything, Aemond walked over to her, took the sheet of paper with the sticker, and tore it up in front of them. He tossed it on his desk, staring at him with a stony face.

"Nobody's gonna put this pixelated shit on my guitar. Print it again because you're getting on my nerves already, mate." He said low, his voice making the man look at him with wide eyes. He clenched his jaw and wordlessly turned the machine back on. He must have changed something, because this time the printouts looked perfect.

Aemond watched carefully as he pasted the design onto his guitar. Bunny and Momo looked at them with amusement as they saw the man's hands shaking. When it was over, they left the printing house, quite satisfied with the end result.

"I'll drive you to your home." He said calmly, and the girls looked at each other, surprised, apparently not expecting such a kind heart from him. They both sat in the back, talking about nutrition, how frustrated the guy was and his nonsensical remarks.

First on the way was Momo's house. As she said goodbye and closed the door behind her, Aemond drove on. The silence fell between them. He looked in his mirror and saw in the reflection that their eyes met. They turned immediately.

Aemond considered stopping somewhere in some small, empty street for a while to just fuck her on his back seat. He thought after a moment that he would probably just scare her. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I have something for you." She said shyly, smiling warmly. He looked from the road to her face in the mirror, surprised. "Aegon told me you recently had a birthday. But I didn't have the courage to give it to you in front of everyone." She said, looking down at her lap.

Aemond swallowed softly, completely bewildered. He didn't like celebrating birthdays, and he didn't like missed gifts. He stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

He glanced in the mirror again, hearing her rummage through her white suede backpack. He parked in front of her house when he heard her lean over him, her elbows between the two front seats, her head close to his face.

She held an envelope in her hand, it was not sealed. Aemond reached inside, without even asking her if he could see what was inside, and pulled out a few sheets. After a while he realized they were tattoo designs.

“Aegon told me you want to make a new one, but you need a good design. That you wish it had a dagger on it that belonged to your great-great-grandfather. He took a picture of him for me and I came up with several versions. I tought you might like one of them." She said softly with a smile, her gaze warm and sincere.

He looked at her, their faces millimeters apart. He wanted to fuck her, kiss her long neck, listen to her soft moans. He wondered if he saw it in his gaze, because she shivered and swallowed softly, her lips parting slightly.

He looked at her lips, then back at her eyes. They leaned against each other's foreheads, and she sighed softly, as if in relief. She smiled at him. He thought she was going to kiss him, but she pulled away, zipped up her backpack, and left the car without a word, her legs trembling slightly.

He watched her as she walked into her house and didn't even look back at him. He felt his entire jaw clench with desire. He squeezed his eye shut, swallowed hard, and started the engine, driving out of her driveway with a squeal of tires.

_____

Let me know what do you think and if you want a series form that! If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff

[osiiiris]

Cocoon [Papa Emeritus III x Cardinal Copia -Non related- OS]

Just me practicing fluff (and embarrassed at the moment). Born to be a ficlet, died as a whole one shot. Am I really surprised? If you enjoy old men softly making out, that’s the place for you. A very special thanks to @van-goghs-smoking-skull for the amazing beta assistance done on this text ❤️‍🔥

Rating: smut, slash, sex, domestic fluff, oral sex, anal sex, anal fingering, porn with plot, porn with feeling, romance, nsfw, established relationship, soft Dom!Terzo, Sub!Copia, Copia is an expert housewife, Terzo is… Terzo.

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Papa Emeritus III (non related)

Words: 4.314

Summary: Just Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia enjoying some alone time in their new residence after a long tour. Work outside, cuddles in.

>> AO3, Wattpad or down here 👇🏻

It had been several months since Copia had issued the ultimatum in that small tour bus kitchen.

"We need a house.", he burst out suddenly, flicking his cigarette into the plastic ashtray almost with relief.

"I don't recall us sleeping under bridges." Terzo lifted his gaze from the newspaper and fixed it on Copia, raising his eyebrows so he could look over his reading glasses. Then, without a word more, he returned to the newspaper with renewed interest.

"Terzo?"

"Copia... why do you want another house?" He put down the newspaper, conceding to him the attention he clearly demanded. Out of the window, Ghouls and roadies were preparing the stage for the soundcheck.

"I want a house," he emphasized. "But a real house. Our own house."

Terzo lifted the newspaper again, this time more interested and thoughtful. "A house?" he asked. "An entire house? Just for the two of us?"

Copia nodded vigorously. Not that Terzo was surprised; after all, it wasn't the first time they had planned something like this. Usually, it was just idle talk that ended up going nowhere. "The time is ripe." claimed Copia. 

Terzo was Papa, it was his right to demand the purchase of a new property, and Copia certainly wouldn't let that opportunity slip away. As the years passed, they both started feeling the natural need men often desire after a life well-lived: an equally well-deserved rest, made of simple things and good company -. perhaps a book to read in front of a fireplace at night, instead of the wild parties they started to lack energy for.

"You're the Papa," he had insisted, swirling the spoon in the coffee cup he had prepared. That was a point he never stressed enough. "We said we would do it when you became Papa."

"Yes, but... let's take things slowly." Terzo had restrained. "The Church already owns other residences, and we should discuss it with Imperator, the others-"

"You're the Papa. You can and you will.", he retorted, sticking to his point. Then, he raised a finger, reconsidering, "No, wait, I'll tell Imperator. She trusts me more than you."

Terzo gave him one last resigned look, "You really have no tact, you know?"

And so it was that, a few months later, while Copia was busy with the real estate agent discussing the tranquility of the area and the good condition of the house, Terzo preferred to wander through the rooms alone, already imagining what their own house could look like. He could already see Copia fully immersed in the role of interior designer, choosing all the furniture and colors to decorate their little kingdom. He envisioned scenes of unusual everyday life, like a breakfast prepared together or a night spent close in their bed, in their room, without pressure and without restrictions.

Convincing Imperator that the pontiff was growing old and tired and needed a secluded residence to recover after the long tours where he could relax in privacy and silence, had been moderately easy. If Terzo had assisted in their meeting, he wouldn't have spoken to him for a whole day for having used his age again to justify his requests. After all, he wasn't that much older than him. And if he tried to bring up that bothersome rumor about him dying his hair to cover the white roots, it would have been even more catastrophic. Nobody seemed to believe his explanation that he was just reviving the color. 

However, it had worked, and the end always justifies the means, right?

The house was well-ventilated, bright, and spacious, made comfortable by the warm tones of wood. Perhaps it was a bit too large for just two people, but they would certainly find enough space for parties or some star-like indulgence, such as a game room or a personalized gym, giving a purpose to that couple of spare rooms.

The completely glass structure overlooking the garden, which initially seemed like a small greenhouse, was actually a bathroom, complete with a large bathtub and a shower prominently displayed for "true lovers of privacy," as Terzo sarcastically remarked.

How could one not love a house with the toilet on display?

If Copia hadn't come back to him reporting the long-awaited positive outcome, he probably would have been the one begging him to buy it.

**

Copia waited for Terzo's return like a loyal dog awaits its human, with his nose up in the air behind the door.

He had been there for days, accompanied by a group of Siblings, to prepare the house and ensure that Papa had everything he needed for those well-deserved days of rest after such a demanding tour. It was the perfect excuse to be the first person he would see upon his return, and it had been even easier sending away all the collaborators before his arrival. Papa will be very tired and not inclined to have people around, of course… Inventing problems to find solutions had been one of the skills that brought him to the highest ranks of the Clergy, after all.

While following him during a few stops of the European tour was a relatively easy task, the American leg was a far more complicated matter. His services were needed more at the Ministry than in Papa's entourage, so the Cardinal had spent those weeks of excited expectation planning every detail, meticulously creating their little nest. He had required a surprising quantity of scented candles and soft pillows for the sofa, for evenings spent curled up together sharing tender moments—or indulging in carnal sins, depending on the mood. He had also needed a complete assortment of creams and toiletries to meet both of their shower routines, bottles of wine to celebrate his return… just the basics to make the night, or the morning, or whenever they pleased, comfortable enough to take all the time and freedom to make love wherever they wanted, without the usual furtive glances toward the door, anxious that someone might knock at any moment, especially at the most inconvenient times. Pots and pans were there for when they would wake up in the morning, hungry and inspired for a late breakfast. The food storage he had arranged would have probably been enough for a whole month, but he wanted to be prepared for any request the Papa might have had during those days...

Then, the metallic sound of the engine moving and tires running over the gravel had distracted him from that daydreaming. 

He observed the black car pulling into the driveway from the window, and it felt like that day, many years ago, when Cardinal Terzo had irradiated him with his presumptuous aura at their first meeting, already feeling like the star he had become years after; hard not to fall for his raven hair and cumbersome personality. 

First his shoe appeared from the bottom of the car door, landing on the gravel of the walkway, then his hair emerged at the top of it, and as he fully stepped out of the car, his entire figure materialized, pausing just long enough to adjust his coat against the gentle breeze that tousled his hair. He promptly slicked it back with a natural gesture so familiar to the Cardinal. 

His more casual attire made him look less like a cult leader and more like a strange type of business man. For as much as Copia loved his casual look, there was nothing that could save him from the shivers he felt at black masses, where his vestments made him look like a divinity manifesting on the pulpit. 

Terzo finally saw him at the door, the glimmer of a smile moved his lips. It was such a rare thing to see him smile.

The Cardinal efficiently grabbed two of his bags, just to speed up the unpacking process; he dismissed the driver and assistants and finally closed the door behind them.

"Home, finally." Terzo sighed, relieved. He slid off his gloves and looked around, curious about what the Cardinal had prepared for him. It was a strange sensation not to hear the constant murmur of the Ministry residents or find himself surrounded by Clergy figures and Siblings of Sin, finally feeling the trappings of the rockstar fading away as he entered the driveway.

"How are you?" Copia helped him take off his coat, in that respectful way that still betrayed an unnecessary professionalism, a hard-to-break habit.

"Hungry, If I have to be honest."

"Oh, great, I have prepared an asso-" But he soon felt something stopping his steps and his words. It was Terzo's arm, grabbing him by the waist, pulling him back against his body. "Where are you going?" and only in that moment did they share a proper kiss, in that way Terzo had to just reassure him that, though time had passed, his passion had never faded with it.

He had to credit Copia for the merit of that idea. He had managed to create a sense of family that they had never been able to experience before.

Living at the Ministry was both an honor and a burden; it had been their home for the larger part of their lives, but as time passed, they found themselves craving silence and the absence of obligations hanging over their heads. They longed for something that could make them feel like individuals and not just replaceable parts of something bigger.

The topic of work was only touched in view of some imminent commitment when Terzo was on break; this evening is no different, aside from the adventures Terzo had brought with him during those nearly three months of uninterrupted touring, shared along with a bottle of good wine. For the rest of the time, they were just simple men or, at least, for a small part of the year they could allow themselves the illusion of being so.

Copia had tried to say something deep on the matter, but Terzo had silenced him with his lips, tasting the intense flavor of wine in his mouth. There was no need to overthink, not that night. "We have an inauguration to celebrate." Terzo breathed on his freshly kissed lips, his arm still tightly around his shoulders.

They then rose from the couch where they had settled after a lavish dinner —cooked by Copia, as Terzo's hands were perfect everywhere except on the stove— to roll into their bed without clothes and without even closing the door, because they could.

On the way to the bedroom, Terzo spared no compliments for anything they encountered along their path, gradually freeing Copia from his cassock, starting with the belt, then the tunic, the shirt underneath, all while taking every opportunity to praise the choice of plants, the arrangement of books, the positioning of chairs, so meticulously studied in every detail! He alternated sweet comments with sweet kisses on his skin as he uncovered it.

Maybe a bit too sweet for his standards…

Copia stopped to take a good, suspicious look at him. "Why do I have a feeling that you are about to ask me for a favor?"

"Because I am actually about to do it." Terzo moved his chin to indicate something beyond the bed, "The wardrobe. I may need half of yours. Or a new one."

Copia rubbed his face with his hand, smiling faintly "Or a whole dressing room… How could I underestimate your vanity."

"Don't rush, we have time. It must have been tiring planning all this, ordering stuff, choosing the colors of the curtains…" he kissed him, sucking his lips lightly before a last, soft lip touch, "looks like you need a break too."

"There is only one task missing from the list…" and with a gentle pressure on his chest, he flipped positions, finding himself knelt on the bed, "Let me take care of you." As he always had, by the way. Sometimes you can't get rid of your profession even in the most intimate moment, and taking care of Papa was the best job Copia may have ever dreamt of.

He freed Terzo's arms from the shirt, pulling off one arm at time in a deliberate slow way, then kissed the back of his hand, like he had seen Terzo do countless times. He then placed it on his chest so that he could caress him; an excuse for Terzo to quickly reach to his back and pull him closer, enough to kiss his navel by lifting a bit on his elbow.

"Have you practiced while I was away?", his hand still on the Cardinal's back.

"I learned from the best teacher."

Copia leaned towards him, but Terzo swiftly met his lips halfway, as if waiting for Copia to bow down to meet him was too much wasted time.

Then, he quickly ran his hands down his stomach and a little below, to reach and unbuckle the button of Papa's trousers, hearing him hiss when his fingers lightly traveled along his hardening length, in an accidental caress, while unzipping them all the way down. The Cardinal hadn't even slid them midway through his legs yet when he - literally - rubbed his face in the middle of them, impatient, inhaling that scent he had waited so long to smell again. He breathed him in through his boxers, letting his tongue taste the fabric and the damp skin beneath it. Terzo's breath trembled, his neck extended until his head touched the wood of the bed frame behind it while holding onto Copia's hair like he was on the edge of a ravine, about to fall, inviting him to press more against his bulge, even if there was no need to.

The Cardinal didn't have to move away that much to slide down that last barrier between his lips and the pontiff's bare skin; in fact, he rested his lips and chin on the soft trail of hair that marked the way from his navel to the warm flesh he just uncovered, keeping his eyes gazing up to Terzo's.

The pontiff could only breathe out an honest 'Oh…' for that long awaited freedom.

Copia kissed the sides of that growing erection the way he used to kiss his neck, with the same devotion, lips sucking his skin with generous smacks at every suction; his curious tongue, a wet serpent licking all the way from base to top and down again, after twirling on his dripping tip, in an obscene display of desire.

"Don't torture me, Cardinal…" 

It sounded like a prayer; he just knew how Copia could go on for hours with just kissing and teasing laps. Terzo's lips fell open, swallowing a weak moan when he saw his glans pressed between Copia's lips, his voice surprisingly high pitched. 

The Cardinal's tongue showed up to caress his head once more, before Terzo let go of a liberating sigh when he got swallowed whole by Copia's warm throat, sucking him in and out a few times.

"I want to suck you off in every single room of this house, on every surface, at every hour of day and night…" Copia breathed out on his tense skin, finally dropping the glamor he loved to cover himself with.

A shadow of a weak smirk moved the corner of Terzo's lips up, meanwhile stroking his hair gently. They had now lost their elegant hairstyle, and it was a rarity only Terzo could brag, to see him disheveled like that. "Looks like you already have plans for my retirement."

"Oh, it involves some of my favorite activities."

"Can I have a little spoiler?"

Copia took his time to give a last, long goodbye kiss to his cock, before kneeling on the bed to finally take off his own trousers, and the underwear soon after, revealing a vigorous erection he couldn't help but leisurely stroke a couple of times.

Their body shape was similar but with details that made them unique. Where Terzo was still lean and agile, even though smoothed with time, Copia was a bit more muscular, although less defined, but only because he was a bit more filled out than him, his waist and shoulders slightly wider.

The years had softened the meat on his belly, the same way age had done with Copia's. When kneeling, the muscle of the Cardinal's legs contracted, showing up in a fascinating hump. Terzo loved to touch them, feeling them stiff under his palm.

Papa's hand was wrapped around his leg at that very moment, caressing it from behind. He pulled back when Copia sat on his heels, spread thighs, leaning back enough to disclose his most private part - well, not so private to Terzo. He guided his hand down, lower than his sex, until he reached for his entrance, teasing himself with his fingers; his erection rested stiff on his belly.

Terzo fixed on his focused expression while he prepared for him, framed by the hair now freely falling at the sides of his face and on his eyes, giving him an unusual, youthful look; he could see his face contort in a different way as deeper his fingers disappeared inside him. He loved the way pleasure manifested on his face, so limpid and readable. The urge to ravish him and be the source of those blissful expressions was aching between his thighs.

"No, wait…", he said, unsurprisingly, looking at him tilting his head back, moaning for that self-given pleasure; he had just started to move his hips against his own hand. "Turn."

The sweetest of orders.

Before Copia could give him his back, they shared a deep but soft kiss that tasted like trust and stable habits. The hand on the Cardinal's back, sliding between his shoulder blades and down on his lower back, was a gentle request to lower the shoulders a bit more and arch better for him. Since he was already there, he squeezed his butt on his way to his entrance, more like a slap than a caress. He pressed lightly, testing his resistance, finding easy permission to fill him with one finger and, with a bit of work, a second one too.

With no rush, no need to impress anyone, a sequence of smooth movements they had learnt with time and practice.

"I must admit…" Copia tried to say, "That the event of your retirement would be -oh! Not that dreadful to me…"

Terzo flicked his eyes down at him for a moment, then twisted his fingers inside him. Copia exploded in a harsh groan. "I thought you wanted to keep the work outside." Then, another twist, to which he added a generous stroke on the base of his cock, squeezing it to a point Copia must have felt uncomfortable, by the way he cried again, "I could consider these words a betrayal."

"Will you punish me, your Unholiness?" Copia's tone was cracked by panting and struggling, but slightly hopeful.

Terzo took his time to ponder the possibility. "No." He simply declared; and that was his punishment.

He cruelly kissed Copia on his back, between his shoulder blades, before finally positioning behind him. He spat on his dick and rubbed it against the Cardinals distended entrance, pressing in slowly. Copia let his legs part wider, patiently waiting for Terzo to fill him, squirming and clinging to the bedsheets when he finally did; his mouth fell open, alternating mute moans and irregular panting, hardly breathing with the side of his face pressed on the mattress.

Almost fully leaning over his back, enveloping him from behind, Terzo started to stroke his cock to grant him every kind of relief he desperately carved, indulging on the head of his erection, so wet with precum, easily stroked by the ring of his fingers speeding the rhythm around it. The faster he trusted in him, the faster he stroked his cock, as if it was his own.

"All for me…" Copia managed to say with what was left of his breath "Can-can you imagine? This everyday…fucking me everyday…"

That was easy to imagine, especially while he was actually fucking him, eyes closed, gripping those hips made just for him, until they had reached the climax almost together, groaning as if it were a release.

Copia loved to hear his voice change in those moments; it looked like he had a whole set of tones only audible while he was experiencing pleasure. His voice went down at least an octave, relaxed, almost tired, a raspy sound that rebounded in his chest and down through his thighs, especially when he got to hear that voice - broken and needy - heavy breathing curses and filth straight in his ear, animalistic and coarse, like his last groan suppressed on the skin of his shoulder.

Sweaty and breathless, Terzo had collapsed onto Copia's body, who had caught his breath and then uttered those words, seemingly out of nowhere. Because in those moments, Copia tapped into the poetic vein that he usually infused into his passionate sermons.

He said, "In a way, we are luckier than regular people because they have serenity right under their noses and are never happy. We have to struggle to reach even a bit of peace, but at least we know how to be. We really understand the value of it." 

Terzo hadn't said anything because, even if he wanted to find the right words to reply, he wouldn't have found them. So, they stayed silent for a while, then Copia resumed talking because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut for five straight minutes anyway.

If there was a spectrum in how the mind works, Terzo and Copia would stand on the opposite sides. 

Terzo, the pragmatic mind, was a man of action. He approached life with an impetuous attitude, even if his actions were often far from agreeable. 

Copia, on the other hand, was immersed in theory. Talking with him meant exploring the infinite chambers of his mind. There was no question how he found himself most comfortable between the walls of a library, engrossed in the pages of philosophy or historical books or indulging in deep conversations with the elder members of the Clergy. Terzo often described his way of getting lost in his thought with the "well" metaphor he himself had invented: inside Copia's head there was a well he descended every time he got silent when exploring a certain concept, chasing every idea and possibility with his little wooden bucket, sitting at the bottom of it; then, all of a sudden, he’d emerge with the product of his reflection, which never failed to enrich the dynamic of their contrasting relationship.

"...And you know that some butterflies live on average from a few hours to a week? Some even longer, but it doesn't matter because they still don't last long... Anyway, in those few days, they manage to live a complete life. Have you ever thought that when we're together, even just for ten minutes, it's like we have everything we need to live a whole life? In a week that we spend in this house, alone, it's like we truly live another life, in which nothing is missing... don't you think?"

But Terzo didn't respond even then. Copia had always been curious about nature and animals, he had probably been fascinated by one of his last readings. He didn't even realize that it was a genuine question until Copia repeated it to him, but he still didn't answer. Not that he didn't want to, but he didn't feel the need to respond. It was nice that Copia said it, and it was nice to listen to it... It was nice that those words hung suspended between them, and that was enough.

That was how they had fallen asleep, and how they had woken up. Or at least, that's how Terzo had woken up, with that sense of serenity and complete life running through his veins..

Then they got up to prepare breakfast, and... Terzo's phone rang.

Copia patiently waited for him to pick it up, gazing at him as he rolled his eyes at whatever name was on the screen, then walked out to the patio to respond. He observed Terzo pacing up and down the perimeter of the platform through the windows before greeting him with a resentful, "We said no work while we're here." when he returned.

Terzo sighed, "I know, but unfortunately, my phone's signal still reaches here."

"... Mars would have been a better choice, then."

Terzo looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For the two of us. I'm pretty sure there's no signal there." Copia replied. He then attempted to take a bite of a cookie, which he had probably soaked in milk for too long, as half of it fell back into the cup just as he tried to bite into it.

Terzo didn't know it, but that morning, Copia woke up thinking about how they had ended up in that house. It was something that, in a way, reassured him, reflecting on how their relationship had solidified over the years. He was somewhat curious to know if Mars was still an alternative to consider or if what they had was more than enough.

Anyway, Terzo chuckled, amused, getting up to place his coffee cup in the sink while still emptying its contents. Copia, after staring at the half-cookie still between his fingers with disappointment, had finally given up, tossing it back into the cup.

"You've let the conversations with Primo go to your head..."

And he was right. Because there was no reason to go to Mars when everything they needed was in their little life in their little cocoon. A life within a life, which found its release only in a few days of complete serenity within those walls of pale orange, the dark gray roof, and windows with white wood.

Just a few days, but enough for a complete existence. Just like butterflies.

[lifewillalwaysbe-lavieenrose]

GUYS!! I saw Les Mis! In Munich!!!

Let's recap!

The Cast:

Daniel Gutmann as Javert. He was incredible. Definitely my personal highlight. Everytime he sang his voice just ROARED. And he was menacing holy shit. Aggggggh I'm normal about him

Barbara Obermeier as Eponine. When I first heard her sing in Act 1, I knew she was gonna kill it in Act 2. And she did.

Merlin Farcel aka Enjolras. His voice was so perfect I LOVED all the high notes, BUT:

The beard. Sorry, but in my world Enjolras doesn't have a beard. Plus, it makes him look like Peter Maffay

Madame Thenardier was PERFECT (I don't remember who played her that night😭) She was so funny and the audience really loved her.

The Music:

At first, I felt a bit underwhelmed by the orchestra. To be fair, I listened to the 10th anniversary recording SO much, that I really got used to that grand orchestra sound.

There was an electric guitar and at one point an electric bass when Javert sang, which I really loved.

During Master of the House/ Beggars at the Feast you could really see the orchestra bopping their heads and having fun and that made me very happy

I really loved the brass section, they really stood out (That French Hurn during On My Own????!)

The Costumes:

I don't know why, but the Les Amis were wearing these caps all the time. I have never seen a production with them in it. Is this a historically accurate thing?? I didn't really like them, they looked very plastic/shiny and fell out of place

I cannot find a picture but in the beginning of Act 1 Valjean wore a pink vest and then a purple coat which both looked very cheap and which I both didn't like (maybe it was because of the light? The colors felt very unnatural)

Eponine's outfit. At first I thought it didn't look shabby enough. But it looks so badass I'll let it pass

Why don't you let Enjolras wear his red vest??

What is Marius wearing? Goofy boy

Big Mad Hatter vibes from Thenardier. I loved his and the Patron Minettes outifits, they looked very edgy

This is perfect. Perfect. I only wished he had undone his hair for Javert's Suicide (he did, but only for the last 10 seconds)

The Stage:

The stage had a turning middle and stairs that could be moved around, similar like in Hamilton.

They did a cool transition with young Cosette walking up the stairs and old Cosette walking down

Also, they had some cool staging with buildings moving around for Stars. But I feel like there was almost a bit too much happening in the background for this song.

I don't know why they didn't have the Barricades turn and show Enjolras hang upside down. It's such a cool/tragic moment!

During the Barricade scenes, the stage sometimes felt a bit empty. I mean, there were always like 15 people standing around. Maybe the Barricades were to small/not high enough

Empty chairs at empty tables. Where were the empty chairs and empty tables??

In Everyday/A Heart Full of Love Reprise single leaves started falling down on the stage (Like Valjean entering the Fall/Winter of his life) I loved that.

Also, the parallel of Marius learning to walk again using a cane, and Valjean loosing his ability to walk using a cane. I never noticed this before!

There are SO many cool things about the staging I could talk about here. But I want to mention some other topics as well:

The "Spirit" of the Show:

There wasn't a single French flag to be seen. Some red ones, but no French flags.

In the trailer, the director said he wanted to create a more universal setting, speaking to everyone in the audience

I think that's a great sentiment but like. Everyone has French names. There were titles above the stage telling us the year and locations (Places in France) of the events. The title of the show is French.

So I think adding the flags (aka a bit more French nationalism?) would have seemed a lot more convincing for the cause of the students and the whole spirit of the show

But maybe this also has to do with the show being in German? I don't know and I'd really like to discuss it. Maybe someone here made a similar experience seeing it in another language

And last, but MOST importantly:

What about Valvert and Enjoltaire?

In the Confrontation, Javert and Valjean got really close to each other. And I mean fighting each other and then stopping just to sing directly into each other's faces.

Instead of running infront of the court in Who Am I, Valjean just goes to Javert and rips his shirt open? Okay, go off I guess

In Drink with Me, we have a platonic forehead touch between Enjolras and Grantaire. Sadly, that's all I noticed between them 😔

Also, the fact that Grantaire is supposed to be ugly/shabby/a drinker/a sceptic got totally lost, which really takes away from his character.

Conclusion:

All the actors were good, some of them were FANTASTIC. I'd watch it again just for the guy playing Javert, if I could. God, he was SO GOOD

The music was all it should be, maybe a bit too reserved (but again, this might be because I am so used to the 10th anniversary concert)

I really loved some costumes and I also really disliked some

The staging was great, some choices confused me (flags, barricades etc.)

Would I watch it again?

Absolutely!

To be clear, some of the things here might sound more negative than I actually mean. It's just that I have watched SO many different productions online, that I fixated on all the great performances and how I think they should be done. Of course everyone has different opinions here.

Okay thanks for reading if you made it here. Have a great day!