#i think it's called 'the chorus' in english

[arggghhhsstuff]

I just rewatched Les Choristes (2004) with my sister. I had forgotten how good that movie is. It is one of my favourites, without hesitation.

I don't have the words to articulate my thoughts properly, but I definitely recommend it. It has similar vibes to Dead Poets Society (1989) but with a lighter color palette, a gentler tone and a happier ending.

[emulation-0]

yare yare daze

[repulsiveliquidation]

Reservation || Laia Codina

warnings : smut (18+), fingering, cunnilingus, face-riding, lots of biting, thigh-riding.

summary : Laia goes on a little date with herself to celebrate the win over Brazil in the group stages where she meets a server who catches her eye.

Laia cheers with the rest of the team when they qualify for the quarterfinals. Pumping fists and lots of hugs later, she’s on a bus back to the olympic village with the rest of the girls. 

“So what are we doing to celebrate, eh?” Jenni asks, wrapping her arm around Laia as she leans her head on Laia’s. 

“I dunno but I need a hot shower before I even think about what to do,” Laia explains and Jenni rolls her eyes playfully, moving to make fun of Cata and her batman mask. 

Laia goes on her phone, googling all the best spots for a little quiet wind down spot near the Olympic Village. She finds a quaint little family restaurant that’s away from town, which is sure to be absolutely void of patrons. 

The pictures look promising and the local guide reviews are exceptional. As she scrolls through the photos and gets a little excited to try everything, there’s someone in those pictures that catches her eye and she’s hoping they’re there for service tonight. She calls, eager to make a reservation. A girl picks up. 

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?”

“Uh,” Laia starts, remembering she doesn’t actually know anything in French. 

“Um, connaissez-vous l'anglais??”

There was a bit of a word she understood; she smiled and nodded to no one in particular though Aitana did look at her friend funny. 

“Yes, English!” 

“Ah okay! What can I do for you miss…?”

“Laia!” She yells a little too excitedly,  “can I make a reservation for one tonight please?” 

“Yes, Laia was it?” 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“Of course, see you tonight, merci!”

Laia hangs up and looks quite proud of herself, sinking back into her chair on the bus. She looks out the window, mindlessly daydreaming about the girl she saw in the pictures while the rest of the girls begin to sing songs a little too loudly; before you know it Alexia yells at them to pull themselves together and shut the fuck up so she can sleep. 

Of course no one listens to her and they continue to sing, Laia joins in just as they reach the chorus of their fifth Karol G number. 

Jenni takes too long in the bathroom before she can fully rest a bit before her little date with herself in the evening. Laia feels a little nervous, unable to rest just a little before she leaves the room. Luckily the weather was nice and she could walk to the restaurant and enjoy the warm sun. 

There was a little breeze, leaving her feeling quite refreshed and eager for her little date. Following Apple Maps on her phone, she finds the place rather easily. There were lots of locals out and about in the bars, watching the Olympics with their families. 

Laia stood in front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. There were a few people inside and it smelled delicious, she was quite proud of herself for finding this little gem. 

“Avez-vous une réservation?” 

”Um,” Laia looked up and saw her. The girl from the pictures. She stares at Laia with a little amused face, smiling bigger when she sees the little blush creep up on the Spainiards face. 

“English?” Laia manages, smiling when the server nods and starts to take a menu. 

“Does a pretty lady like you have a reservation?”

“Oh!” Laia gasps, “Sí, I mean yes, Laia.”

“Hmm, a pretty face to go with a pretty name. Come with me, you’ve got the best table in the house.”

“Really?”

“Oui, and it’s in my section,” you quip, winking at the deeply blushing Laia. 

You pull the chair out for Laia, making sure to push it in carefully. With the menu in front of her, you begin to recommend the best dishes on it. 

“What’s the best dish here?”

“Me, but I’m unfortunately not on the menu tonight.”

“Shame.”

“Yes, but our Salade de Chèvre Chaud to start would be lovely.” 

“Sí, I’ll do that. And the Ha-chis, um, Parm-men-tier,” Laia tries, chuckling softly when you giggle at her. 

“I’ll applaud you for trying but it says Meat Pie right under the French bit.”

“Oh,” Laia looks at the menu then up at you, watching as your eyes get a certain look in them. 

“How about dessert?” You ask, leaning in a little closer than etiquettely acceptable. 

“I want to keep my options open,” Laia says, her turn to be a little flirty. 

“I like that, I’ll go put your order in. Would you like a bottle of wine to go with your meal?”

“Whatever you pick will be perfect.”

You wink at her and walk towards the kitchen, taking a deep breath behind the door. Your friend, Jessie, sees you looking flush and flustered. 

“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?”

“The cutest girl ever just walked in and I’m pretty sure we’re fucking after she has dinner.” 

“What gave you that idea?”

“I saw it in her eyes, you know?”

“Maybe it was the delusion.”

“Maybe,” you say matter-of-factly, “she wants to give me an unforgettable night.” You punch Laia’s order into the POS. Jessie rolls her eyes at you and begins to take food that needs to be served and as you walk out to help her, you whisper a little confession to her. 

“I’m gonna let her.” 

“Here’s your Duck Salad and first glass of wine, enjoy,” you say to Laia, heart melting when she smiles up at you and thanks you in perfect French. You saw her on her phone earlier, mumbling to herself and she was clearly practicing phrases in an attempt to speak to you. When you bring her main, she’s got another nugget of information for you. 

“Thank you, the salad was delicious,” Laia tried and when she finished, you were ready to take her home with you. 

She finishes the last bits of her mashed potatoes, and since the restaurant is empty, you strike up a conversation. Laia was easy to talk to and was more than interested in talking more with you. 

“Where are you from? You’re clearly not French.”

“Spain but I live in England,”

“Oh for work?”

“Sí,” Laia says with her big smile on her face. The boss was out with his lady for the night and since he was your dad, you were allowed to sit with a customer. 

Laia offers to pour you some of her wine and you let her, watching your pretty eyes glimmer in the dim restaurant. 

“What do you do Laia?”

“I play football!”

“What’s that? Is that an Olympic sport?”

Laia, flabbergasted, begins to sputter and explain the most famous sport in the world to the prettiest girl she had ever seen. 

You knew perfectly well what it was and played a little with your brothers but decided that evening that you loved hearing her talk and this seemed like a good way to get Laia to keep talking. 

“There’s eleven people on each–why are you laughing?”

“If you asked me to marry you right now, I think I would say yes. Are you always this adorable Laia?” 

Laia understandably blushes and begins to stutter again, leaving you in a fit of more giggles. Laia stares at you as you laugh, feeling her heart grow fonder as the night goes on. 

“Oh my where are my manners,” you say, standing, “would you like dessert?”

A mischievous grin adorns Laia’s face before she speaks. 

“Only if you’re on the menu.” 

You return her mischievous grin and vow to make her night worth it. 

“That certainly sounds delicious, let me go ask the chef what he can do.” 

You come back with her bill and an exciting update on Laia’s pending dessert. 

“I get off at ten, wait for me outside?” 

Laia nods excitedly, before looking down at the bill. It was zero. 

“Wait, no! You don’t need to!” 

“Consider it our first date on me,” you lean in and kiss her cheek, “I’ll be right outside,” you tell her before turning around abruptly “Oh! And watch out for Frankie, he likes head pats.” 

Laia walks outside and sits along the street, keeping her eye out for anyone that looks like Frankie. Not long after, a fluffy, pearly white cat comes up to her, nudging his head against her shins. 

“Debes ser Frankie,” Laia tells him, checking the little collar he had that rang when he sauntered. Laia gives him head pats as instructed, feeling the little guy purr and roll over onto his back for more lovings. 

“My my, he normally isn’t that quick to roll over. I knew I was right about you,” you remark, kneeling beside Laia and joining in on giving Frankie affection. He’s more than happy to have two hands on him, mewing his head off in approval. 

“My place or yours?”

“Mine isn’t exactly one-night stand friendly,” Laia says quietly, picking at her cuticles nervously. 

“That’s okay, mine’s just up the road anyway,” you take her hand and begin walking up the street, the cool late night breeze blowing lightly on your faces. 

“You really didn’t need to get my bill,” Laia tells you, smiling nervously at you. You wave in her face and smile, telling her it was your father’s restaurant so really it was on the house. 

Your house though was a lovely two bedroom apartment that was in a quiet bit of town with no one around this late at night. There were a few tv’s on and you could barely hear the Olympics replays on them. Walking into your front room, Laia grinned and looked around curiously. 

“I love that song,” Laia says quietly, reaching for the record sitting on top of your coffee table. You come around her and put ‘Turn Me On by Norah Jones’ in the player, turning around to face Laia. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer as yours wrap around her neck. The familiar first verse plays and she makes you dance a little, which pulls a giggle out of you. 

Both of you are nervous to make the first move and it’s because you’re both scared. As you ought to be. 

“Putain,” you mutter in French before crashing your lips on the Spaniard’s. 

The butterflies are replaced with fireworks. The nerves turned into desire. Clothes ripped from bodies and littered all over the floor. There were sirens in the background as breaths quickened. You nearly trip over your carpet when Laia walks you back to your couch. 

Her lips are like sweet candy you’ve never tasted before, her skin burning hot to your touch. She kept her hands on your waist, pulling away panting. 

“Do you want this?” 

“More than anything, Laia.” 

She presses her lips to yours again, hands much braver to explore you. The center-back reaches for your bra and unclasps it expertly, taking a breast in her mouth eagerly. 

“You’ve –ah fuck–you’ve done this before…” you gasp, back arching into her mouth. She rips her head away from you and you whine, her hand kneading the other breast expertly. 

“Sí, one or twice,” Laia responds, a naughty grin on her face. She leaves hickeys all over your chest, suckling softly on your nipple that hardened in her mouth. You whimper, hands tangled in Laia’s hair. 

“Eres tan hermosa amor,” 

“Fuck, keep talking to me Laia,” you whisper, pulling the Spaniard closer to you. She buries her face in your neck, kissing and sucking while her hands pull your leg over hers. Slender fingers slip into your underwear and a deep giggle rings in your ears when the fingers feel your soaked folds. 

“¿Estás tan mojada por un maldito extraño, cariño? Wet for a stranger?” 

“Y–Yes,” you whisper, eyes closing tightly as you feel Laia’s fingers slowly rub your clit. Her fingers are gentle but apply appropriate pressure, little shocks of pleasure surge up into your body. She takes your breast back into her mouth and sucks hard, pushing you into a flurry of ecstacy. 

“Does that feel good, amor?” Laia asks cheekily, fingers teasing themselves against your pussy. Your hips grind up and down into the feeling, her fingers naughtily pull away. She pushes you up against the armrest of the couch while she kneels before you. Your legs open themselves for her and she smiles, kissing up your legs. Her slightly rough hands send goosebumps all over your skin, breath catching in your throat. 

“More…” you beg in French, noticing that Laia immediately understands. Her hands press your hips down and her kisses begin to move higher and higher, closer and closer to your core. 

Laia leaves hickeys all over your inner thighs, licking and sucking hard on your skin. You’re all red when she moves to your core, hair slightly tousled. You pull her up and kiss her passionately, tongues exploring each other’s mouths. 

“Where do you want me touching you, sweetheart?” Laia asks, hands gliding over your tummy and inner thighs. 

“Down there,” you point, feeling a pillow rest behind your head. You fidget and get comfortable, hands aching to take care of your little problem. Laia gets comfortable beside you and shushes you, slender fingers circling your clit again. She’s slow with her movements and nibbles on your ear, feeling your body lean into hers softly. 

“Here?” Laia asks smugly, free hand slipping underneath your neck to cradle your head. You nod and your head turns into her neck and you bite a dark hickey under her ear. Laia moans, fingers slipping into your pussy which pulls a groan out of you. 

The pads of her fingertips find your sweet spot a little too easily and it sends pure pleasure through your veins. Her palm rubs on your clit and you groan, breath hot on Laia’s neck. 

“You look so pretty like this, princesa,” Laia teases, “I bet you’re prettier when you come, no?” 

Her fingers inside you make space for a third, your appreciation of being touched goes unnoticed by her; the sound of how wet you are appeals to her ego. She growls in your ear and you gush, arousal sticking to her fingers. 

“You’re getting close, sí?”

“Yes, so fucking close!” 

“Mmh, been wanting to see you come the moment I laid eyes on you,” Laia whispers into your ear, her hands speeding up inside you. They press right against your sweet spot, eyes seeing blinding white when your orgasm sneaks up on you. 

“Fuck!” 

You grip her arms and your back arches fully off the bed, her fingers don’t stop till you’re seeing stars. You search for her lips and smash them on yours, taking in her breath and your whines. She pulls away and her fingers fill your mouth. 

“Clean them up, that’s a good girl,” 

You suck on her digits sloppily, saliva running down her hand and forearm. Your eyes never leave hers, boring deep into her deep brown ones. 

“Want you to ride my face,” you whisper. Laia, taken aback, goes wide-eyed and nods slowly, kissing you hard. You lay back on the couch and Laia climbs on top of you. She’s cautious but with a little encouragement from you, she kneels over you and gently sits on your tongue. 

Your hands hold her up and she begins to grind down on you slowly. Her jaw slacks and you groan against her clit, licking up all her built up arousal. Her hands grip your hair like you did earlier, hips grinding down harder and faster the more you lick. 

Your tongue finds her hole and slips in; Laia groans and bounces just a little to ride it. Your hands however, enjoy kneading her firm ass as they help her grind on top of you. 

You’re sure your chin is pruned with how wet she is, fingers coming around her body to flick at her clit. Laia’s eyes find yours and she zeroes in on your gaze as her thighs start to shake. The invisible pull behind her belly button becomes too much to hold in and the moment you feel her muscle tension go away, she comes right on your tongue. 

This was not how you saw your night going when you picked the phone at the restaurant but it was a night to remember. 

She climbs off your face and grins stupidly, grabbing your face to taste herself off you. She moans and is intentionally sloppy with her kisses, whining when the taste of her lingers on your tongue. 

Laia’s eyes go dark and she flips you over. You’re sat on her thigh and her strong hands guide your hips to start moving. Your clit, soaked in even more slick, creates the perfect environment for riding her thigh. Your hips rock slowly, pressing down hard to increase your pleasure. 

Your hands wrap around her neck and your face tucked into the side. She whispers dirty things into your ear in Spanish, her deep voice sends chills down your spine; you’re sure you’ve never been more attracted to anyone in your life. 

“Such a good girl, making yourself come on me hm?” 

“Oui,” you whine, sucking on her neck to make the bruises you left earlier even darker. She spanks your ass and sucks on your breast again, being sure to suckle hard. Your thighs burn but you keep riding, breath unsteady as your second orgasm builds inside of you. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum…” 

“Ven por mí, princesa.”

You do, riding her thigh hard and fast. Your thighs shake like hers did, kissing her soft lips messily. You pant into each others mouths, feeling smiles appear on your faces. 

“That was awesome,” you tell her, slipping into her arms on the couch. She’s still smiling as she nods, leaning in to kiss you again. She wraps her arms tight around your middle, when the sound of the tv turning on startles the both of you. 

“Frankie!” you scream, seeing the pearly white beast standing on the coffee table on the remote. 

The replay of the group stage Spain-Brazil game was on. Laia’s face was on the jumbotron. 

You look from the tv to the girl whose arms you’re sitting in and see the resemblance. Your jaw drops and your heart rate goes up.

You just slept with the Spanish center-back who was here for the Olympics. An Olympian.

“So when you said your house wasn’t and I quote “...exactly one-night stand friendly,” you were talking about the fucking Olympic village?!” 

“Uh, yes?” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” you say with gritted teeth, turning around in her arms. She jumps off the couch, leaving you to chase her all over your little apartment. Frankie curls up in the warm spot near the heater and watches you two act like children, tail swishing amusedly. 

“How about!” Laia says breathlessly when you corner her in the kitchen, still stark fucking naked, “I’ll get you tickets to the quarterfinals and take you out on a proper date, my treat, to make it up to you?” 

“I want a kiss for every goal your team scores at the end, tell Alexia and Jenni they better get to scoring if you want them.” 

“Deal.” 

Laia got a total of six kisses broadcasted on the very same jumbotron at the Colombia game, but the sight of you in her jersey was just as good if not better than the picture of you two kissing that was pinned on the wall at your parents restaurant.

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

Luke has been making fun of your ‘unnecessarily absurd beauty routine’ —as he liked to call it— for the past week, so, you decide to drown him in it, just to see how much he can handle.

warnings: just a single use of the word b1tch, fluff at the end <3, little use of yn

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

i. the eyebrows

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurt!”

“No it didn´t!”

“Yes, it did!”

“Shut up and hold still”

“Ow! You´re pinching my skin, you bitch!”

“That was fully on porpuse”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the nearby bunk beds. Most of the boys, Luke´s half-siblings, gathered around you both, enjoying the show, eyes gleaming with mischief as they witnessed their usually stoic and confident counselor reduced to a whiny mess. Luke´s head was leaning on your thighs as you plugged his eyebrows with some dangerously sharp tweezers.

“See, that´s what you get for making fun of a girl” Travis Stoll, the elder of the Stoll brothers, joined in, a smirk on his lips. "We all warned you about messing with her” he pointed towards you.

“Shut up, Travis!” Luke spat.

You enjoyed the way his face was turning red, from embarrasment and because he was trying so hard to hold back his tears.

“You know, Luke” you started, plugging on another thin hair which earned you a little curse whispered from his lips. “You can always just, give up on the bet”

You found yourself enjoying the sight immensely. The perfect Hermes´ cabin counselor who'd spent the past week mocking your beauty routine,– here he was, sprawled across your lap, a prisoner of your tweezers.

“There´s no way in hell I´m letting you beat me that easily" he declared, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

You couldn't help but smirk. The bet had been born out of sheer frustration. For the past week, Luke had been relentless in his teasing about your beauty regimen. He'd mocked the meticulous way you cared for your eyebrows, the endless battle against unwanted body hair, the whining about the occasional pimples even when you spent a good twenty minutes locked in the bathroom cleaning your skin. He'd called you high-maintenance, a slave to societal expectations, and everything in between.

Finally, you'd snapped. "Alright, Castellan" you'd declared, eyes blazing. "How about a little bet? If you can handle a full day of 'girl stuff,' I'll clean your cabin for a week"

The look of surprise on Luke's face had been priceless. He'd scoffed, of course, overconfident and utterly clueless about the sheer torture involved in waxing, tweezing, and mud masks. But fueled by his arrogance, he'd readily agreed.

Now, here you were, watching him squirm on your lap like a fish, a testament to his underestimation of the situation. A wave of satisfaction washed over you. It wasn't just about winning the bet, though that was certainly a perk. It was about showing him, in a slightly sadistic way, that there was more to "girl stuff" than he thought. It was about proving that self-care wasn't about vanity, but about feeling confident and comfortable in your own skin.

“As you wish, little baby”

Chris suddenly appeard in your vision, the satisfaction on his face plagged as if he was enjoying this more than you did. “You know, yn” he called out, you momentarily stopped, accidentally giving Luke a break. “Luke has a little hair situation going on under his arms”

“What!?” Luke blurted out. His siblings laughed again.

“He does?” you asked Chris, looking down at Luke and patting his head like a little kid.

“Oh, yeah” Chris smirked. “Maybe that could be the next step, don´t you think?”

“I´m gonna-” Luke tried to get up from his bed, hands reaching out towards Chris. He took a step back just as you grabbed Luke by his shoulders and pushed him down again towards your lap.

“I´m not done with you yet, tough guy. But Chris´ right. Get your hairy armpits ready”

ii. the waxing

You pulled out a box of waxing stripes. Luke, oblivious to the impending torture, was too engrossed in examining his newly sculpted eyebrows in the hand mirror you'd provided. A satisfied smirk played on your lips. The eyebrows looked fantastic – perfectly groomed without being overly feminine. Because yes, he asked you to keep them as close to their natural shape as possible.

“Shirt off” you declared.

His head whipped towards you, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. His half-brothers, mirrored his action, erupting in a chorus of whistles and catcalls.

"Excuse you?" he sputtered, h is voice a touch higher than usual.

"Damn," Connor drawled to you. "at least ask the guy out first"

You rolled your eyes. Luke shot him a withering glare, but beneath the bluster, you could see a flicker of nervousness.

You held up the waxing strips. “It´s time for your armpits, champion” you announced with a playful lilt in your voice. You began rubbing the strips together to warm the wax.

He whined, pulling his camp t-shirt over his head, revealing his well-toned torso, and throwing it over a nearby bunk. You stole a glance at his body for a microsecond, a slight red blush coloring your cheeks. His brothers were quick to start a echo of whistles.

He flopped down heavily on the bed, one arm raised awkwardly above his head. To your surprise, there wasn't as much hair as you'd anticipated. But that didn't diminish the sheer terror radiating from him. You stifled a laugh. "Relax, Luke" you said, your voice gentler now. "The tenser you are, the worse it'll be."

His brothers leaned in closer, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. You carefully pressed the strip against his skin, smoothing it down with the practiced ease. He held his breath, his entire body tensing in anticipation.

You inhaled sharply yourself, then you ripped the strip off in one swift motion. Luke let out a yelp that would have made a banshee proud. His face contorted in pain, and his free hand clenched into a fist. His brothers erupted in laughter, their amusement fueled by his pain.

"Alright, alright" you said, trying to sound sympathetic despite the laughter bubbling in your throat. "Deep breaths, Luke. If you don´t relax, it´s gonna hurt more"

He glared at you, his voice laced with a hint of betrayal. "Easy for you to say."

Ignoring his grumbling, you ripped off another strip. A chorus of gasps filled the room, and Luke let out another yelp, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.

"See?" you said, holding up the strip adorned with a few stray hairs. "Not so bad, right?"

He wanted to murder you.

"Don't you use anesthesia for this?" he wheezed after a particularly harsh pull on his other armpit, his eyes watering slightly.

“We´re not babies, Luke” you replied, shaking your head. "Just good old-fashioned grit and determination. Besides, you wouldn't want to miss out on the full 'girl stuff' experience, would you?"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity —at least for Luke—, you finished. His armpits were as smooth as a baby´s butt. His brothers, unable to resist themselves, reached out and slapped the freshly waxed skin, earning them a swift kick each from a now-furious Luke.

iii. the skincare

"Skincare? Seriously?" Luke asked, sitting down on your bed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You all went to your cabin to continue his so claimed ‘girl´s day´. You would´ve paid to take a picture of your sisters´ faces when they saw you walk in with a bunch of boys following you behind.

“Just lay down, princess” you declared “I´ll bring my stuff”

He leaned back against the your pushy pillows, getting comfortable.

“First time on a girl´s bed?” Chris asked, earning a few laughs from his siblings.

“Shut up” Luke spat.

You came back with your washbag, full of different products that nearly gave Luke a heart attack. You had to assure him that this time, this wasn´t gonna hurt. At least not the first part, but you kept it a secret.

"Alright, beautiful” you teased. “Let’s get started. First thing’s first. “Cleansing”

You dipped a soft washcloth in warm water and began gently wiping away the dirt and sweat from his face. Luke closed his eyes, a look of unexpected serenity washing over his features. You noticed him get loose under your touch, a slight smile playing on his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of surprising compliance.

“Wow” he said. “This is actually quite nice”

"See?" you said softly. "This isn't so bad"

He opened one eye, a playful glint mirroring your own. "Not bad at all" he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice “Guys, you should try this."

The Hermes´ cabin boys leaned in closer, their usual boisterousness replaced by a quiet attentiveness. They watched as your fingers moved with a practiced ease, cleansing Luke's skin with a tenderness they hadn't seen before. They saw you take some cleanser, and rub it softly against Luke´s skin.

They all exchanged glances, a new kind of curiosity flickering in their eyes. Usually, the sight of anyone touching Luke, let alone his face, would have elicited a barrage of teasing. But seeing you, your movements gentle and practiced as you gathered a gentle cleanser, they found themselves strangely mesmerized.

"Well, he looks chill" Connor added. "Could you clean my face sometime, yn?"

You chuckled, throwing a playful glance thorwn at him. "Maybe later, Connor. Right now, it's all about Luke's glow-up."

Next came the toner, followed by a light moisturizer. Luke remained surprisingly still, his eyes closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips from time to time. His brothers, bored by the lack of drama, started to get bored.

Just as you were about to get some eye patchs, your eyes drifted on a little tool inside your washbag; your blackhead remover. An idea came up to you.

"Alright, Luke" you announced, a hint of warning in your voice. "Time for the fun part."

You reached for a steaming hot towel and pressed it gently against his nose and forehead. He inhaled deeply, the steam opening up his pores.

"This feels so nice" he mumbled, his voice muffled by the towel.

A slow grin spread across your face. "Oh, it gets better" you said, an evil spark in your eyes.

You grabbed the blackhead extractor and, with practiced ease, began gently removing the unwanted blemishes.

Suddenly, Luke's eyes flew open, a look of pure horror replacing his previous serenity. "Wait! What are you doing?" he shrieked.

"Shh" you hushed him playfully. "Relax. These little guys gotta go. Trust me, it'll be better for your skin in the long run."

"But it hurts!" he whined, swatting your hand away with a surprisingly weak attempt.

"Just a little pinch" you reassured him, your voice a mockery he hated. "Besides, if you don't remove them now, they'll grow bigger and poppier, and that will hurt even more."

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips as you expertly extracted another blackhead. This bet was getting a little harder to beat than expected. He winced slightly, then a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

“So, Connor” you called. “You wanted to be next, right?”

iv. make up

"So," you began, a sly smile playing on your lips as you settled into the chair across from Luke, "you think makeup is easy, right?"

"Shouldn't be that hard, I guess" he mumbled, trying to sound confident. Inside, however, his stomach churned with fear and worry.

You gestured towards your desk, which was now overflowing with an array of colorful tubes, palettes, and brushes – an arsenal of beauty products foreign to the boys' eyes. "Alright then," you declared, a playful lilt in your voice. "Here's a little game. I'll show you each product and you have to guess what it's for. Every one you get wrong? Goes on your face."

Luke's eyes widened in horror.

"Wait, what?" he sputtered, a nervous tremor in his voice. "You can't be serious!"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "But Luke, you just said makeup was easy. This is your chance to prove it!"

"This is cheating" he mumbled, looking betrayed. "You never mentioned makeup in the bet!"

"Technically," you countered, holding up a finger, "it's still 'girl stuff’, as you call it”

A groan escaped Luke's lips. He shot a desperate glance towards his brothers, hoping for some kind of intervention. Charles Beckendorf, who allegedly decided to join the fun, just grinned towards him.

"Don't chicken out now, Luke" he said, arms crossed over his chest. "You can always give up on the bet and let her win”

Luke glared at his friend, silently cursing the day he ever agreed to this ridiculous wager. He sighed dramatically, slumping back on the bed. "Fine" he mumbled, defeated. "At least try your best to make me look decent."

“That´s not gonna be on me, dear”

You couldn't help but laugh at his misery. You reached across the desk, picking up a sleek black tube with a silver cap. It felt cool and smooth in your hand.

"What do you think this is?" you asked, holding it up for him to see.

Luke squinted at the tube, his brow furrowed in concentration. He recalled seeing something similar in movies, actresses applying it with a flick of their wrist. An idea flickered in his mind.

"Eyeliner?" he ventured, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Huh, correct”

You set the eyeliner aside, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes. Next up, you picked up a thin, wooden-looking tool with a pointed tip. There was a small, round piece of what looked like colored chalk attached to the end.

"Alright," you announced, "round two. What is this?"

Luke studied the object carefully. It did resemble a pencil, but the colored tip threw him off. He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything similar he'd seen in the vast array of makeup products on your desk.

"Uh… a pencil?" he finally ventured, his voice lacking conviction.

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the cabin. Tears welled up in your eyes quickly, blurring your vision slightly.

"A pencil, Luke?" you wheezed, wiping a tear from your cheek. "It’s a lip liner"

Luke's cheeks flushed crimson.

"Lip liner?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. "For what? Do I need to draw on a bigger mouth?" He gestured to his own lips, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice.

You shook your head, stifling another giggle. "No, no need for a bigger mouth. Lip liner helps define the shape of your lips."

With a shake of your head, you said, "Now the fun part begins. Bring those lips here, handsome."

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face hovering a few inches from yours. The air got filled with a strange tension, probably because his brothers walked closer so they could get a better look. His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“You´re lucky this is the same shade as your natural lip color” you whisper.

“Yeah” Chris adds. “Maybe you should wear it more often, handsome” he reaches out his hand to squeeze Luke´s cheeks, but he´s quick enough to slap his hand away.

“Shut up”

The minutes that followed were filled with a more lighthearted energy. You continued the game, Luke surprisingly getting a few things right – foundation, and even a surprisingly good guess on a shimmery eyeshadow palette.

But he wasn't without his misses. The concealer, a light, creamy formula designed to camouflage blemishes, ended up being applied liberally under his eyes, leaving him with a ghostly pallor that had his brothers doubled over in laughter. Then came the blush. A delicate peach shade, turned his cheeks a comical shade of fuchsia thanks to your deliberately exaggerated application with a fluffy brush.

His brothers, fueled by this new display of comedic gold, howled with laughter. Charles, wiping tears from his eyes, wheezed, “He-, he looks like a baboon in heat”

"Oh man" Travis howled, clutching his stomach. "This is even better than the armpit wax"

Next came the eyelash curler, that strange-looking contraption that promised to create dramatic, fluttery lashes. The moment you held it up, Luke's eyes widened in suspicion. He snatched it from your hand before you could ask him what he though it was.

"What the hell is this!?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mixture of disgust and fear. "You girls like torturing yourselves with these things?"

You reached out and gently took the curler back. "No torture involved" you replied. “And since you know absolutely nothing about it…"

He tried to look defiant, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. "I know what it is" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Oh really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"

You handed him the curler and watched as he fumbled with it, his big hands clearly not designed for such delicate work. He eventually gave up with a defeated sigh.

"Okay" he grumbled, handing the curler back to you. "Do your worst."

The final touches were a disaster, a glorious, hilarious disaster. Every fiber of Luke's being screamed in protest as you handed the brushes over to his merciless brothers.

“Come here, Lookie-Pookie” Travis cooed, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned in with a thick brush loaded with sparkly eyeshadow. Luke recoiled, swatting his hand away with a glare.

"Don't touch me!”

“Come on Luke, give us those pretty little lips. We need to make sure they're nice and kissable” Beckendorf joined, opening a little lip product tube he wasn´t sure what it really was.

Luke wanted to melt into the floor, his face burning hotter than the volcanic eyeshadow now smudged across his eyelids. The audacity, the betrayal! His own brothers, the supposed bastions of masculinity, were gleefully participating in this humiliation.

“Maybe some of this highlighter will make him look prettier”

He couldn´t believe his own brothers knew what highlighter was except for him.

As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, a mix of horror and amusement washed over him. He never thought he'd feel so violated by makeup. But somewhere amidst the frustration and embarrassment, a strange sense of camaraderie bubbled up. His brothers, usually his biggest tormentors, were doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. And you, the leader of this whole mess, were practically glowing with barely suppressed mirth.

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Luke's lips. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Sure, he looked like a technicolor disaster, but the shared laughter, the fun, it felt strangely… good. He glanced at you, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Gods” he breathed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "This is the best day of your life, isn't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that filled the cabin. "Hell yeah it is" you replied as you offer him make up wipes.

v. the reconcile

Night had fallen, painting the sky with shimmering stars. The campfire illuminated the campers´ face, its flames dancing higher as the Apollo cabin filled the air with joyful camp songs. Laughter mingled with the strumming of guitars and lyres, creating a symphony of pure summer camp bliss.

The fire itself danced in response to the campers' emotions. It roared a little higher with every burst of laughter, dimmed momentarily during a quiet story, and flickered with a playful intensity as the Hermes boys, fueled by their mischievous exploits, recounted their version of the day's events.

You sat by the fire, poking a marshmallow with a stick, watching the scene unfold. Their narrative, of course, focused heavily on your supposed "torture" of Luke. Specially the Stoll brothers; they painted a picture of you as a ruthless makeup artist, a waxer who pealed Luke´s skin off and left his face shining like marble. Meanwhile, Luke simply sat there, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You noticed the Hermes boys regaling other campers with their story, punctuated by bursts of laughter. And yes, you didn´t like to admit it but, you'd lost the bet. Technically. But watching Luke handle their teasing with surprising grace, a hint of amusement in his eyes, filled you with a strange satisfaction.

You were there by yourself for a few more minutes. The camp sounds filling your ears as you tried your best not to stuff your face in all the toasted marshmallows your sisters offered you. Your hands felt tired, because yes, even though what you did was not too much for you to handle, Luke squirmed and behaved like a worm covered in salt, which only made your work harder.

Just then, a figure settled in front of you. Luke. He held two sticks, each crowned with a perfectly toasted marshmallow. He offered one to you, his usual smirk replaced by a genuine smile.

"Truce?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

You couldn't help but grin, accepting the marshmallow with a playful jab. "Truce"

He sat beside you, the marshmallow on his stick disappearing in one swift, hungry bite. Suddenly, you leaned in closer, feigning seriousness. "Oh dear" you said, your voice laced with mock concern.

Luke raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What is it now?"

"You've got a blackhead. Right, there" you declared, pointing to a non-existent imperfection on his nose.

His eyes widened in mock horror. "No way! I´m not letting you touch my face again" He swatted at your hand playfully, but you were quicker.

"Hold still, you wriggly worm" you teased, pretending to grab his nose. A playful fight ensued, a flurry of limbs and laughter. You managed to land a swipe at his cheek with a gooey bit of marshmallow.

Finally, breathless with laughter, you both settled back down, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the quiet camaraderie. As you bit into your marshmallow, a comfortable silence settled between you.

"So, about that bet" he began, wiping his marshmallow-streaked hands on his cargo pants.

You turned to look at him, still chewing on another marshmallow and a piece of melted chocolate. "Yeah?"

"I don't want you to clean my cabin" he explained.

"Why not? I lost the bet" you replied, surprised by his sudden declaration.

He looked at the sky, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. "Yeah, but… We're kind of a mess, actually. I would feel bad if you did it alone."

"Aww, Castellan, are you worried about little ol' me?" you teased him, squeezing his cheek playfully. He blushed a deeper shade of red, looking positively flustered.

"Maybe" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Okay, here's a deal" you continued, trying to cover your own blush. "I'll clean your cabin, but you have to help me. I really don't wanna get into dirty-underwear-business."

Luke considered this for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "Deal. But I'm warning you, there might be some things you shouldn´t even try to touch with bare hands. And I mean Travis´ and Connor´s bunks”

From a distance, a group of campers — a mix of Hermes, Apollo, and Hephaestus cabins —watched your exchange with keen interest. The playful teasing, the way your hands brushed as you made your deal — it was all too much for their already overactive imaginations.

"I bet you fifteen bucks he's gonna ask her out by the end of the week" an Apollo camper, Lee, declared.

Chris snorted. "That's weak. Twenty bucks says he does it tonight."

hiiya, just thought I could write something different to what I usually do. hope you enjoyed <3 🩷

[undead-supernova]

Chapter 2 - Series Masterlist

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Eddie decide you're both showing up. grab some beer, bowl. let that melted cheese on your nachos bring you to a state of vulnerability.

wc: 6k

cw: bickering, smoking, bowling, and alcohol consumption

fic title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

I Saw the TV Glow was a big inspiration for this chapter. I don't know how to explain that. They couldn't be more opposite storylines. It did spark this idea so I still have to shout it out. And I listened to the soundtrack while writing it! Beautiful.

p.s. if you havent seen I Saw the TV Glow, you totally should. it's a very important story about queerness and one of the best movies to be released this year. anyways don't think about that right now. instead, go ahead and read this chapter that I'm very proud of. watch the movie after.

There once was a boy who made your impressionable heart swell. He was the class clown, the certified It Boy of your middle school class. Not a jock by any stretch of the imagination, all lanky and desperate for just a touch of peach fuzz on his upper lip. But he was charming. And funny. And cute.

He made the girls giggle and twirl their hair, imitating the exaggerations of television. They would wear makeup to school, always quick to pass around tubes of lip gloss as soon as they left their mothers’ cars. 

You, however, stayed true to yourself. You tried the natural approach, quite certain that he would like you if you didn’t act like the other girls. Sure, he never looked your way. He never gave you a second thought. But, for some reason, that meant something to you.

The day you were assigned a seat next to him in English, he’d forgotten his book. This was your shot. This was your moment. So you offered to share yours, heads huddled together to peer down at the pages of Catcher in the Rye. Your heart was pounding in your ears, shutting out the teacher completely.

After class, he’d thanked you. Asked for your name. Told you it was really pretty. Then he asked for your help on his next paper.

And you said yes immediately, a larva without the protection of a chrysalis.

You agonized over his papers, noting that he wasn’t necessarily the best writer or all that smart, but it was him. He trusted you with his words and that meant he could trust you with his heart. At some point.

Until the end of eighth grade when he invited you to meet him on the playground, behind a large oak tree that the kids used as cover to make out. You’d approached slowly, wearing the lipstick you’d stolen from the local pharmacy.

But when you peered around, you were drenched in spoiled milk. Milk. 

A chorus of laughter sounded and you watched in horror as your crush grinned at you like you were entertainment.

His friend handed him a five dollar bill and they ran off.

That was all you were worth.

After that, you thought you knew what hurt was. What it was like to learn your lesson and never allow yourself the ability to fall into something like that again. An unrequited crush. But that was before high school, where the boys got more clever in their humiliation. Fake love notes, getting handsy at dances before calling you a freak. 

You swore never to let a boy you liked be mean to you again. You meant it.

But never once did you believe it.

It’s just a bowling alley, you thought. Spending one night with him won’t kill me.

The parking lot was nearly deserted, outside of a few Hondas and a gray Chevy Astro. Two of the street lamps were blown out, the remaining three dulled by the fierce January chill. 

You wondered if Eddie would even show up. Maybe this was his prank, one with Ashton Kutcher as an accomplice waiting around in an alley and snickering to themselves. You’d believe it. He was devious enough to make it happen.

It would be a joke for the ages, after you’d applied makeup and spent time working on your hair. You’d put on something casual but seemingly more put together, a deep brown long-sleeved shirt, leaving the first two buttons popped. Layered on top was a cropped, dark green jacket with a hood. You’d settled for dark blue jeans and Converse, sure, but the muted nude pink lipstick you pathetically checked in the sun visor was a step above your usual stupidity.

But Eddie had been insistent about this and it hurt to admit it, but you believed him. In your hardest of hearts, you trusted his word. It was aggravating.

The clock struck seven and you gave yourself one last deep breath before you got out of your car and made your way to the entrance. 

Lanesman was a frequent spot for you, a solitary activity that gave you an excuse to revert to your childhood. After you’d moved back and took this job, you found yourself gravitating towards what used to bring you joy. Bowling with the kid bumpers apparently did the trick.

Working at a high school made you realize that growing up didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean an automatic erasure of what used to soothe your blues. If anything, it reinforced your need for that promise of safety.

The lobby was beige and dull, walls smattered in faded neon paint that hadn’t been updated since your youth. A miserable looking teenager stood at the concession stand, frustratedly trying to get the popcorn to pop. 

As you scanned further, you felt something shock your system as you saw Eddie standing there, waving at you with his plethora of rings twinkling in a fluorescent haze.

He looked nice tonight, with a black Henley, jeans, and Converse that mirrored yours. He started towards you, leaving you to notice the top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. A hint of black could be spotted underneath, a wave of embarrassment washing over you as you wondered what tattoos he hid underneath.

But the thing that got you was his hair.

You’d never seen it down before, couldn’t even estimate how long you thought it would be. It hung in wavy curtains around his face and draped onto his shoulders. This was something you hadn’t seen coming. And here he was, sidling up to you.

“You’re early,” you started.

“Yeah, well,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m honestly shocked you showed up.”

“Yes, it seems that we are both in a state of shock.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll have to trust me eventually, you know.”

“We’ll see about that,” you shot back, shaking your head.

He snorted. “Alright, well. I’ll get the shoes if you get the beer.”

“I can do that,” you agreed before giving him your shoe size.

Eddie lifted his fingers and shot you with finger guns. “Always believed in you.”

He winked. 

Frustration flooded your system as he held your gaze for a moment too long. “I’m leaving now,” you murmured before walking away.

“You do that.”

Yeah, I will, you thought. Dickhead.

You made your way to the counter where that poor kid held up a finger as he attempted to fix the popcorn machine. The sounds of the arcade in the other room projected into the concession area, electronic sounds and buzzers trying to lure children in. As if there were any here in the first place. 

Eventually you ordered, getting a pitcher of beer and nachos. As you waited for the cheese machine to whirl back to life, you found your eyes wandering over towards the shoe hut. 

Eddie was laughing at something the kid said before taking two pairs of shoes and heading towards the back where the lanes were. Those areas were covered in blue wallpaper with pink squiggles, glowing neon in the rotating lights. He faded into the glow, dropping the shoes onto the table. 

You wondered why he’d gotten here early, going so far as to avoid the observation once you’d acknowledged it. This wasn’t even including his attitude being much more reserved than usual. He didn’t mock you once in that entire interaction. 

The night was still young, though.

When you walked over, Eddie’s eyes lit up at the sight of goodies in your arms.

“Beer and nachos?” he asked.

“Got a problem with nachos?”

Eddie grabbed a chip, drenching it in as much cheese as he could. “No, but you will after I eat all of them,” he said before tossing it into his mouth.

“Of course you’d never leave me any,” you commented as you set down the cups, beer, and nachos next to the shoes. 

He swallowed before shaking his head. “You know I can just get us some more, right?”

You shrugged off your coat, tossing it over his. “So that you can eat all of those, too?”

“These are some harsh accusations.”

“They’re hunches,” you countered, crossing your arms over your chest.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Come on. Tonight’s supposed to be about starting over, remember?”

You knew he was right. This was supposed to be a truce. Where was your can-do attitude? 

You took a deep breath before saying, “Yeah, okay. Sure. Yes. Starting over.”

Eddie smiled at you before throwing out his hand. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. Nice to meet you.”

You stared down at his hand. “We’re doing this?”

His smile widened. “We are.”

“Okay, fine.” You introduced yourself before taking his hand in yours. Shaking it, you added, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“What do you do for work?”

You snorted. “Uh, I’m a freshman English teacher at South Jefferson High School.”

He gave you a surprised expression. “You’re serious?”

“Uh, yeah?” you asked, confused.

He placed his free hand on his chest. “I’m a freshman English teacher at South Jefferson High School.” 

That was when you realized what was going on. What Eddie was attempting to do. You were really starting over. And if he was animated about this bit then, fuck it, you could be, too. 

Enthusiastically, you exclaimed, “What? That’s crazy!”

Eddie grinned, sparking something inside you. “Isn’t it?”

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” you asked, fully playing along now.

“I don’t know! I’m in room 11A.”

You gasped. “I’m in 14A.”

“This is so bizarre.”

“I know. Small world, huh?”

In the silence that followed, you became aware of pressure that remained against your palm. The forgotten sensation that had your eyes lowering to your hand. They were joined, warmth being passed back and forth as your playful exchange came to a close. It felt like you couldn’t breathe.

So, you let go.

“Wanna bowl?” you asked, still feeling hazy. “With…me?”

Eddie coughed before sticking his hands in his back pockets. “Absolutely. Though, I have to warn you that I have the bumpers up.”

You smiled. “That’s the only way to play.”

Eddie won the first round. 

However, much to his dismay, you won the second.

It involved a lot of groans, snorts, and retreats to the beer pitcher in between turns. Overall, it was a pretty civil affair which surprised Eddie. He wondered how you felt about it.

The two of you now sat on top of the joint tables, having gone through a second pitcher of beer and demolished another helping of nachos. There’d only been one or two lanes taken up since you started, the room still in near silence outside of “I Wanna Love You” by Akon and Snoop Dogg playing over the crackled speakers. 

You sat close to one another, mirroring each other. Both you and Eddie were hunched over, feet planted on the chair in front. But as the conversation continued, you were turning closer to one another. The distance didn’t really feel like distance anymore.

Eddie was finishing off his final sip of beer when you suggested, “What if we did honesty hour?”

He glanced over at you, slowly lowering his cup. “What, like ask each other questions?”

“Yeah, and the other person has to answer. Nonegotiable.”

That was rather brave of you. And bold. You avoided any and all sense of trying to understand him. Not once did you ask him a question that wasn’t drenched in kerosene. Plus, what did you know about honesty? You grew defensive at any hint of curiosity and hostile when he reiterated whatever you told him. Could this really be considered progress or just a chance to seem like the good guy?

“Oh, I don’t know if you could handle your own game,” he challenged.

“What!” you exclaimed, lifting your hands.

He shook his head, unable to believe you were seriously that shocked. “You always have this look in your eye,” he said, wiggling his fingers in your face.

“What look?” you asked, slapping his hand away.

“Like you’re withholding information.”

One of your eyebrows twitched. “Is it wrong for me to keep some things to myself?” you argued, a forced chuckle leaving your lips. “I don’t need to tell you every thought in my head.”

“Why not?” “Because you make fun of everything I do!”

Eddie shook his head again, your irony bordering on comical. “You get mad at everything I do. Why do you get to be all high and mighty about it?”

“Because at least I keep my opinions to myself.”

“You make your opinions very clear, actually.” You rolled your eyes. “Okay, so are we gonna start or what? I don’t wanna do this if you’re gonna keep getting defensive.”

You let out a small groan. “Okay, yes. Fine.”

“We’ll start off easy, okay?” You nodded. “What was your favorite part of Napoleon Dynamite?”

You chuckled, catching him off guard. Then you smiled and an unexpected ease filled his chest. “Oh, most definitely Napoleon test tasting the milk.”

“It’s so nasty,” he agreed, feeling a laugh escape him. “Almost as good as the part when he watches Pedro ride his bike and asks if he can too and—”

“And he breaks the ramp!” you finished for him.

He nodded emphatically. “Yes, exactly!”

“I loved it. It was really funny.”

“What can I say? I have good taste.”

“You have one point,” you told him, holding up your pointer finger. “One.”

He shrugged. “That’s one more than yesterday.”

“Guess that means it’s my turn to ask a question?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I have a few more.”

“What? I came up with the idea.”

“Yes, but you always dodge answering anything honestly.”

“As if you don’t say anything other than,” you lowered your voice, “Oh, look at me. I’m so cool. You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m just so cool.”

Eddie snorted. “And what do you think you do?” He raised the pitch of his voice. “What? How dare you! Stop that! Ugh. I could never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed. “I do sound like that.”

“Finally rolling an eighteen for once.”

You paused. Eddie watched as you looked down. “Did you just…” you trailed, eyes slowly coming back up to meet his. “Did you just make a Dungeons and Dragons reference?”

“Maybe.”

A loud chortle flew through the air as you exclaimed, “Oh my god! You’re a nerd!”

He rolled his eyes. “Nerd? Really? Are we in high school?” You gave him a playful shrug. “The fact that you know the rules means you’re just as big of a nerd as I am.”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed. “It’s not a bad thing. It just feels like. Well. I don’t know. I guess, to me, it feels like you’re a real human being now.”

“That’s because you have forgotten to ask me anything about myself.” You opened your mouth, but he beat you to the punch. “Which you can do after I ask mine.”

“Okay, fine,” you replied with a huff.

“Do you actually enjoy teaching at SJ?”

“Of course I do,” you said too quickly, eyes narrowing.

Eddie shook his head. “Defensive. I really am asking. It’s not a trap.”

“Fine, fine,” you agreed, holding up your hands. “I enjoy what I’ve started doing. I mean, I don’t think I’ve made the impact that I’ve wanted to, which was why getting the opportunity to do this full-time was really exciting.”

“Do you think this’ll be a long term thing? Teaching here?”

“I hope so. Maybe not forever, but I want to right now. I think I owe it to these kids who’re already in such a vulnerable phase in their lives. It keeps getting scarier out in the world. The least I can do is try to help make it easier with the small pocket of time I have in their lives.”

“That’s really sweet,” Eddie whispered, and he meant it.

“Oh, thanks,” you whispered back. “I mean it.”

“Does your family live around here? Or your, uh, boyfriend.” He panicked when you raised an eyebrow. “Or girlfriend. I, uh, I don’t judge.”

Shaking your head, you said, “No, my family isn’t around. I haven’t seen them in over a year. I moved back and then they moved across the country. Besides, we barely call. We’re all bad at using the phone. I write them sometimes, but it’s usually attached to cheesy holiday cards.” You looked down at your cup. “And no. I don’t have a partner of any kind at the moment.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“Do you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I what?”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

Eddie almost said, “Why do you wanna know?” But you were making real progress for once. He couldn’t fuck it up now. Not when your eyes were returning to his, brave and unafraid now.

“I do not,” he answered. “I don’t have a partner of any kind right now.”

“And your family?”

It was his turn to cower away. “Yikes,” he whispered, planting a goofy expression on his face to soften the blow. “Uh, yeah. My dad’s in jail and my mom passed when I was a kid. My uncle lived around here but he actually met a nice guy so now they pose as roommates in Ohio.”

“What’s in Ohio?”

That was your answer? To everything he just said, giving you the basics of a fucked up childhood, the only thing you had to respond with was a question about what state his uncle and his boyfriend settled on?

“Dave, I guess,” he replied, studying your lack of expression. You let out a hum and nodded. “Does that not, like, weird you out?”

“What part exactly?”

“My parents.”

You shook your head. “No, not really.”

“Hm.”

“Do you want me to be weirded out?”

“No, I…” Eddie trailed before taking a deep breath. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

You nodded. “Then you’ll be absolutely ecstatic to know that I am far from being weirded out.”

“Incredible,” he said lightly, trying to force out a laugh. He sobered up quickly when you gave him a closed-lip smile. “Last question.”

“Hit me.”

Do you really hate me?

He blinked. “Would you go outside with me and share a cigarette?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

So you climbed off the tables, grabbing your jackets and heading back out the front door. Eddie had been eyeing your appearance all night, especially the lipstick you’d donned. You never wore lipstick at work and you hadn’t the last few times he saw you around the city. Why now?

If only asking questions didn’t get him annihilated. 

“I’ve actually decided I want my own,” you said, turning toward him.

“Of course you do.” Your breaths fogged together as you chuckled. “Are you finally gonna try a Marlboro Red?”

Your smile bordered on mischief as you pointed your thumb at the parking lot. “I mean, I have a pack of Newports in my car. I could always go get them.”

Eddie shook his head, slipping his pack out of his jacket. “Nah, I don’t trust you to come back.”

Snapping, you said, “Damn. You foiled my epic evil plan.”

“I see right through you.”

“You sure do.”

Eddie held out a lone cigarette for you to take. You gave him a small smile before plucking it from his fingers and sliding it between your teeth. He tried handing you the lighter but you shook your head.

“You’re not gonna light it for me?” you asked around the cigarette. “Some manners you’ve got.”

With only a snort as a response, Eddie lit both of your cigarettes at the same time. The smoke swirled through the air, mimicking a blanket of snow you were sure to get in the next few weeks.

The banter between you was nice. Eddie had made his peace with the constant back and forth, but nothing felt better than this. The two of you being civil and, if not friends, friendly. Your scowl had faded, leaving behind your gentler expressions. If he didn’t find you beautiful before, there was something almost explosive about what he saw now.

He wondered what it was like to grow up so wondrous. What kind of kid you were and whether you experienced the atrocities that he had in high school. What did you turn into after, when you could grasp at the sleeves of freedom? Did your fingers ever slip?

You bent down to stub out the cigarette before tossing it in the trash can next to the door. Eddie watched you, wondering how he could keep you from leaving. Sure, you probably weren’t thinking about leaving. But. Still.

He needed more time with you. He needed more time to understand you. And if you were to walk away from here tonight without divulging those details, he thought he’d explode. Especially when you’d be back as coworkers the following week.

So, he got an idea.

“We should go to the little arcade inside.”

“Why, so I can beat your ass?”

“Woah there!” Eddie exclaimed. “Trash talk. I like it.”

You took a step towards the door, watching as he flicked his cigarette out onto the pavement. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

Before you could pull any further, Eddie was taking the handle from you. “I should do it more often,” he replied, gesturing for you to walk through.

“It’s only ‘cause I’m a little tipsy.”

“You didn’t have to drink the beer. I mean, it is kinda shitty.”

You shrugged. “I’ve been having fun. Sue me.”

“Then you’ll be excited to know that the arcade is the final showdown.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, think about it. I won the first round. You won the second, right?” You nodded. “So who is the winner?”

“We could tie and practice good sportsmanship.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

You giggled. You fucking giggled.

It jolted him. It wasn’t lightning, but rather the shock of static electricity on an unforgiven doorknob. 

“You’re right,” you said with a shrug.

God, he really fucking liked you.

“We’ll play three rounds,” Eddie started, fiddling with the coins in his hands. “First are Galaga and Target Terror. And then, for our final showdown? The claw machine.”

“The claw machine is rigged,” you argued. “We’ll both lose.”

“Yeah, with that attitude.” You snorted. “You can’t know if you don’t try.”

Instead of whipping up some witty comeback, you trudged over to the dusty Galaga machine, noting that one of the coin slots was shattered.

Eddie came to stand next to you, plopping a coin in your palm before you thrusted it into the unbroken slot and took off.

One thing you’d failed to mention up until this point was how shitty you were at any and all arcade games. You’d once thought Galaga was your favorite, something you gravitated towards as a kid. The flashes of neon against the black, with only specks of color to create the illusion of a night sky. It always drew you in, the feeling that you were escaping somewhere outside yourself. Outside of the reality— 

“Oh, come on, really?” you exclaimed as you failed. 

“You’re just smashing the keys,” Eddie groaned.

You shot him a look. “But that’s what you’re supposed to do!”

“Well,” he started, bumping your hip with his. “Doesn’t matter now ‘cause you’re dead. Officially. Time for you to scoot over. Come on.”

Reluctantly, you switched places. 

And, boy, were you immediately intimidated.

Eddie was a whiz, all calm and collected as he focused on the screen like his life depended on it. His fingers stretched, skillfully defending space from the countless hoards of aliens and other creatures that dared to cross his path. 

He finally died at the low low score of 140,820. 

“What the fuck?” you muttered as he took a step back and grinned at you.

“So that’s, what, two points now for me and one for you?”

You tried to suppress your glare. “Good job,” you said through your teeth.

Eddie gave you a bow. “Why, thank you. Sometimes it pays off to be a nerd.”

It wasn’t that you were a sore loser. But you were with a sore winner. Now it was time to get your revenge. How you would do that was beyond you, but you had to try.

“Come on,” you told him.

Your next destination was the Target Terror, taking the red gun before he even approached. For good measure, you turned and pretended to shoot him. Eddie let out a dramatic gasp before clutching his chest and falling to the floor.

Laughter tumbled out of you without any thought, made boisterous when he twitched and kept making the stupidest noises you’d ever heard before finally playing dead.

“Bravo,” you complimented.

Like a flattened cartoon character, he regenerated and sprung back up to his feet. 

“I’m a natural, I know,” he responded, sliding coins in for you both.

“Yeah, you should be the next drama teacher.”

He grabbed the blue gun. “I actually think I’d kick ass at it.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking.

As you went to shoot the start button, you couldn’t help but look over at Eddie. He was checking out the gun and deciding on his hand placement as if that mattered. But you were thinking about something else.

Eddie was a good guy, wasn’t he? Take away his revolting arrogance and inability to keep his mouth shut and you could see a person underneath. His ambition mirrored yours and maybe, just maybe, his heart had been in the right place all along. Maybe there was more to him that you wanted to learn.

You wanted to be his friend.

Eddie caught your eye, pausing to look up at you. “What?” he asked. “You waiting on me?”

“Um.” You made yourself look back at the screen. “Yeah, I want to win fair and you’re taking too long. So. Uh. Let’s play.”

Without another word, you shot the first level and the two of you were off, trying to kill as many bad guys as you could. Though, they were kinda lame, just some guys in hoodies and sunglasses. A few of them were women which you appreciated, but they were the only ones who seemed like they had any real backstories. 

You tried not to sneak a glance over at Eddie’s score, but you couldn’t help it. You were winning. He seemed to be struggling, glancing over at you every so often. His frustrated looks sat in your peripheral, leaving you with a shit eating grin on your face as you took your sweet time. 

“What the hell,” he said when it hit game over.

You pretended to blow smoke off of your plastic gun before putting it back. “You were just smashing the trigger,” you said. “So, that’s, what? Two points for me, two for you?”

Eddie sighed. “Guess I deserved that one.”

You smirked. 

The claw machine was the final destination, lined in yellow and emitting a neon glow. Turning to look at Eddie, you saw the neon illuminating his dark eyes which were solely on you. 

You nearly did a double take, suddenly overwhelmed by the exposure.

“What?” you asked.

“What?” he retorted, smirking.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re really pretty.”

Your gut twisted again. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?’

“I feel like you look at me as some, I don’t know, clownish hag or something.”

“Clownish hag?” he repeated.

“Or something.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re just saying that because that’s how you see me.”

“You think that I think you’re a clownish hag?”

“Isn’t that why you’re so annoyed by me?”

“No, I’m annoyed by you because your goal in life is to make mine miserable.”

“Sure, yeah. Let’s go with that.” You rolled your eyes. “So how do you see me then? Hm?” “I mean, a guy like you already knows how pretty he is. I don’t think I have to be the one to tell you that.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Pretty, huh?”

“What?” you asked, blinking.

“You think I’m pretty, too.”

“Objectively, yes.”

“Objectively,” he repeated, snorting.

“You can’t deny it.”

“Only if you don’t deny finding me pretty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright. Come on.” He gestured towards the machine. “Go ahead and try.”

Your eyes lingered on him for possibly a second too long before you returned your attention to the claw machine. Hitting the start button, you moved the claw around the box. You were sure this was going to fail. There was no other way for this to go.

Eddie called me pretty.

It was a rigged system. You give them your money, left with the unspoken contract that this was a game of chance. You paid for what you got in the end. No take backs. No refunds. What you ended up with was what you ended up with. There was no return to the way things were before you gave away something so special. 

Eddie called me pretty.

But in the end, there really was nothing left to lose. So, you slammed your hand down on the button.

Eddie called me pretty.

Slowly, the claw extended and fell against a small tiger plushie. It clamped down on its head before slowly rising. You gasped as it stayed secure and moved towards the safety box inside. Then, the claw opened.

And you won.

Almost simultaneously, you and Eddie erupted in shrieks, jumping up and down as you stared at the machine in disbelief. 

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed.

His eyes sparkled. “You did it!” 

“I know! That was crazy!”

Eddie laughed and gave you a high five. “That was amazing.”

You shrugged. “I’m the best, what can I say?”

“Can’t disagree with you there, sweetheart.”

You felt your eyes widen, mirroring the same exact movement now coming from him. 

Sweetheart.

Of all the names you’d been given from crushes, part-time lovers, and partners, never had you heard the word sweetheart.

It sent a wave of bubbles to your gut before floating up, up, up and into your throat. You tried to clear it, but nothing could get it out. Eddie held your stare, seemingly unable to make a comment. Unable to call you out for what you surely knew he knew despite you not really knowing for yourself. 

What was happening?

“Eddie?”

You heard him take a sharp inhale as his name left your lips. It was the first time you’d uttered it out loud. To yourself. To someone else.

To him.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, slowly. “Anything.”

You could feel yourself unraveling. “Do you really want to be my friend?” you whispered.

Eddie’s expression softened. “Of course I do.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even blink.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The catch in your throat was enough.

Eddie’s hands lifted, fingers slowly curling around your cheeks before bringing your lips to his. 

It was the meteor you never saw coming. A gentle kind of impact. It’s intense and explosive, but there’s safety. Somehow, Eddie’s the reason why. 

He was gone too quickly, not giving you enough time to process why he was making you feel this way. But his eyes met yours and suddenly he was the breathless one.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, taking slow blinks.

You didn’t know what to say. Too many questions were caught in your throat. Was this manipulation? Was this real? And if it was, did that mean he liked you? Did that mean that you liked him?

But Eddie began to take a step back and it angered you to no end.

“Don’t you dare,” you grumbled, grabbing onto that stupid open collar of his. “Come here.” You pulled him back toward you, connecting your lips once more.

The trance fixed itself, your brain struck with neon pixels of excitement, of bewilderment. There was this need to completely consume him. To take his breath as your own so that you may understand who he is and what makes this so different.

You knew you’d never be the same after this ended.

Eddie was quick to reverse the roles, turning you around pulling you to the other side of the claw machine, hiding you both. You had no problem shoving him against the wall, both hands on his chest now. 

He broke through your arms, reaching for your jaw once more and dragging you closer. As if that were possible. As if there was any space left between your bodies. 

It wasn’t desire. It was necessity.

Your fingers locked around his hips, digging your fingernails as hard as you could. It was instinctual, like there was no other way this could go.

He let out a deep moan, sounding more like a growl than anything else. It sprung you further as you pressed your hips against his. You found friction and chased it without hesitation. 

Hands moved down to your neck, squeezing ever so lightly.

Your goosebumps rose like static electricity. 

But then someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

You jumped away, turning to find the kid from the counter. “Uh, yeah, hi. Please stop making out in the arcade.”

“Oh, sorry,” you said.

All he did was shrug and walk away.

Slowly, your heart slowed down and you dared yourself to look back at Eddie, his pink lips coated in your lipstick.

His eyes were already on yours, but you could see little flickers to your lips. It restarted that pumping, pushing you to take a step forward.

So did he.

His hand found your elbow and drew you forward.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“That was…” he trailed.

“It was what?” you asked, feeling dread pool in your stomach.

He paused. Too long, your thoughts echoed. Too long.

And that’s when it finally hit you.

Eddie hadn’t given you a second glance before the book club debacle started. There was no indication of interest or intrigue, settling on December as the start date of his ventures. December, when it was finalized that the two of you would be sponsoring together. 

He’d come into the break room for lunch. He had to know you’d be in there, had to know already that you were co-sponsors. Why else would he try to rile you up? Why else would he try to befriend you?

He was tricking you.

This had been his plan all along. 

He was trying to get you to forget all about the book club. He was trying to take it for himself. You knew he’d certainly read enough books to know how to do it. 

This was what men did. They got you alone, vulnerable, and then stabbed you in the back. Their games were always the same. 

You’d grown up, but you were still just as naive as you were at eleven. Fifteen. Nineteen. Twenty-five.

“What am I doing?” you wondered out loud, glancing at him one last time before you turned and walked towards your coat and purse.

Eddie didn’t follow you.

Once more, you smoothed the wrinkles in your white button down and red floral skirt. Your heel-clad feet ached as you leaned against the desk at the head of the room. Next to you was Eddie, back to his bun and waiter uniform. He stood a few feet away, but you were more than conscious of his presence.

It was cumbersome, lighting your skin on fire as you gave fake smiles to every student filing into your classroom at three-ten in the afternoon. The tension was palpable, found in the awkward silence that rested between the two of you.

One by one, the students sat down and made small talk with their friends. They laughed and giggled, eyes flickering over to you two every so often.

But at three-fifteen, you heard Eddie clear his throat.

“We’re going to start by re-introducing ourselves,” he started.

You both said your names.

You couldn’t help but glance over at Eddie, watching as he did the same.

Quickly averting your gaze, you took a quick breath and looked back at the kids.

“So,” you said. “Who wants to go first?”

requested tagging: @anukulee, @twihard28, @doorlesscub00, @whisperingwillowxox, @ubiquitous-corvids, @kellsck

thank you to @littlexdeaths for her dividers :')

[project-sekai-facts]

what do you think the "Please forgive me and Purple" mean? considering the Miku (and Teto!) version it could be stand as a prayer like "Amen" yk? I always thought it said "please forgive me Empurple" as if "Empurple" was an entity

please forgive me and "purple", the wavering me dyed purple

So empurple means "to become purple", hence why in the official english lyrics "empurple" is replaced by "dyed purple". I think the 'and "purple" ' in the lyrics is representative of Mafuyu's emotional state, as in, her true and genuine self waiting to be found/freed. The real Mafuyu - her image color is purple after all. I think to understand what it means to Mafuyu at least, we need to look at the SEKAI ver instead of Harumaki Gohan's version. It was written for Mafuyu, so most likely Mafuyu is the origin of this lyric, which was then put into a different context with Harumaki Gohan's MV.

In the first verse where Mafuyu sings "the real me feeling stuck in my throat is empurpling", which gives us an image of Mafuyu struggling to open up about her feelings. The longer she feels stuck and keeps everything in the more purple it becomes. This is confirmation enough that the "purple" that she's asking for forgiveness for is just the things she kept hidden from her parents. It makes a lot more sense if you consider that this is the event where she starts to reconnect with her dad, and truly starts to trust him and open up to him. You don't have to read past this part, I have answered the question.

I think it's worth mentioning as well that we see these red and blue strings throughout the entire MV, obviously red and blue being the colors that make purple. We'll get more on what red and blue mean in the context of this song later, but just briefly I want to talk about this specific frame here. Strings have been a recurring motif for Mafuyu from as early as her first ever event, Captive Marionette. In that event, Mafuyu likens herself to a marionette doll, with the way she feels completely under the control of her mother and like she's being used for her mother's own performance (that will get its own analysis in due time). Her card for that event shows her dressed as a marionette doll bound by strings.

The strings come back for her aptly titled My True Feelings card in her fourth event, Saying Goodbye to my Masked Self. She's seen cutting the threads here, symbolising how she ran away from home and effectively cut off her mother. And now back to Empurple. In the opening shot of the MV, we see red and blue strings wrapped around Mafuyu's ankles, binding her to something offscreen. Behind her, towards the area she's being bound to, we see a bunny plushie and some apple slices cut into the shape of rabbits.

These are taken from her Memories of Warm Affection card, which shows kid Mafuyu being taken care of by her mother. The event Empurple was commissioned for, Reeling in the Lights, heavily calls back to Mirage of Lights, Mafuyu's second event and the event this card originates from. It's pretty clear here that Mafuyu is being bound to her mother, and her memories of her mother's care for her when she was younger. Continuing on with the actual song:

The next part of interest is the first pre-chorus. The first shot here is one of a child's hand holding an adult's, obviously meant to be Mafuyu and her father based on the card for this event (below). The next shot is of kid Mafuyu's eye, much brighter and with a far lighter blue color. These two shots are accompanied by the lyrics "Try to open my left hand and have a look? It's still embedded with blue eyes." (It is in fact her left hand that she uses to hold her dad's hand in her card). Now here's where we get to the meaning of blue in the song and MV.

The blue here is meant to represent Mafuyu's younger self. Her more genuine and innocent self before her parents started setting more pressure and expectations on her. The first line of the chorus is "If I saw that, would I be surprised", which I think perfectly encapsulates how Mafuyu feels when looking back at her childhood. In both of the "Lights" events focusing on her relationship with her parents, she looks back on these childhood memories that are so distant from her reality that she'd almost forgotten them, and yeah, it's surprising how different her life was and how she was when she was younger. The second line of the chorus "I just want to live once with genuine feelings only" plays into this too. And then we come back to the "purple".

If we hold hands, it would be great if you could understand, Please, Forgive me and "Purple", The wavering me is Empurpled

It's very clear here that this is all directed towards her father. In the event, we flash back to Mafuyu's dad comforting her during a thunderstorm, and although its one of her only memories of him because he was very absent from her childhood, she realises that she associates him with being a source of support, and decides to tell him more about how she really feels. She affirms her trust and comfort by holding his hand. In the context of the song, she's asking him to forgive her and all the things she's been hiding over the years.

The next point of interest is the second prechorus, which is very similar to the first, only this time, it's about the "red". Once again we get a shot of Mafuyu holding her dad's hand, only this time it shows the present day, and Mafuyu is using her right hand this time. Like how the first prechorus mentioned her left hand, this one mentions her right, with the precise lyric being "Try to open my right hand and have a look? You'll find a crimson sky.". An aside, her eyes aren't crimson here, I won't deny that, but they can't exactly just give Mafuyu red eyes, so for the sake of this analysis, pretend she has red eyes or something or that crimson and indigo are the same thing. We see the shot of teenage Mafuyu's dull indigo right eye over the lyric about the crimson sky, a direct contrast to her bright blue eyes from the first prechorus.

The "red" in this song references Mafuyu's current state of being. A girl struggling with expectations and appearances to the point she lost her sense of self, her emotions, and her will to live. All of this has been kept well hidden until the mask finally came off in her previous event, and now her father is seeing this completely new side to his daughter too. It's far more impactful though with the knowledge that he was an absent father, and never really got to spend any time with Mafuyu due to his work schedule. Like he never really knew Mafuyu to begin with in some ways. All he knew of her would've mainly come from how other people saw her, which is what caused this in the first place.

The first line of the second chorus is "If you see it, will you be shocked?", obviously referring to how she has her worries about telling her dad these things about herself. He is, in fact. shocked by the situation. He's completely stunned when he finds out Mafuyu can't even taste the food he's been buying her back in The Tone Played on that Day, because this is nothing like the Mafuyu he thought he knew. At that point he knew Mafuyu had been struggling, but he had no idea of the severity of it because Mafuyu had been holding these things in her throat.

The second line interests me quite a lot though. "The crimson sky is so beautiful, yet you'll never know." I've been trying to think about what quite we're looking at here for a few minutes, but here's what I've interpreted it as. Where we are right now in the story, the crimson is the closest we can get to the real Mafuyu. It's her true self as much as her current emotional state will allow, and obviously there's some beauty in that. It's far more authentic that the manufactured facade of blue that she'd been putting up for the previous few years. "yet you'll never know" could refer to three things in my opinion. Number one: Mafuyu's unwillingness to open up before the end of this event. No one gets to know her real self, because she won't let people see it. Number two: Mafuyu's father missed out on a huge amount of her childhood, and missed many of the signs that Mafuyu was going through mental anguish. Obviously, this ends up being remedied at the end of the event. And number three: This is aimed at Mafuyu's mother, who doesn't understand how this has happened and refuses to accept that this is who Mafuyu is.

And the last part of this chorus is "If we hold hands, it would be so warm... Please, Forgive me and 'Purple' ". Warmth is something that comes up a lot in Mafuyu's story. It's a sign of comfort for her. Her mother, or even just her presence, physical or not, is consistently described as cold and icy. It's unnerving and chilling. However, being around Niigo, holding their hands, brings her an unfamiliar warmth. Mafuyu associates this warmth with how she felt around her mother when she was younger. She can't quite place it, but it's a feeling of safety, comfort, and happiness. As I mentioned earlier, although Mafuyu has very few memories of her father from when she was a kid, what she does remember of him brings her that same feeling of warmth. And it's different to how her memories of her mother give her warmth, because he's still here, now, trying to help her.

I particularly like the bridge and final chorus too. There isn't much to say about the MV here aside from the fact it gets darker during the bridge, connecting with the "crimson sky that was hidden at all costs" lyric. Mafuyu is the last person to sing, and as expected it's darkest then, though it does get brighter as she finishes her line, probably because she's going to be more open from now on. I like the "still tinged with blue, these eyes" part too, because obviously, her happier and genuine "blue" side is still a part of her, she's just lost sight of the genuine manifestation of it over time. Blue and red make purple after all, and you can't get the true purple form of Mafuyu without combining her blue and red sides.

The final chorus refers to the event story again. "The important things, I'll keep them with me" obviously references the memories of her dad comforting her that she never let go of, "Inside my body, something is still broken" because Mafuyu isn't fully healed yet, and "If we hold hands, please fix me" because she is going to let her dad help her from now. Them holding hands was a sign of trust between the two of them, and a sign that Mafuyu is going to be genuine with her father because it is what's best for her, for real this time. He says in the event that he's been looking into getting her seen by a hospital (therapy), so he truly does want to help her.

The MV ends with the same shot as we started with, only this time, the camera has moved over to the left a bit, fitting with the fact that her "blue" childhood happiness was said to be on the left. The strings binding her also fade away, and allow her to step towards a new person whose feet have appeared in the frame, who is obviously meant to be her dad (Mr Asahina canonically wears sliders). We're finally seeing Mafuyu make some significant progress following her running away. Even after she ran away, she was still bound to her mother, and the warm memories she had of her, but now she's found someone who can give her that support and love for her genuine self in the present. She's freeing herself little by little.

[planetpedri]

i have a arda güler request.

where him and the reader had a fight and she was like you are sleeping on the couch and he didnt want it at first but he was so mad that ge thought he will sleep on the couch and he slept on the couch but the reader got scared bc (idk you can think smth) and went to him to sleep with him on the couch and he woke up asked her what she's doinh and she was just cuddling with him.

thank youuuu sorry for the bad english🥹

Quilt of steam — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: After an argument with Arda, you make him sleep on the couch. It ended up only punishing you though, because now you were scared to sleep alone. You end up folding and join him on the couch.

Word count: 561

Disclaimer/s: arguing , anger , angst to fluff , hurt/comfort . + being scared

A/N: ahhh this req got me goood omg thank youu !! i hope it’s to your liking <3

“The couch. Now.” That was the last sentence you said to your boyfriend before calling it a night. He’d rolled his eyes, not believing you’d demand that.

“Oh come on…” Arda’s words drawled out of his mouth, only furthering your annoyance. “You cannot be serious! Let’s just go to bed.”

He moved toward said bed, and you’d spewed out a chorus of, ‘no’s’ until he stopped. Arda rubs a hand over his face before throwing up his hands in defeat.

“Fine! Whatever.” And then he left, grabbing a blanket before slamming the door shut.

When he was finally gone, you had gotten ready for bed and put on your comfort show, ‘Criminal Minds’. Bad idea. It was a very, very bad idea.

Usually, you had Arda to snuggle into when you got scared. Now, you only had an empty bed and your brain was churning. The dark room terrified you, the door to your closet being slightly cracked did nothing to suppress your anxieties.

With a long, deep breath, you grab your small blanket and an extra pillow, you prepare yourself for the run of your life.

It’d taken you three minutes to get from the bedroom to the living room, where you found your boyfriend fast asleep on the couch. Your lips pull into a frown at the sight.

Guilt swarmed you as you took in his appearance through the dim light that the moon provided. His bottom lip was pushed out, like he’d fallen asleep frowning.

Sighing, you take off your slippers and lower yourself onto the couch, making sure to be as gentle as possible. You didn’t want to wake him, just lay with him.

For a moment, you thought you were successful. He hadn’t stirred or anything. With one last risky move, you rest your arm across his chest, and lay your head on his shoulder, taking one final look at Arda before closing them.

“What’re you doing?” Arda asks, his voice surprising you. Your eyes snap open and you would’ve accidentally thrown yourself off the couch if it hadn’t been for Arda’s arm wrapping securely around you.

Now flush against your boyfriend, as he’d pulled you practically on top of him, you give him a sheepish smile. “I was scared, didn’t want to sleep alone..” You explain weakly, feeling all too embarrassed over it.

Arda’s eyes are still only half open, but his lips still pull into a grin. “I told you, you need to stop watching that show before bed.” He teases, his thumbs rubbing circles into your waist.

Your eyes roll at his words. “Okay, well, that’s a hard no.” You pause then, “I know you’re still probably mad, but can I stay here.”

Without hesitation, Arda hums, his head bobbing slightly. “Of course.” His fingers thread through your hair, pulling your head closer to rest in the nape of his neck.

The leftover anger you held from earlier dissipated the second he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m sorry, too.” He mutters, “I love you.”

Oh you were definitely not upset anymore, well… not upset at him. You were still upset with yourself, upset that you’d gotten so angry at him.

“I love you, too.” Within the next few moments, both of you had fallen fast asleep in the comfort of each others arms.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[bisnes-socks]

i love kot kot. i've always loved kot kot. and i'm gonna tell you why.

i think it's a beautiful song, i think it's a banger, i think it's a nostalgic sound, and i think it's an incredibly sad song.

musically, i think kot kot sounds like a summer night in finland. the contrast between the melodic, soaring chorus and the darker, harder verses sounds like walking back and forth between the bright light midnight and the dark clubs or bars or restaurants or something. going from the first verse into the chorus again feels like stepping out from a dark venue and it's 2 am but the light outside is the same as it was when you went in hours ago. it's actually super eerie the way time doesn't seem to move at all during the height of summer in finland. it's a sort of a liminal space that can feel either like never ending horror or an addictive state of true living, depening on how you deal with endless light. 

this is a summer song to me.

i love love love the free flying chorus.

i love love love the old school sound of the verses.

the chorus is beautiful with it's long soaring vowels and lines. the verses are mega bangers that remind of early 2000's music. the echoes of like old school drum and bass, breakbeat etc. are super nostalgic to me and have sent me down the rabbit hole of music from my childhood multiple times since the song came out. and i personally love the contrasts and different sections in the song. i think they go together well, i don't think they clash.

i think jurek and allu have composed a clever song. and honestly allu deserves more recognition across the board i am sorry i've been slipping in that department.

now. to the sad part.

i always felt like the chorus was sort of... wistful and melancholic. but the album puts all of that in a different context. he's not just mr. lonely. he's fucking terrified of being alone. 

"pelottaa, ettei jatkopläänit ehkä osukkaa, kuumottaa tosissaan, osote ois saatava, poket tos jo hoputta siis vastatkaa nyt saatana" meaning "i'm scared that after party plans will fall through, seriously getting jittery about it, i need an address, bouncers are on my case, somebody pick up the phone" like with the context of the full album now, it's really painting a picture of someone who does not want to go home and face being alone with his thoughts.

i remember when the song came out and people had all sorts of headcanons and ideas as to why the second time round the voice on the phone is in english - things like maybe he's making an international call or something. well, the truth is that in finland, that message is always played in three languages: finnish, swedish and english. so why is it in english the second time? honestly in all seriousness i think it's just a little nod to his international fans or something, like i don't think there is a real story reason for it. but if there was.. well, if anything, to me it suggests that he must have stayed on the phone, listening through the whole litany: valitsemaanne numeroon ei juuri nyt saada yhteyttä, kontakt med numret ni har valt fås ej, the number you have dialed cannot be reached. to get to the english part he has already been told twice in two languages that there is no one there, nobody is picking up, but he's still there.

honestly this song more than anything feels like the true pair of autiomaa, because to me, this song is someone trying to avoid feeling exactly the way autiomaa describes. feeling empty, feeling nothing, feeling alone. he says as much: "tää klubi on yht tyhjä ku sen katsoja" meaning this club is as empty as he who is looking at it. he's empty and finding other people to party and hang out with is the only way out of feeling empty, the only way to distract himself from the fact that he is lost.

and so for skit and autiomaa to come right after this? he has reached a breaking point and realised he has to face the nothingness inside.

and again, like with takavoltti, i think this song represents that long standing finnish tradition of writing funny lyrics about difficult subjects. it's also very very typical in finnish culture to make songs that seem to be about drinking on the surface level but are actually not about that. this song builds a lot of very comedic images: him vibing to celine dion alone in a club and refusing to leave, fighting with bouncers etc. and then of course there is the whole chicken thing with kot kot kot. it's funny - except it's not funny at all.

but the thing is, it's okay to find things funny in the song. they both are and are not funny at the same time, because isn't that what life is. i don't think the intention of these songs is to make you feel one specific way, it's just a matter of perspective. and that can change from day to day. so i think it's okay if one day the song breaks your heart on behalf of the käärijä in the story of the song, and on another day you just want to belt out the chorus and dance through the verses. it's all okay, it's all good.

and that's pretty skilled song writing.

[mikrokosmos]

The Gothic in Classical Music History (1760s-1920s)

Intro Back in high school I fell in love with two things; classical music, and Edgar Allan Poe. I’ve always loved Halloween, October, spooky things, ghost stories, horror and slasher movies, etc. And I always loved finding classical music that was also spooky, or dark, or evocative of the same eerie experience of a cold and foggy October day. Thinking about these memories made me want to put together a short list of Gothic Classical music.

But what do I mean? There is no true “Gothic music” as in a specific movement in classical history, because the traditional Gothic refers to literature. Not all art movements have corresponding trends in all mediums. Even so I thought it would be fun to say, if there was such a thing as Gothic music, what would that include?

18th Century

John Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare (1781)

Music of the 1760s-1790s, corresponding with the first wave of “Gothic Novels” in the English language. Some names in this era include Horace Walpole (The Castle of Otranto), Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho, The Italian) and Charles Brockden Brown (Wieland). The closest we have to music of this same era would be in the Sturm und Drang style. Sturm und Drang (Storm and Stress) was used to describe music written in a minor key that was restless, agitated, intense, emotional, and more extreme than the typical expectations for restraint and lightness/clarity, music that aristocrats in powdered wigs and velvet and lace could relax with. Strong changes of emotion and more emphasis on subjectivity, reflected by sudden modulations and pulsing rhythms.

The most famous piece that I associate with Sturm und Drang is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s “little” g minor Symphony no.25, K.183 (1773). It is famously used in the opening of Miloš Forman’s Amadeus (1984). It is a fun piece, and that opening movement is full of fire, and probably the young Mozart having fun (he wrote it at 17. If you ever want to lower your self esteem, look up what music Mozart wrote at your current age.). Another major work would be Joseph Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony no.45 (1772), written in the very unusual for the time key of f# minor. And of course, even though he comes later, anything Ludwig van Beethoven published in a minor key has a lot of muscular passion to it, and his early/classical era of the 1790s is no joke. Check out the final movements of his Piano Trio no.3 in c minor and his Piano Sonata no.1 in f minor, or his most famous early sonata, the Pathetique.

But if the Sturm und Drang style and Gothic genre also emphasize the disturbed and the psychological, we can include programmatic works that do the same. Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni (1788) has an incredible moment in the finale. The sociopathic hedonist is confronted by the ghost of the man he murdered in the first act, who possesses a statue and confronts Don Giovanni with his sins. Don Giovanni doesn’t repent, so he is dragged into hell with a chorus of demons. Always a good reminder that Mozart wasn’t the eternal child who wrote pretty melodies.

19th Century

Caspar David Friedrich - The Abbey in the Oakwood (1810)

Music of the early 19th century corresponds better with Gothic fiction because Romanticism in art brought greater interest in the supernatural, in the subjective, in emotional reactions to the universe… major names in fiction include the poetry of Lord Byron (Darkness), Mary Shelley (Frankenstein, The Last Man), and Sir Walter Scott (The Bride of Lammermoor). Greater emphasis is put on the anxiety of the unknown, supernatural fears beyond our control.

Of all Franz Schubert’s songs, Erlkönig (1815) best exemplifies the Gothic (and this is a bold claim because I only know about a fraction of Schubert’s extensive song output). In it, a father and son are riding on horseback. The son is sick with fever. As they ride, the son cries out that he can hear the Elf King calling out to him, some evil spirit or demon that wants to take the son’s life. The father tries to calm him down, but the Elf King gets closer and closer. By the time they reach home, the son has died. Was the Elf King real? Was the son hallucinating from fever? How literal should we take this text? The ambiguity of subjective experiences and how we interpret and understand reality is a major theme in Gothic fiction.

Many famous German operas lean into the supernatural and magical. In this period we get Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz (1821), considered to be the first Romantic opera. In it, our main character Max who needs to win a shooting contest so he can be allowed to marry his lover, Agathe. He is given a gun that can shoot magic bullets by another forrester Kaspar (who has his own plans). Kaspar tells Max to meet him in the “Wolf’s Glenn” in the woods at midnight for more magic bullets. In the Wolf’s Glenn, Kaspar calls for a spirit, the Black Huntsman Samiel, to help him curse the other characters, offering Max’s soul in exchange. Making deals with demons/the devil was another fascination in Romanticism.

Legends of a diabolical nature were springing around great musicians. At the end of the 1700s, Giuseppe Tartini wrote his most famous composition, the “Devil’s Trill” Violin Sonata in g minor which is full of virtuosic passages. Tartini claimed that the Devil appeared to him in a dream, and that he sold his soul in exchange for the Devil to be his servant. He handed the Devil his violin, and the Devil “…played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and I awoke” Source

Similar stories came about with violinist Niccolò Paganini, who astonished the audiences of the early 19th century with his (for the time) otherworldly technique, dazzling them with scales and leaps and scratches the likes of which you can hear across his 24 Caprices for solo violin. A young Franz Liszt was at one of Paganini’s concerts and he was enthralled and inspired to become the “Paganini of the Piano”. He too would dazzle audiences with his percussive intensity, glittering arpeggios, and dreamy modulations to possess women with the spirits of hysteria and other dated misogynistic diseases. Cliche to say but before Bieber Fever, before Beatlemania, there was Lisztomania.

The sense of Faustian bargains comes through in the pieces Liszt wrote after Goethe’s Faust. The Faust Symphony (1857) includes a movement for Mephistopheles, the demon/ the Devil that bargains with Faust. The Mephistopheles movement has no original theme, but takes and corrupts the themes of Faust and his lover Gretchen into a mocking tone. Later on, Liszt was inspired to write a tone poem “The Dance in the Village Inn” or Mephisto Waltz no.1 (c.1862). He also wrote it for piano around the same time. The story has Mephistopheles taking Faust to a wedding in a village and playing the violin so madly, the partygoers are intoxicated by the music and go off dancing in the woods. Emotions taking over and making one act irrationally was another fascination in Gothic fiction.

Liszt would go on in his later years writing a few more Mephisto waltzes, with a lot of forward thinking harmonies and piano writing, unfortunately not as popular. Mephisto waltz no.2 (1881) has moments that make me think of Debussy, and the third (1883) has glittering and ethereal moments. But the best example of Liszt’s interest in the Gothic would be his earlier concert piece Totentanz (1949), or Dance of Death (Danse macabre). In it, the piano and orchestra play out variations on the Medieval chant Dies Irae, always reminding us of the inevitability of death. The variations depict skeletons dancing wildly all while the Mephistopheles at the piano unleashes his seductive tones.

The Dies Irae chant goes across our pop culture, with one famous iteration being a synthesized version of passages from Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique that Wendy Carlos wrote for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) after Stephen King’s novel of the same name. And it was Berlioz’s symphony that enchanted audiences in 1830 with new, titanic sounds beyond what orchestra music had been before. In the story of the Symphonie fantastique, an artist has tried to overdose on opium after feeling rejected by unrequited love, but instead he has a vivid drug induced nightmare where he is sentenced to be beheaded via guillotine, which was still a traumatic living memory for the Parisian audience. He then sees himself among ghosts and monsters during a witches’ sabbath, the lovely woman’s beautiful theme is distorted into a grotesque mockery, the Dies Irae comes back among the cackling. It was a new degree of imagination expected from the audience. Later, Berlioz would depict demons in Pandæmonium (the Capital of Hell in Dante’s Inferno) at the end of his Damnation of Faust.

Through the mid to late 19th century we get authors of Gothic literature such as Edgar Allan Poe, Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily and Charlotte Brontë, Nathaniel Hawethorne, and Victor Hugo. We also get two more operas that have Gothic themes. First is Richard Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman (1843). In this opera, a ship on the North Sea collides with the Ghost Ship of the Flying Dutchman who is cursed to sail the seas forever, but is allowed to come ashore once every seven years and if he can find a wife, he will be freed. I’m sure you can guess how this opera ends. The overture is often played in concert for a condensed version of Wagnarian thunder and romance. The next important opera is Giuseppe Verdi’s Macbeth (1847), because Shakespeare was being revived and translated in different languages across Europe and Verdi loved his plays. In the opera, Macbeth comes across a chorus of witches that foretell his success and downfall. He is too ambitious and goaded by Lady Macbeth, plans to take the throne through deception and murder. Lady Macbeth is later haunted with phantom blood on her hands which only she can see. And Macbeth succumbs to his inevitable fate.

We also get two significantly “Gothic” pieces of orchestra music. They are both tone poems, which also reflects the concert goers’ tastes. The one that has always been a quintessential “Halloween classical” piece is Camille Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre (1875), opening at the stroke of midnight (softly evoked by the harp), a violin shrieks out the tritone (the “Devil’s interval” which the Romantics thought meant was cursed by the superstitious Medievals, really it was an idiom for “hard to use in music”) and introduces ballroom music along with the clacking bones of skeletons dancing in the graveyard (evoked by the xylophone). The skeletons dance through the night until the rooster crows at dawn.

The other great Halloween concert piece is Modest Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain (1867) which depicts another witches sabbath, this time on St. John’s Night, a major holiday in Slavic Eastern Orthodox culture. Walt Disney’s Fantasia (1940) would help bring this poem to life with an animated phantasmagoria of ghouls and skeletal horses and other demons flying around the mountainous demon Chernoberg.

[Here I want to give a quick shoutout to Cesar Franck’s Le Chasseur maudit (The Accursed Huntsman), a tone poem about a Count who doesn’t go to church one Sunday, and instead rides around to whip peasants for his own amusement, so demons drag him to hell. Not nearly as famous a concert piece as the others mentioned in this list but it has colorful orchestration so you should check it out.]

The initial idea for Fantasia was for Disney to repopularize Mickey Mouse by writing him into an animated version of Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The original poem by Goethe was a classic that Paul Dukas set to music in 1897. In it, we hear the Sorcerer leave his Apprentice to clean the floors of his workshop. The Apprentice uses magic to bring a broom to life so it can do the chores for him. The Broom mindlessly pours buckets of water all over the floor, and the Apprentice isn’t good enough with magic to stop it. He chops it up into pieces with an ax, but they regenerate into several brooms which go back to marching water in. The Sorcerer returns to clean the mess and scolds his Apprentice. This charming tale has a darker and more diabolically fun tone in Dukas orchestra.

20th Century

Harry Clarke - Illustration for "Masque of the Red Death" (1919)

In the same exact year of Dukas’ tone poem, we get Bram Stoker’s Dracula. At this turn of the century other major names include Gaston Luroux (The Phantom of the Opera), Robert Lewis Stevenson (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde), Henry James (The Turn of the Screw), Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray). At this time, there are a few more pieces that continue trying to evoke Gothic subject matter. One comes from Gustav Mahler’s Symphony no.7 (1905), sometimes dubbed “Song of the Night”. Two of the symphonies five movements are titled “Nachtmusik” (night music), the first is more in line with Gothic anxiety and spookiness than the second which is more like a serenade. But the most Gothic movement is the Scherzo which sits in the middle of the symphony and is like a Viennese ballroom full of dancing corpses and skeletons as waltz music decays with them.

A surprising example (at least, because of how relatively obscure it is) comes from Claude Debussy with parts of an opera based on Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher that he worked on between 1908-1917. Not too much a surprise on the one hand because French translations of Poe’s work became popular and influential. On the other hand Debussy is more known for evocative sound pictures, unique musical colors, and subtlety. Perhaps he was drawn to symbolist and psychosexual interpretations of The House of Usher, the same interests that preoccupied him with his only finished opera Pelleas et Melisande. Roger Orledge reconstructed the opera and tried to stay true to Debussy’s style, so what we do have is passable and as shadowy and vague as his other orchestral masterpieces.

Maybe the hardest work to recommend (but I do recommend regardless, give it a chance) is a Modernist song cycle for chamber ensemble. Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (1910) uses freely chromatic atonality to give a demented color of psychosis experienced by Pierrot, personified version of a stock character for old Commedia dell Arte plays, a clown who over time became the “sad clown”. Maybe a precursor to the demon from Stephen King’s It, or the demented clowns and jesters that laugh at the madness of the cosmos across Thomas Ligotti’s short stories.

This was only meant to be a small overview of works that could fit my own view of the Gothic in music. There are more examples I could include, so as a hint toward today, I’ll end with a piece that was written about a century ago, yet sounds as if it could have been written today. Henry Cowell’s The Banshee (1925) is a short piano piece, so if you can, at least listen to this one. Instead of playing with the keys like you’re “supposed to”, Cowell asks the performer to drag their fingers along the wires directly. This creates disturbing reverberations and scratching sounds that tingle the back of your neck, that feel like the otherworldly cry of a Banshee.

Happy Halloween.

[pale-opal]

I Listened to "The Wisdom Saga" and I Have Some Things to Say - Part 1

If you haven't listened to this part of "Epic: the Musical" yet, feel free to click off this post and do that because not only are you doing yourself a disservice, I will also be giving ALL of the spoilers under the cut, and the Epic sagas are best experienced blind. It's free to listen to on YouTube, Spotify, and Amazon Music, and it's also available to buy on iTunes.

Okay. Did you listen to it? You did? Great! Now let's get into it: 1. Legendary- This is my favorite song in the saga. - Telemachus is precious and must be protected at all costs - The "l-l-l-l-legendary" is giving Hamilton (2015), not gonna lie. - I mean that in the best way possible. - Some people have pointed out that Athena's melody can be heard in the background, and we know from past songs that when her theme or ticking sounds can be heard when she's not present in the song, that means that she's just observing to see what's going to happen before getting involved. - And that's a good thing, considering what's about to happen. - But we'll get to that. - I want to talk about this part of the chorus for a second:

"Give me sirens and a cyclops Give me giants and a hydra I know life and fate are scary But I wanna be legendary" - I just think that first line is so ironic because Odysseus fought both sirens and a cyclops. - I also think the giants line is interesting, since Odysseus almost got sent to the Land of the Giants after a certain someone opened the wind bag (*cough cough* Eurylochus *cough cough*). - Now I wanna talk about these lines:

"There are strangers in our halls Trying to win the heart of my mom But she is standing tall 108 old faces of men who call me small They keep taking space and it's not much longer we can stall

Cause they're getting impatient, dangerous tooAnd I would fight them if I was half as strong as you Somebody help me, come and give me the strength Can I do whatever it takes to keep my mom safe?" - While listening to this song, I got reminded of when my 10th grade English teacher covered the original Odyssey.- A phrase she kept using to describe how the suitors were treating Penelope and Telemachus was "eating [them] out of house and home." - To sum up what she meant by that, the suitors are basically taking advantage of the concept "xenia", which is an idea the ancient Greeks had. They believed that visitors were under the protection of Zeus, and that they had to be treated with respect. - Odysseus and his men try to invoke this when they first meet the cyclops. - Because of xenia, Penelope and Telemachus are sort-of "barred" from kicking the suitors out. - And even if they could... there are one-hundred and eight (108) of them. They're horribly outnumbered. They could easily be overpowered. - Now you may be asking yourself: "How come they haven't been overpowered already?" - The original text actually gives us an explanation for that: Penelope started working on what was known as a "funeral shroud" (a fabric a dead person is wrapped up in before being buried) for Odysseus' father. - She told the suitors that she would choose one of them to marry once the shroud was complete. - However, what she DIDN'T tell them was that she was going to undo some of the work each night, thus allowing her to work on the shroud for an indefinite amount of time, or until Odysseus came back. - ...or, at least, that's what would've happened if the suitors didn't find out what she was up to. Hence why their so antsy to find out which one of them she intends to marry:

"Where is he? Where is the man who'll have you to wife? Oh Where is he? Where is the man with whom you'll spend your life? Cause it's been 20 years (20 years) And we still have no king" - And now it's time to talk about the only antagonist in the entirety of "Epic" who is a clear-cut villain with no redeeming qualities: Antinous.- I want this man defenestrated immediately. - You know how Telemachus is a young man who respects women, loves his dad, even though he's never met him, wants his mother to be happy and safe, and also wants all of these sleazy men out of his house? - Yeah, okay, well, Antinous is the complete opposite of him. Just take a look at this interaction between the two of them (cw for implications of SA):

"[ANTINOUS] Boy! When's your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband? ... Why don't you open her room so we can have fun with her?

[TELEMACHUS] Don't you dare call my mother a tramp! ...

[ANTINOUS, spoken] I just did! Whatchu gonna do about it, champ?" - And you want to know what Antinous does after saying all of this? - He challenges the son of the woman he supposedly wants to marry, the same son who he sees as a child despite him being twenty (based on "108 old faces of men who call me small" and how he calls Telemachus "boy"), to a fistfight. 2. Little Wolf- This was the song I was the most excited for prior to its release, and I am pleased to say that it does NOT disappoint. - One thing I noticed before the song came out is that Poseidon refers to Odysseus and his crew as a "pack of wolves" in "Ruthlessness". - Considering how animal symbolism is used in this musical, Telemachus is seen as being in the same vein as his father, but is called "little" because he isn't quite on the same level as him... not yet, anyway. - But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Fight, little wolf, fight Wanna entertain me? Bite, little wolf, bite Let's see how you take this Strike, little wolf, strike Wanna be a man? Then Fight, little wolf, fight, little wolf, fight" - The chorus is literally a bunch of grown-men trying to pressure Telemachus, who they see as a child, mind you, into fighting a man who is not only older than him, but who is also implied to be stronger, too. - They want this boy dead, and that is apparent before they line "die, little wolf, die, little wolf, die" even leaves their mouths. - I can't wait for "King" to come out. I want these posers to get what they deserve. - Oh, and as for Antinous: "You've made your worst mistake here, might be your last one too You'll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through I'll teach you all the lessonsyour daddy never couldThis cruel world doesn't give out presentsjust for being good" - While I do agree that Telemachus needs to become less sheltered, beating him to death is NOT the way to teach him how harsh the world is. That lesson is going to do him no good if he has to die to learn it. - But, of course, Antinous doesn't care about that. He only cares about dealing with the person standing between him and "his" woman. - The further I go into this, the more I want Antinous chucked out of a window. - But it's okay. It's fine, everybody. Because Telemachus' real mentor soon arrives on the scene:

"[ATHENA, spoken]Need some help?

[TELEMACHUS] What's going on here?

[ATHENA] Is your plan to stand around? Cause I suggest you fight back

[TELEMACHUS] I don't know how" - Okay, so two things: 1. Athena being totally down with helping Odysseus' kid despite this being the first time they meet is awesome. 2. Telemachus wants to fight monsters, but he doesn't even know how to properly punch a guy. I love this. He has Odysseus' heart, but not his "mind" so to speak. He wants to do all these serious and impressive things, but when the time comes for him to do so, he hasn't the foggiest idea as to how.

"[ATHENA, spoken] Uppercut him, now.

[TELEMACHUS] Woah, how did I do that? Is time now moving slow?

[ATHENA] No, I just made your thoughts quick" - I'm so glad we get this explanation of how "quick-thought" works! It doesn't slow-down time. It speeds up the mental faculties of the person under its effects, and essentially puts them in a "bubble" where they can interact with the outside world in-real time while perceiving (and acting?) faster than their surroundings (I don't know if Jay explained this anywhere else. If he did, I'm sorry for being redundant). - And then we get these absolutely raw lines from Athena: "I've no respect for bullies Those who impose their will I've seen plenty enough to truly understand this kind of filth Let's teach this dog a lesson In front of all his kind One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined" - THIS IS WHAT I MEANT ABOUT THE ANIMAL SYMBOLISM! Dogs are considered by many to be the descendants of wolves. A genetic relative that is not quite as feral or quite as aggressive as a wolf, even if they're wild. And based on how Athena calls the suitors "filth" (ha!) and puts extra emphasis on how wolves are stronger than them, I wouldn't be too surprised if she was talking about domesticated dogs. And that case, they don't stand a chance against - oh, wait. Hold on a second: "[ATHENA, spoken] Ooh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard!

[TELEMACHUS, spoken] Ow..." - I can totally imagine Telemachus getting a headache or a nosebleed here. It's his first day getting into a fight, and the first time he's experiencing deus ex machina. Ya boy is not qualified for all of this. He needs a break. - Oh, and then we get Antinous being butthurt about Telemachus actually managing to rough him up a little:

"Go back and cry in your corner Make sure your mother hears If she won't choose a man to adorn her We'll bring blood and tears" - Again. Defenestration. It would suit Antinous really well.- The next song is dedicated to Telemachus receiving an answer to this question: "Athena, why did you come to my aid?"

3. We'll Be Fine - I have a confession to make: I thought this song was going to be boring. - I am SO glad I was wrong. - I also thought that this would be a Penelope song. - I was wrong about that too, but I'm sure she'll get her moment eventually. - One thing that this song accomplishes musically is that it combines the melodies of "Warrior of the Mind" and "Legendary" together, making something that sounds new and different. It feels like Athena and Telemachus really see each other as friends, and that Athena felt the same way about Odysseus - she was just to focused on being his mentor to acknowledge that until now. - Oh, and we also find out that Athena has been dealing with some serious guilt since the cyclops argument:

"I had a friend before, and He was a lot like you I helped him fight through war, but He had his demons too And then we grew apart Then his light went dark

And so, I thought Maybe, if I made a different call Maybe if I hadn't missed it all Maybe, he'd be fine Maybe we'd unwind Maybe, if I help another soul Maybe, if I helped you reach your goal Life could be that bright I could sleep at night"

- This part of the song hurts, y'all. - Athena is genuinely convinced that if she had stuck with Odysseus then he would be home safely, and that what happened between them is mostly her fault, even though Odysseus told her to her face that he wanted to be rid of her, too. - AND she's losing sleep over this man? Somebody go get him immediately.- I really want to talk about the lines referring to light for a moment: - When I first heard "Then his light went dark" I thought that meant Athena legitimately thought Odysseus was dead. Which makes the fact that she feels guilty about everything that happened even WORSE. - And then "Life could be that bright" is just her saying that Odysseus made her life better and that she was wrong about not seeing him as a friend, and that friendship is necessary for living a meaningful life. - And you know, that kind of makes me want to grab Odysseus by the shoulders and violently shake him for shouting "YOU'RE ALONE!" to Athena all the way back in "My Goodbye". Like, no she wasn't, Odysseus, she had you. And you had her. And then you both screwed it up by being too stubborn to admit that the other person had a point. Now BOTH of you are sad and lonely. - But again, it's okay. It's fine (pun not intended). Because Telemachus is still here, listening to all of this: "Athena, I don't know who your friend is I don't know what he's like, but My time with you has been splendid The best day of my life Cause I got in a fight, and I didn't die" - He literally has doesn't know who Athena is talking about, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter, because he NEVER MET HIS DAD. - Why is this song so sad? - We're three songs deep, and I am HURT. - And it's just gonna get worse from here. - On a lighter note, Telemachus says that he has really enjoyed hanging out with Athena for the past fifteen (15) minutes, and that this is actually the best day of his life. His reasoning? He survived getting jumped! Hooray! - Wait, what? That's it? That's all took for this to be the best day of his life? Just... just how bad has his life been, until now? - ... - ...hm. "Maybe, if life wasn't spent as planned Maybe, it's time that you lend a hand I don't think he'll mind If not his friend, then mine

[TELEMACHUS & ATHENA] Maybe, to fall is to learn one way Maybe, it's all gonna turn out great I know we'll be fine I know it's light you'll find" - Telemachus offers to be Athena's friend, while also telling her that it's okay for her to move on from Odysseus. - And he still doesn't know that he's talking about his dad, I can't-- "To fall is to learn one way" = "Sometimes it's okay to learn things the hard way." - Athena had to learn that friendship was something worth pursuing with others by losing the first friend she ever had, and Telemachus had to learn to stand up for himself and come out the sheltered life he's been living by getting into a fistfight. - Light is being used as a metaphor for happiness, and that makes me happy. Because Telemachus and Athena needed a friends, and they have each other now. I love that for them. - This is also the point where the "Legendary" and "Warrior of the Mind" melodies combine. I know I said earlier that was a representation of how Athena and Telemachus friendship was forming, but I would like to off this interpretation as well: - Putting "Warrior of the Mind" and "Legendary" on the same level as each other musically could be a thematic way of saying that Telemachus is a "warrior of the mind", as it were. However, since I did say that Telemachus doesn't have Odysseus "mind" before, I would like to elaborate and say that in this instance, Telemachus is being considered to be an equal to his father due to his emotional intelligence. What he lacks for in book-smarts, he makes up for in heart.

Unfortunately, my complete thoughts on this particular saga are too long for tumblr to allow as one post, so I'll have to post a part 2 later today. We'll be covering "Love in Paradise" and "God Games" then. Furthermore, please do not confuse me talking trash about any of the characters or wanting to see them face consequences for their actions as me speaking poorly of or wishing harm upon any of the actors or crew for "Epic" or any other real people, because that is not what I am doing. I hold great respect for the "Epic" team, and I am eager to see what they do in the future. That's all I can say for now. I'll see you all in a few hours with part 2. Update: Part 2 can be found here.

[vanillasann]

His World, Your World

Pairing: Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Angst <3

Summary: He loves his nation and you just almost as much. For Mondstadt is his world and he'd do everything he could to protect it. Even if it costs his life. So when you have to choose between his death or his nation's, he begs you to choose his. But will you?

TW: Major character death (u), but nothing too graphic. English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if there are many grammar errors! <//3

Note: I've been dying to write something since last, last, last year/? but my lazy ass is stronger than me. This draft has been in here for a year. But oh, well, at least I write something now. I've always loved 'Which would he choose? You or the world?' trope and also inspired by a fanart I saw months ago; Venti hates you because you chose him over Mondstadt, but sadly I forgot their username-.

It's not a secret for anyone to know the fact that Mondstadt is Venti's home. It won't even be an overstatement to say that Mondstadt is his world.

For him loving it oh so much; even greater than he value his own life. For it was what his friends had always been wanted. For it was what his friends had been fight for.

He loves it dearly with all of his heart. He loves the people in it; his people, his children. He loves the freedom his nation has. And for it, he'll do anything he could to protect it. Even if the cost that he must pay is his life.

What to lose? I am but an archon that has long ago left my nation anyway. They'll be just alright without me, he thinks.

There are so many words that could describe Venti. He is a God. An Archon. An immortal being. A cheerful person that is allergic to cats. A drunkard bard. But never even in his mind that he'd ever could be described as a lover.

A lover who loves his partner passionately. A lover who cares so much about his partner's well-being. A lover who will go out of his way to comfort and cheer them whenever the world gets too mean towards them. A lover who vows to his partner that he'll protect them with everything he has.

Venti knows that he's rather friendly with all his acquaintances. Yet he never thought about even the possibility of him falling in love with someone, let alone a mere mortal being, for he is an archon.

At least that's what he thought. Until he met you.

You, who make his heart thump like crazy, feels like knocking hazardly in his chest. You, who make his day a bit more brighter just by getting a thought of your voice calling his name. You, who make him smile like a drunk man even when he hasn't chugged any bottle of Diluc's dandelion wine. And you, who make him addicted of your all.

He tried to shrug it off as his form of interest towards you. Nothing big, just a little crush that will wilt over time, he thought back then. But that little crush was and is still growing wildly every time he spends his day with you. Making a flower garden that he himself can't seem to get rid of, for he has gotten fond of these feelings.

He cherished every moment he has with you, whether it's just strolling around Windrise or visiting Diluc with Kaeya. Whether it's mundane things like joking and making a fool of himself just so he can hear a chorus of your laughter he so adore or a pretty night when he asks you to join him to stargazing in Starsnatch Cliff.

He loves you so much that he even drinks wine less just so he can spend more time with you. He loves you so much that he writes songs about you so that the world knows how amazing you are that even an archon fell head over heels for you.

He loves you and his nation just almost as much; with all of his heart, with everything that he has. That he'd sacrifice anything else if it means he could keep his nation and you safe.

So when you are faced with a big choice that had to be made, he pleads- no. He begs you to choose his doom.

While Venti is a lover who yearns nothing but to spend a lifetime with you, his love, he also is Barbatos, an archon of a nation. He couldn't imagine his life if you'd choose him over his nation, his world.

He begs and cries and sobs to you while clings like you are his lifeline.

Who you are to decline his pleas?

But while you understand his position, you couldn't help but feels like he's selfish. Oh so selfish to sacrifice himself so no one would die. Because while yes, everyone might just be alright, but- what about you?

You who had loved him so much, too much in fact, that you'd choose his life over yours, even over the world, for he was yours. You who had given him everything you had and gave in to his every whim and plea every single day without fail. You, who can't even think about your life without him and his laughter.

And Mondstadt will not last that long without him anyway, you tried to justify yourself in front of a mirror silently. Blank stare at your broken state reflection.

But the flashes of his dying heart and broken scream and tear-stained face of sorrow, because he lost his nation, make your stomach churn and tighten your chest that you can't draw even shallow breath. A realization hit you; He couldn't live without his nation, and vice versa.

That much is what you need to know to make the decision. You clean yourself as much as you can and go to make it.

Underneath the sunset glow and under the tree in windrise you two stare at each other deeply with an empty smiles, trying to pretend everything is alright.

"Are you really sure about this?"

"You promise you're gonna be happy?"

"You promise you're gonna be fine without me?"

He nods at every question you throw at him, even with a trembling smile and tears that threaten to fall, he stands his ground. He answers your questions like he knows what you'll choose after his pleas and begs. Because you'd never say no to him, for you love him too much.

He'd accepted his doom. Anything for his nation to be safe and for you to continue your life, even without him.

But then why?

Why is your form slumping against him in his embrace as if you don't have any strength to even hold it anymore?

Why are you rubbing his back softly and whispering apologies for what you've done?

Why are your breathing and your heart slowly fading away despite him holding you so tight against him?

Why is he screaming your name repeatedly with uncontrollable tears that fall while he tries to shake you awake when it should have been him who won't respond to yours?

Why is he can't do anything despite him being a God, an archon, to bring you back by his side?

Why would you trade your place in his stead as a sacrifice?

Venti doesn't understand.

Or rather, he doesn't want to. For he forgot that he knows a fact.

That while Mondstadt is his world, Venti was yours.

[hhawks]

ARTILLERY.

✰ starring: ftm!shigaraki tomura x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: you and tomura have been dancing around this for far too long. ✰ content: ftm!shigaraki, himiko birthday shenanigans in a club, background togachako, tomura in a silk blouse <;3 ✰ warnings: semi-public sex, cunnilingus, light degradation, tomura calls his clit his cock ✰ word count: 3.5k

this isn’t your usual jam. 

really, it’s not. 

the bass floods your senses and it feels like your brain is going to melt out of your ears, but himiko has her fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist as you both slither through the throngs of sweaty arms, gyrating hips, and the stench of beer and liquor. you wouldn’t have come if himiko held a gun to your head. 

but it’s her last birthday in town before she moved for college, and the first time the two of you would be apart since you had met. going from childhood neighbours to sharing an apartment together, there was nothing himiko was apart of or knew that you didn’t. so here you are, squeezed into a dress she’d flung at you, dragging you to see her friends. “they’re right around here,” she yells over the music, the loud chattering. “oh— look! look, over there!”

you’d met himiko’s friends before. you aren’t sure where she met them; a white haired boy with ink spiralling down to his fingertips, a chubby cheeked girl swaying gently to the music with another green haired boy, and a blonde talking loudly over the table to the only person whose name you knew. 

“and so she said, jin, you need to see a therapist,” and his head throws back, howling with laughter. “like baby, i’ve been through more shrinks than i have— himiko!”

himiko waves enthusiastically, tugging you further into the booth. she takes one side, next to jin, and you slide in from the other, warm fabric squelching uncomfortably against the bare skin of your thighs. you have to hold in a wince as you settle into the worn leather, flashing a quick smile to tomura, who blushes a pale scarlet. “hey,” you whisper, and his lips press tights into a small smile, his skin glowing under the neon lights. 

the chorus of welcomes and hellos flood your surroundings, almost cacophonous around you. you smile warmly to them, watching as every piles gifts in front of himiko with soft wishes of happy birthday! she grins madly, kissing all of them on the cheek, and then sliding into the chubby-cheeked girl’s lap and pressing a long, deep kiss on her lips. 

ochako. you should have guessed, from the amount of times himiko’s rattled off about her. small girl, a little on the chubby side, with hair that bounced as she walked. she’s every bit as beautiful as himiko made her out to be. the chatter continues, submerging you but not quite reaching you, but you don’t mind it. 

“hey,” you hear next to you, and you turn to face tomura. he’s two drinks in with a pretty flush on his cheeks, his white hair unruly about his face. you reach out, tuck a strand behind his ear, and he stutters. “d-didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“didn’t think i’d come, to be honest.” you smile gently, your hand settling back on your lap. “but, it is her last birthday at home.” 

tomura nods slowly. it’s hard to hear each other over the thumping bass, the loud conversations over sloshed drinks on the table, but you manage. “how about you?” he asks. “are you going out of the city?”

“i haven’t decided,” you balance your elbows on the sticky tabletop, hanging your head in your hands. “there’s a lot— to consider.”

he hums, just loud enough for you to hear. you and tomura had met years ago, when he had come over to himiko’s to grab something he needed to borrow. except himiko wasn’t home, and had forgotten to let you know, which led to an hour long search through the apartment for a textbook you didn’t even know the colour of. you had ended up on the floor of your living room, mocking lines from the english language textbook that he was meant to pick up. he had always been so lovely, so shy, abashedly private. you couldn’t even more than his name out of him for months until he slid down the wall of your bedroom, half drunk after an evening of shots with himiko, and told you (speech half slurred and eyes droopy) that he thought you were the prettiest of himiko’s friends, and i would really love to kiss you one day.

of course, he didn’t remember that. but you did. always regarded tomura with a soft gaze and a gentle hand on the small of his back. he’d always look back at you with a shy smile, but think nothing more of it. tomura was always soft; soft touches, soft skin, soft smiles. tomura is a game, circling around the same bush, waiting to strike.

like a couple of weeks ago during the monthly smoke session, when you opted to stay sober because of your test the next day. tomura had his head laid on your lap, and you absentmindedly played with the white, wispy strands of his hair, listening halfheartedly to the conversation. his hand came up to cradle your cheek with a tenderness you could only ever attribute to him. crimson eyes red-rimmed and sleepy, trained only on you. 

like right now, with your fingers on his knee and his shoulder pressed up against yours. there isn’t any need for that, you know; there’s plenty of space between him and the tattooed guy, but you don’t mind it. don’t mind the soft heat that emanates from him like a flickering ember, just small enough that you’d have to cover it with your hands to protect it. protect him. 

tomura’s a… fragile person. you’re convinced you’ve never seen him speak up more than four times in a conversation, and when you’d prompt him to, he’d shake his head and lean against you. sometimes you wonder if it would be better off if the two of you stayed back, went to a quieter, more peaceful place. your hands splay out along his thigh, your thumb caressing his jean clad skin. “everything okay?”

“yeah. all good.” he sighs. 

you smile, picking up the beer that’s set in front of you, and try your hardest not to wince as you sip at it. tomura shifts, a shaky breath exhaled from his lips as you drum your fingers against his thigh. conversations shift to the two of you, ochako making a comment that tomura’s much closer to you than he is to touya. and you just laugh, and tell them, “whatever makes the princess comfortable, i’m fine with.”

and that gets a small rise out of the table. tomura blushes, pink creeping up his cheeks, and he lets out a small squeak in protest. “d-don’t call me that.”

“what? princess?” your hand tightens around the small of his thigh, and something in you clicks. no one is watching anymore, the conversation swerving to something about deku’s work week, or some shit like that.  “what else should i call you then?”

and he just glares at you, and you begin to think maybe he really is a princess. your fingers start to drift further and further up his thigh, a small smile playing on your lips. you lean into his ear, and whisper, “tell me when to stop, princess.” 

he burns. tomura burns and he melts, a small sigh dripping from his parted lips. “s—” he starts, but can’t finish. vermillion flashes at you, and suddenly he’s up, your hand carelessly thrown from its position right up close to his crotch. “bathroom,” he mumbles, and you’re not sure if he’s excusing himself from the group, or if he’s commanding you to follow. 

the table conversation tapers off as they watch tomura stomp away, in the direction of the bathroom, his silky translucent shirt glowing as he walks under the strobe lights. you hide your smile, touya leaning into your side. “is he okay?”

and you think of the perfect excuse to leave.

“i’m not sure,” you feign the worry on your face, creasing your brow. “i should go check on him, shouldn’t i?”

touya nods, a slight stitch of genuine concern on his face. you get up, sliding out of the booth with a barely coherent, i’m gonna check on tomu. before walking in the direction of the washrooms.

the dance floor is a completely different environment; stuffy, humid, up to your ears in moving bodies and pop music. it’s sweaty, damp, and the arms that touch you make you recoil, but you push through them to get to the bathrooms. you can barely make out tomura’s hair as he pushes the door open to the unisex bathroom, a callous glance thrown over his shoulder. 

his gaze meets yours, and you know you read it right. 

your mind’s blank, all but empty save for the thickening haze of curiosity, of desire. you weave yourself through the throngs of people who separate you from serenity, and finally make it out on the other side. 

knock, knock. “tomura.”

the door opens swiftly, and slender fingers grab you and pull you inside. you chuckle, the front of your dress threatening to let your skin spill out, tomura’s fingers still twisted in the shimmery fabric. 

“what’s gotten into— mmph!”

tomura’s lips are swollen, bitten red no doubt by his nervous habit. they’re a little chapped, but still soft against your own, trading sweet spit as he rucks a hand in the fabric of your dress. your eyes flutter shut, and you lick into his mouth. there’s a fire that burns in his throat, one that licks at you every time you get near. he’s melting into you, pushing you so harshly against the door it thumps closed behind you, and in your closed-eye blunder, you reach for the lock and twist it shut. 

“you fucking— tease,” he spits at you, and you thank god for the heels himiko shoved you in, because the view of tomura looking up at you, vermillion alight with thundering need, it makes you throb. he looks so small, so fragile, you just want to pick him up, press him against the wall, but you settle for snaking your hand around his side, planting your open palm against the small of his back. “that was humiliating.”

“i think you quite liked it,” you murmur against his neck, tucking the strands of his hair away. “didn’t you, baby?”

the way he reacts makes your heart gleeful. the small hitch in his strong chest, his lips parting, tongue forming words but no sound leaving them. he just whimpers, and you tilt his chin up to put him out of his misery. you kiss him slowly this time, savouring the squeak of surprise that rips through his throat. “tell me you like it.”

tomura looks at you, pupils blown, tip of his nose flushed pink. not even a stitch of hesitance on his tongue before he licks his lips. “i like it.”

that’s all the assurance you need. your lips are on his again, pushing him this time further into the washroom stall. you’re thankful that there’s enough space for you to push him up against the sink, your hands shielding his bony hips from bumping against the worn ceramic edges. the curves, dips and juts of his body fit under the heavy, firm grip of your palms, and you wonder why you’ve never had the opportunity to hold him like this. 

he whines when his back hits the sink, and you pull away for just a second. “gonna be good for me now?” you whisper against the shell of his ear, licking the warm, flushed skin. you can feel his stuttered breath on your shoulder, a small whimper dripping from his lips. that makes you stop for a second, looking at him quizzically. “what was that, baby? make that sound again.”

“shut u— uhh,” he swats at your chest, but his protests die in his throat, faltering when you nudge his chin upwards to bare his neck to you, your lips wrapping and sucking the pale skin of his throat. tomura whimpers as you leave mark after mark down the hollow of his throat, trailing from his bobbing adam’s apple to the open of his billowy shirt. you fist the translucent chiffon in your hands, the urge to rip and to devour a growing pain in your chest. 

your breath is warm against his skin. “so pretty,” you murmur. “fuck, you’re really so pretty, tomu.” the floor is grimy and you don’t want to know who’s been here, in this exact position as you right now, but you send all thoughts out of your head as you drop to your knees, fingers fumbling with the button of his trousers. he helps you, nimble fingers joining yours in the crusade to shuck these emerald silk trousers down his legs. 

the button finally pops off, and you hurry to unzip his pants, pulling them down his legs. “holy— fuck, tomura,” you almost whimper, faced with the pretty image of a pair of white panties on his delicate hip bones, the cutest little pink bow sitting atop the elastic band. you can’t help yourself; you press a kiss to his navel, right above the band, nibbling at his skin softly. pink and purple and blue bloom under your touch, and tomura’s hands find solace in your hair. 

“don’t tease,” he spits at you, and when you look up, you smile. a little brat, he’s always been. has such a hard time submitting, but something in you makes you want to break him, take him apart, piece by piece and put him back together again.. “you wanna suck my cock, right? go ahead.”

your fingers dig into his hips, hooking the elastic band of his panties, slowly tugging the fabric down. he’s watching you intently, like he’s waiting for something. he shifts his hips to ease you pulling his panties over the swell of his ass, and finally, finally. 

“fuck,” you murmur, looking at the pretty mess of white hair, and tomura’s sweet, wet pussy. he smells of sweat, perfume, and tomura, and you press you nose against the juncture where his thigh meets his hip. “fuck, yes.” your lips suck a spit right there and he moans, his hand in your hair tightening just a little, just to the point where it makes you wince. but he guides your mouth to his mons, a withered look on his face, and you think maybe, maybe it’ll be okay to give in. 

“tomura,” you begin, your fingers splayed out on his thighs. you hum, a thought busy in your head, and stand up. your hands move to shift him onto the washroom counter, his ass sitting pretty on the cold linoleum. you can hear the songs, the chattering people, the angry mutters of those who have been waiting in line, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. not with the prettiest boy in front of you, his cunt glossy and begging for you. “is that better, princess?” 

“fucking eat me out already,” his words spell out a curse, grating and abrasive, but his pitch inflects up into a whine. a real princess. “suck my cock.” two fingers frame his swollen, needy clit, parting his messy, wet labia for you to look. he’s dripping, slick pooling at his hole, and you feel kind enough to let your fingers reach out, scoop a little onto the pads of your fingers, and rub it slowly onto his cock. 

tomura writhes, head knocking back against the dirty mirror. “you’re so fucking needy,” you spit, rubbing a little faster, tight little circles into his engorged clit. “‘s so wet.” he’s breaking, you know he is, with the way moans are escaping out his mouth. “fuck, shut up. you want everyone to hear you, is that it?”

“please,” he whimpers, thighs quivering, trying to knock together. your free hand shoves his legs apart, with a low, keep them there for me. “please, more.”

“gotta tell me what you want, baby.” these pet names are slipping off your tongue without care or concern. it feels so natural, like he was meant to be called your baby. “can’t give it to you tell i know what you want.”

tomura lets out a small squeak when you press his clit a little harder, a noise that gurgles at the back of his throat. his hands tighten on your shoulders, hips gyrating to meet your fingers. “suck it,” he begs. “p-please, fuck, wanna feel your mouth.”

“where?” you inch closer to his pussy. the smell of it, the way it glistens under the dim fluorescent lights, it makes you crazy. insane for him. you lick a stripe up from his hole to his cock, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. “here?”

your hands grip his thighs, fingertips digging into his soft flesh as you circle his cock with your tongue, a trembling sigh leaving your lips as your eyes flutter close. of course he tastes fucking perfect. of course his whimpers and his whines sound like heaven. you decide you want him in your bed tonight, every night, making these sounds under you. 

“right there,” he shakes, breathy moans reaching your ears. you’re blocking out everything else; in this moment it’s just you and tomura in a dirty club bathroom, his cock in your mouth and his hands in your hair. “right— fuck! there!” 

you hum, and allow your lips to wrap completely around his cock, sucking on it, flicking your tongue along the swollen nub. your hands on his thighs are the only thing keep you grounded right now, mind hazy and stupid with pleasure. you can feel yourself getting wet in your own panties, but your priority now is him. only him, forever him. 

fingers trace along his thighs, aiding you in your need to make him cum. “i’m gonna put my fingers in, okay?” you murmur loud enough for him to hear you, and he pants, nodding vigorously. you smile. “such a simple slut. only good for cumming.” 

“shut up,” he forces your head back between his thighs, teeth gnashing and tongue curling against his folds. “and make me cum.” 

you scoff, but comply. your fingers find his hole, dripping in slick and begging to be fucked, and slip easily into his tight heat. he stutters out a gasp, moaning wantonly and you’re sure the poor patrons outside can hear everything going on in this ridiculously thin-walled bathroom. 

curling up against his gspot, you watch for signs of pleasure on his face, taking note when his brows lace together in a desperate exclamation, his lips parting with surrender on his tongue. he’s begging endlessly, little, please please please’s and ‘m gonna, gonna cum! slurrying with his spit. you could kiss him right now, you want to kiss him right now, and lick up the drool that’s pooling in the corner of his mouth.

but first, you need him to cum. you need to see tomura fall apart, chest heaving with soft sobs, wrecked and blushing. you pump your fingers faster, your tongue on his cock. cum, baby. cum. 

and it’s almost like he can hear you, almost like you willed it into reality. tomura’s hands scramble for your hand on his thigh, a plea for mercy in the form of intimacy. you hum against his cock, lacing your fingers with him, and blink up at him as if to say,

let go for me, baby.

when tomura cums, he cums hard. he cums with the pulsing clench of his cunt on your fingers, a gush in your mouth, and a breathless moan you swear you’re gonna spend all night pushing out of him again. you fuck him through his orgasm and decide he’s the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life. 

your fingers smooth over his knuckles mercifully, murmuring praise as he cums down. “you did so good, princess,” you kiss his thighs, pepper his bruises with affection. “did so well for me. you there? you here with me?”

his head thumps against the hollow mirror, and his eyes flutter closed. “c-can you,” he starts. “kiss me?”

you stand, wobbly in your knees but you lean over him. you’re so hyper aware of how drenched you are in his cum, his slick, painting your mouth, chin, nose, neck— but you can’t find it in yourself to care. his lips meet yours in the middle, so desperate to taste himself on your lips that you giggle against him. tomura moans at the taste, licking into your mouth, pushing further into you. it’s like he’s melting, melding all at once; like he wants to be a part of you.

there’s the sound of angry muttering getting louder outside the door, the telltale sign that you’ve overstayed your welcome. “we have to go,” you whisper against his lips, helping him off the counter and pulling his panties and trousers back up. there’s a silence as both your fingers work to make him presentable again. “come home with me.”

tomura’s eyes shimmer, and you can’t tell if it’s tears or the fluorescents. either way, the vermillion bores into your chest and makes a home for itself in the crevices of your heart, and you find yourself wanting to touch him, kiss him, love him for the rest of eternity. 

“okay.”

you almost forget about himiko’s birthday on your way out. 

[poiibbtt]

A Little Bit Like Forever

Pairing: Dokyeom x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, High School Romance

Word Count: ~4,500

Synopsis: Middle school chaos, high school awkwardness, and a love hidden beneath playful teasing. From sneaky stolen bags to whispered confessions in a dim classroom, you and Dokyeom were always a little bit of everything—until prom night, where a few photobooth pictures capture the moment when "just friends" becomes something a little bit like forever.

A/N: Hi, I'm new here! I really hope you enjoy this fluffy Dokyeom (aka Dikeyyy) fanfic. My English might not be the best, but I put all my heart into this story! Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! 🖤

Middle school was weird, but somehow, it was fun. Sitting in the middle of two boys, Dino on the left and Dokyeom on the right, felt like a tiny pocket of chaos that made you forget how awkward everything else was. You weren't close with anyone else in that class, but with Dino and Dokyeom, it felt like… a compromise. You let them doodle on your hands—swirls, random lines, some silly drawings—because, well, what else was there to do?

“Stop moving,” Dokyeom said one day, drawing some weird stick figure on your wrist. You laughed.

“Why? You trying to make me look cooler?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

“Pffft,” Dino added with a smirk. “Cooler? Sure, if you want to look like a walking art project from a 5-year-old.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, Dino, so supportive. Love that for me.”

But as fun as it was, things changed. Dino’s girlfriend, Mindy, didn’t exactly love your dynamic. She got jealous—angrily-so. Once she threw a fit so loud, half the school knew about it, and suddenly, everything felt off. When the seating arrangement changed, you were left out. Dino and Dokyeom hung out with the boys, and you… well, you made new friends, but group projects felt lonelier. Everyone paired up with their besties, and the boys? They didn’t choose you anymore. It stung more than you’d like to admit. You wondered if you were the only one who thought those days sitting together were special.

High school started, and Dino moved to China. It was just you and Dokyeom again, but this time, he sat behind you. You had Wonnie now, your partner-in-crime. Life seemed less lonely, at least until Dokyeom decided to continue being his usual playful self.

One day, you noticed your bag had mysteriously disappeared after class.

“Has anyone seen my bag?” you called out, frantically searching the classroom. A chorus of chuckles erupted from the back.

You glanced at Dokyeom, and there it was—his trademark smug grin.

“Okay, where’s my bag, Dokyeom?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know, Y/N,” he said, shrugging innocently. But his smile said otherwise.

The boys were still laughing, and as soon as you found your bag tucked behind the locker, you stormed back toward Dokyeom. Without hesitation, you wrapped your hands around his neck, mock-choking him.

“You think this is funny?” you grumbled, tightening your playful grip.

He didn’t flinch. In fact, he just placed his hand over yours, his smile growing wider. “You really think you’re scary?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Get out of here, dork.”

Then, it began: the daily texts from Dokyeom. At first, it was harmless. “Do we have any homework?” or “What was the page number for that assignment?” Simple stuff. You replied because you figured he was just lazy.

Until one day, during a quiz, his teammate Mingyu—a giant compared to the rest of the team—walked by your class. As the room fell into a sudden silence, he called out, “DOKYEOM!” and then, without skipping a beat, added, “Y/N! He likes you!”

Twice. He repeated it twice, just to make sure the message landed.

Your class? Dead silent. The teacher? Silent. Everyone? Absolutely, painfully silent. You were pretty sure time stopped. As your heart raced, you pretended like you hadn’t heard a thing. You passed the quiz sheets to the back like nothing happened, handing them to Dokyeom who sat there, not breathing, waiting for your reaction.

You didn’t give him one. Instead, you turned and asked, “Got the cells labeled yet?”

The entire room seemed to exhale at once, and time started moving again.

Later, you whispered to yourself, “I’m going to kill Mingyu when I see him.”

After that, things shifted. Dokyeom started texting you every day—not just about homework, but everything. From stories about Seungkwan hogging the bathroom to watch streamers, to Minghao pulling off ridiculous thirst traps for TikTok.

“And guess what Seungkwan did today?” Dokyeom messaged you one night.

You rolled your eyes but smiled at your phone. “What now?”

“He almost flooded the place because he was too busy watching Mobile Legends. And now everyone has to take shorter showers. Mingyu’s so mad, it’s hilarious.”

“You guys live like frat boys, I swear.”

Somehow, the messages made you feel… closer. And then, Dokyeom brought up middle school.

“Remember how Dino and I used to draw on your hand?” he asked one night.

“Yeah,” you typed back. “I figured it was just to pass the time.”

“Nah, we actually liked sitting with you.”

You paused, reading that over again. So, it wasn’t just you. The memories weren’t one-sided.

But the more you started to realize that you might like him, the harder it became to talk to him. You’d freeze up, getting tongue-tied whenever he was around. Dokyeom, on the other hand, seemed to hover around you more. Every time you looked up, he was already watching you, his eyes catching yours before you could look away.

Wonnie noticed, of course. “You two are ridiculous,” she teased, nudging you one day.

“What?” you replied, cheeks reddening.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. He’s literally attached to you at the hip.”

As if on cue, Dokyeom appeared at your table during a group project, not even in your group, just… there.

You glared at him. “Don’t you have work to do with your own group?”

“I’m more interested in what you’re doing,” he said, sliding into a seat next to you.

You groaned internally, but secretly? You liked the attention.

One afternoon, during a free class when everyone else was napping, Dokyeom found you. The classroom was dim, curtains drawn, and the soft hum of air conditioning filled the air. He sat beside you, closer than usual, and playfully took your hand in his.

“Your hand’s so small,” he mused, gently tracing your fingers with his. His lashes fluttered as he glanced down, and you found yourself holding your breath.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn’t help but think how close he was. So close that you could see the faint flecks of gold in his eyes. So close that… your thoughts scattered when his thumb brushed your palm.

“Is this weird?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, but your voice didn’t seem to work, so you just sat there, hearts beating loudly in the stillness.

Another day, you walked into school, your stomach aching slightly, probably from the nerves. You passed by Dokyeom, who was sitting on the stairs with Soonyoung and Woozi. As soon as he saw you, he stood up, ditching his friends to walk alongside you.

“Not waiting for them?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Nah,” Dokyeom said, his lips curling into that sheepish smile. “Only waiting for you.”

You tried to hide your blush, especially when Irene, one of the basketball girls, spotted the two of you together. She smirked, as if she’d seen something juicy that would spread like wildfire through the school.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. Dokyeom walked you to class, and you two chatted like the world outside didn’t exist.

Then came the teasing—especially from Dokyeom’s coach during basketball practice.

“Y/N, you’ve got Dokyeom all flustered these days,” the coach teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. Your face burned red as you tried to smile through it.

When you passed the gym one afternoon on your way home, the boys started calling out, “Dokyeom, Dokyeom!” You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the giddy feeling rising in your chest.

Later that night, Dokyeom messaged you, “Are you okay?”

You laughed, replying, “Mingyu needs to shut his mouth.”

As time went on, Dokyeom kept showing up—whether it was asking you to watch his games or just hanging around with you, Wonnie, and the others. One time, after begging you a million times to come watch a competition, you finally caved. Wonnie and Lisa came along for moral support (and for Lisa to cheer for her own basketball game).

The competition started, and Dokyeom—usually so confident on the court—was… off.

“Why does he look so nervous?” Lisa whispered to you.

“I have no idea,” you whispered back, watching him stumble over a pass.

When the game ended and it was time to go, you waved goodbye to him from the stands. “Good luck, Dokyeom!” you called out, and he waved back, giving you that shy smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

Lisa nudged you. “He was totally off his game because you were here.”

You grinned. “He’ll never admit it.”

Day by day, the countdown to graduation passed like a blur of final exams, senior pranks, and long talks about the future. And then, suddenly, it was prom night.

You were partnered with Dokyeom as prom dates, which everyone saw coming a mile away—even though he’d asked with that awkward, shy smile he’d never quite outgrown. The night of prom, you found yourself in a sleek black dress, feeling confident but nervous. When Dokyeom arrived to pick you up, the sight of him in a black suit was enough to make your heart skip. He looked so handsome—too handsome, honestly.

But if you thought you were nervous, Dokyeom was a whole other level. He could barely look you in the eyes when you walked out.

"You… uh… look great," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes darted everywhere except at you. His cheeks were flushed, and you could barely suppress a smile.

"You look pretty good yourself, Dokyeom," you teased, but that only made him turn even redder.

Prom was everything it was supposed to be—music, dancing, and laughter—but the real highlight came when you dragged Dokyeom to the photobooth set up in the corner. You’d convinced him to take photos together, even though he looked like he might faint from the sheer proximity.

“Come on, it’s just a few photos,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

He looked at you and then quickly looked away, his voice low. "It's the dress. It's messing with my head. Stop looking at me like that."

You laughed, nudging him lightly. "Stop being so shy, it's just me."

But despite his shyness, he agreed, and you both stepped into the booth. You took the first pose, smiling hard, and when the flash went off, Dokyeom was grinning too—though you could tell he was still flustered.

For the second pose, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Without warning, you kissed him on the cheek just as the camera snapped the picture. Dokyeom’s eyes widened, and his smile grew so big, he looked like he might burst from happiness.

By the third pose, you two were looking at each other, and the air felt a little different. More charged. Dokyeom’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and then he whispered, “You’re so pretty, you know? My heart is about to burst. Stop it.”

Before you could respond, he raised a hand and gently covered your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you asked, laughing softly under your breath.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, and you did. In the fourth pose, you felt his soft lips against yours, so quick and gentle, but enough to make your own heart race. When he pulled back, his face was bright red, and yours wasn’t far behind. You both sat there for a second, staring at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in.

Dokyeom was the first to break, covering his face with his hands. “You’re killing me, stop staring like that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how adorably nervous he was. “I like it when you’re all shy like this. It’s cute.”

He groaned, gently pushing you away with a smile. “Seriously, stop it. You’re making it worse.” But then his expression softened, and he took your hand again, squeezing it gently. “I love you, [Y/N].”

Your heart melted, and you couldn’t help but tease him one last time. “I love you too, Dikeyyy.”

Just as you were about to say something more, the curtain of the photobooth flew open, and the boys burst in like a whirlwind of chaos.

“Soarin’ like dolphins!” Mingyu announced dramatically. “C’mon, we want our turn!”

Dokyeom shot them a death glare, but you couldn’t stop laughing as you both stumbled out of the booth. The moment was over, but it was something you’d never forget.

[an-insignificant-flower]

Namonaki Watashi

名も無き = lit. "without a name," pre-noun adjective that can mean "anonymous," "ordinary," or—as I believe befits this song—"insignificant". Notably, 無き is an older form of ない, but while the latter functions as a complete clause, the former requires a noun follow it.

Verse 1

一雫雨を　一雫ください hitoshizuku ame wo　hitoshizuku kudasai 一雫愛を　一雫ください hitoshizuku ai wo　hitoshizuku kudasai

One drop of rain, please give me one drop One drop of love, please give me one drop

The dictionary puts 一滴 (いってき, alternatively ひとしずく) as more common than 一雫 (ひとしずく). However, the latter seems to be more literary, used for sake labels, restaurants, and a 2002 hit song by the female J-pop group, Zone.

Additionally, 雫 is distinctly a kokuji, or "country character," one of Japan's creations without a Chinese equivalent. It's purely hieroglyphic as such, literally depicting that which falls from a cloud.

Prechorus 1

名も　無い　わたしは　あなたと　出会いました namonai watashi wa　anata to deaimashita 名も　無い　わたしにも　蝶や　風や　夢が‥ namonai watashi ni mo　chou ya kaze ya yume ga...

I, who am insignificant, met you (for the first time) Even I, who am also insignificant, (the) butterflies, (the) wind, (the) dream...

Sakurai uses the older form of Namonaki in the title only, but uses the more modern form in the lyrics themselves. In the Japanese, the difference is extremely subtle, with only one phoneme changing from -ki to -i. The grammatical implication in English is far more clumsy, but worth exploring to see the difference: The title reads "Insignificant Me" while the lyrics read "I, who am insignificant,..."

The line ends with ellipses, leaving the thought unfinished, and the use of ya for "and" implying the list is only a part of all that is in the scene give the verse an impressionistic feel.

Chorus

��い咲く　花たちよ　今は　咲き乱れよ kuruizaku hana-tachi yo　ima wa sak'mi dare yo 狂い咲く　命共　乱れ　乱れ　乱れ kuruizaku inochi domo　midare, midare, midare

Fellow flowers blooming out of season, bloom profusely now! Fellow flowers blooming out of season, together live wild, wild, wild!

I adore the use of kuruizaku here. Of course, kuruu is a familiar verb in Buck-Tick's lyrics, whether it refers to going mad with love or at the state of the world or simply "going crazy." Here it's used in a set phrase referring to off-season blooming. And as with kemono-tachi (from "Beasts of Night"), the narrator includes himself among those he is speaking to: outcasts and others who "don't fit in."

Sakimidare, another set phrase, lends itself to the imagery of endless fields of blooming flowers so thick that you can't see the green leaves beneath them, or even the peak day of cherry blossom season when the world is awash in pink.

I've used an apostrophe unconventionally here to refer to Sakurai's pronunciation. The word has five full mora (sa-ki-mi-da-re), but Sakurai sings it in four (sa-k'mi-da-re). I actually could not make it out in the album version of the song; only upon listening to the "Taiyo to Ikarosu" B-side at high volume could I hear the separate consonants distinctly fitted into one note.

As a lone verb midareru means "falling into disarray," but as a repeated call lends itself better to "lapsing into chaos," and I was tempted to choose "riot" as a command due to the character's more direct translation. However, following the previous line with the set phrase sakimidare, there is an implication that it attaches itself to inochi domo the same way, meaning a closer translation might be, "together, live exuberantly." Think Carpe diem ("Seize the day") with the raving enthusiasm of Scrooge on Christmas morning.

Verse 2

ありがとう　愛を　陽だまりの　日々を arigatou　ai wo　hidamari no hibi wo 一輪の　花を　髪飾り　君に ichirin no hana wo　kamikazari kimi ni

Thank you, for the love, for day after day in the sun For the single flower adoring your hair

Prechorus 2

名も　無い　わたしに　あなた　と　お別れ　来た namonai watashi ni　anata to o-wakare kita 名も　無い　わたしにも　赤や　黄の　夢が‥ namonai watashi ni mo　aka ya ki no yume ga...

You and I, who am insignificant, bid farewell Even I, who am insignificant, (the) red and yellow dream...

Although the lyrics imply simply that the flower speaking (perhaps the very one in the listener's hair from the previous line) was discarded, it's hard to listen to this line as one of the last lyrics in the last song presented to us on Sakurai's last recorded album.

As before, ya implies there are more colors, though red and yellow are noteworthy for the line. I don't know whether it was intentional, but it calls back the first line of "Gessekai": Aka ki iro himawari, "red, yellow sunflowers".

Instrumental Bridge Chorus Chorus

Sakurai often wrote lyrics from the point of view of a particular character in his mind, performing a role on stage. However, I am tempted to read this one assuming less use of the figurative mask. It seems very in his character to express such humility, to refer to his fans (and/or his family, as I have also suspected of other songs of his) as the source of his sunshine and objects of his gratitude, and to plead us all to live our lives to our fullest.

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

The Albatross decoded

(as requested by @asteracaea's anon, just wanted this for my records too. I hope you see it)

It starts with 'Wise men once said' so immediately we know it's some old white men wisdom, so probably some BS... "Wild winds are death to the candle" isn't a saying I've heard before but English is also not my first language. I'd take it to mean a wild unruly person will destroy something delicate and fragile, just like a strong wind will blow out a candle. As warnings are being issued here, I assume that they are warning the person about this woman because she's known for being a 'wild wind'. The warning then continues into the 'Rose by any other name...' line. Just to make it perfectly clear that it's the MEN who are saying it's a scandal, not Taylor. Taylor knows it's a rose. At least twice on this album does she refer to kissgate as a scandal and with such venom that I'm very sure that that's what the old white men at her label told her it was at the time. And she's still angry about it (as she should!).

In the chorus we have "Cross your thoughtless heart/ Only liquor anoints you" Crossing your heart means you're making a promise to tell the truth, similar to a pledge or a pinky promise. And adding 'thoughtless' would imply she wants the other person to make this promise without any fear or consideration of the possible consequences. So, basically, "promise me something sincerely without thinking too much about it". Only liquor anoints you - Anointment is part of religious ceremonies and is usually done with holy oil to either improve someone's health or make them a saint. It's also done when kings and queens are crowned and I think that's the meaning here. The other person is being raised up to be a monarch or a saint, but with alcohol instead of holy oil. Personally, these two lines convinced me that Taylor is talking to her lover here, because asking for a sincerely promise, almost like a vow, and in return making the other person your king/queen is all very soft and romantic. Very 'King of my heart'. 😉 (and note that she's not saying I'M here to destroy you, she saying OTHER people will tell you that I'm going to destroy you)

In the second verse we're back to what the 'wise men' are saying and this time it's the bad seed that kills the garden (kinda self-explanatory) and then "One less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen". First they were warning the lover and now they're clearly trying to keep them apart by saying that this woman (Taylor) is a bad influence or a temptation. Not sure if I would call this a literary reference, but it's noteworthy that lesbians in early media portrayals (the days of the Hays Code) were often shown as predatory or evil women who would seduce the good straight girls and turn them gay... bad seed/temptress indeed.

Then we have an add on chorus with "Devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger". This is in fact a saying "Better the devil you know" which means it's better to choose the bad thing you already know over a new one, because you're already used to this one. But again, in this context it's flipped (she does this a lot). In this case, the devil you know is in fact WORSE than a stranger. So they're saying to her lover 'this devil of yours is worse hell and you'd be better off with a stranger' adding to the above warnings, and then they're also adding the warning "You're in terrible danger/She's the death you chose". Boy oh boy, they really didn't want them to be together, very Romeo and Juliet indeed...

Ok, the bridge: "And when that sky rains fire on you/ And you're persona non grata/ I'll tell you how I've been there too And that none of it matters". -> All these warnings are coming to fruition and the sky is now 'raining fire' on her lover. Something bad has happened and they are persona non grata, which is Latin for an unwelcome person, but more commonly used to say the worst person you can think of. So, her lover is in the eye of the storm and is seen as the guilty person, but Taylor tells her that she's been through the same before and it doesn't matter. Like she said in her Lavender Haze video, "We just ignore it and protect the real stuff."

The third verse gives details about what the fire storm mentioned above actually was (just for context, I know you didn't ask about that): some people read some fake news about her lover and came after her because they believed it. The "Jackles raised their hackles" and being dragged from your bed at night very much gives witch hunt imagery, which is a cool choice for two reasons: 1) like the 'witches' her lover is innocent and wrongly convicted of a crime, and 2) all 'witches' were women. 😉

In the last chorus, of course, Taylor's albatross becomes the rescuing angel that swoops in to save her lover from being burned at the stakes. The devil becomes the angel and the anti hero becomes the hero. She says "I'm the life you chose and all this terrible danger". This reminds me of peace: Yes, the life you chose with me comes with shit storms sometimes ('would it be enough if I can never give you peace?') but I will always rescue you if I have to.

(And this part hasn't happened yet, one reason why I love this song so much, it feels like such a sneaky insight into things yet to come, same as FOTS and the Alchemy 😊)

So, there you go, hope this helped, never ask long questions if you don't want long answers ;)

[lazorbeanz]

Late Night

Unbreakable Bond

Headcanons and indirect quotes :p #4

🔶 Tails: You ready for tomorrow’s history test?

Sonic: Yea

Tails: What ended in 1896?

Sonic: 1895

Tails: Yea you ready…

🔷 Tails: So, who did ya learn about today?

Sonic: Errr some guy called ‘Martha Luker King Jr.’

Tails: *tryna hold it together* u-uhm okay…and what did he do?

Sonic: *with all confidence* He died for our sins…

Tails: Wait no that’s- *wheeze*

🔶 Sonic singing along the Chorus of Speed Life (he doesn’t know French): 🎶“Something something speed life…SOMEBODY’S WATCHING MEEEEEE”🎶

🔷 Sonic and Tails have this challenge they do at karaoke nights where they attempt to sing a song that’s not in English, which really just ends up as a big laughing fest as they fail miserably. Sonic tries to make up for it by dancing to the music (cuz mind you, it’s catchy) but his legs turn into spaghetti from his fit, and faceplants onto the floor. Tails attempts to help him up but his knees do a funny and falls on top of him, leaving the brothers immobile and gasping for air.

🔶 Sonic: is the pink panther a lion?

Tails: say that again but slower

Sonic: I don’t get??

Tails: he’s the pink PANTHER

Sonic: okay?? But is he a lion?

Tails: 🤦..*grabs the landline phone* hello is this the brain replacement store-

🔷 The brothers have a war going on in their Snapchat stories, where they would steal awkward pics of each other…whether that’s Sonic eating a really messy chilidog or tails after an experiment gone horribly wrong, with the caption being like ‘look at this loser lol’ or something meme related…yes they turn each other into memes

🔶 Sonic would randomly decide to attach tails to a lead every now and then to see his reaction, which at first was pretty vicious, but now he’s just like “rlly bro? -_-” but either one would send Sonic in hysterics

🔷 Tails: hey Sonic, what word starts with “f” and ends with “u c k?”

Sonic: Fu- WAIT TAILS NO-

Tails: it’s firetruck! 😊 uhh sonic?

*cue sonic getting carted away in an ambulance…i think he stopped breathing*

🔶 Since Sonic doesn’t give a toss, tails would somewhat keep an eye out on his brother’s quill care (you could say Amy has talked to Tails about the matter) so after heaps of reasoning and the last resort - the cute fox eyes, Sonic reluctantly gives in to letting his younger brother brush his quills for the first time. It’d go down something like this…

Tails: one~

Sonic: ow-

Tails: two~

Sonic: OWWW…how many of these (brush strokes) do we have to do?!

Tails: like a thousand or something…thre-

Sonic: AAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEE!!!!🦅🦅🦅

ANOTHER LIFE IN THE DREAMHOUSE REFERENCE IM SORRY IM SORRY-

🔷 Tails was so sleep deprived that he almost mistook liquid petroleum for coffee one morning (somehow)

🔶 Tails loves planes…in all forms…and THAT INCLUDES the one used to be fed…

Sonic: Tails, you are 8 years old, with an IQ of about 300…and you still want me to do…this?

Tails: b-but…aeroplaneee 🥺

Happy wholesome Wednesday!

Whilst you’re here, we have an Unbreakable Bond Discord server out for all you folks who love the brothers just as much as us! 💙💛 It’s a totally chill place where we can chat, share art or fics, and most importantly, hyperfixate over that hog and fox duo we love so much! (There’s even a place for boops!)

Created by @suzienightsky ✨ If you’re keen on joining, flick her a DM and she’ll give you an invite.

Sorry for the ad lmao