#i decided not to go to my last orchestra thing in may last year because it was the same night beyonce was in town

[foreignobjecticus]

Beware: contains a cough 1 min in that totally drags you out of it lol

Went to Llandaff Cathedral last night to hear Holst's The Planets suite. I know it's super white bread, but hot damnnnnnnnnnnnnn if this part of Jupiter ain't THE fucking shit. The acoustics weren't as impactful as I was imagining but I was stuck off to the side a bit. Still got some good sound moments tho. This clip above was a physical pleasure to hear thank youuuuu Also gave me a new appreciation of Saturn.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve grows up playing piano, absolutely hates it, but is so good at it. His parents aren’t around enough by the time he’s a teen to force him to his practices, so he slowly stops going.

His music teacher happens to be Robin’s mom, who studied at Juilliard, and traveled for nearly a decade with various orchestras and bands before settling down with her husband in Hawkins.

She can see what’s going on with Steve from day one, but knows better than to interfere.

Until he quits.

She can’t stand by and let someone so musically gifted give it up.

She shows up at his house with a violin, her own violin that she hadn’t used in years.

He’s hesitant at first, but decides to give it a try as long as she doesn’t tell his parents. The last thing he wants is for them to find out he picked up a new instrument.

She can’t give him official lessons, so she shows up to his house twice a week and hopes that he practices in his own time.

He’s a natural.

He takes to it like a duck to water.

She encourages him to perform in a local talent show, all kids under 18, most of them not half as talented as he is.

He only agrees when she says she’ll be front row.

And sure enough, for once in his life, someone shows up when they say they will. She’s sitting front row with her husband on one side and her daughter on the other. She smiles as he takes the stage, nervous about people who know him seeing him and reporting back to his parents.

He performs with heart, something he lacked with the piano. He performs with talent, something he may have with any instrument he picks up.

But most importantly, he plays with a smile. He’s having fun.

He sticks around to watch some of the other people performing: Tammy Thompson singing a very out of tune rendition of America The Beautiful, some kid from one of his classes playing piano miserably, and some band performing very loud, very angry music.

Steve wins, and for once, it feels better than when he wins at a swim meet or basketball game.

He spends the next three years secretly practicing, only performing in shows out of town, never saying anything to his parents.

He doesn’t want them to ruin this for him.

He applies to Juilliard, not thinking he has a chance in hell, not with his academic grades.

Luckily, they see that he’s “exceptional with the strings” and “plays with emotion that can’t be trained.”

He gets in.

He goes.

He thinks he may actually be able to do this, use a gift he has to make his life better.

His parents even find it acceptable, mostly because he got into the best school he could have. They still don’t bother showing up for his shows, but Mrs. Buckley always finds a way.

In his sophomore year, Robin gets in, and they both move into a small apartment off campus together. He promised to look out for her.

She tells him that music wasn’t really her passion, she was just good with a trumpet. She really wanted to be an engineer.

In his junior year, Robin transfers to Columbia, starts doing what she really wanted to do from the start. He’s proud of her, but misses having someone on campus during the day to have lunch with.

Until he stumbles, literally, into someone vaguely familiar.

“Sorry, man. Running late.”

Steve pats the man on the shoulder and turns to get to his class when the man stops him.

“Harrington? You’re a student here?”

He turns back and finally recognizes the man in front of him.

“Munson? When did you get here?”

“I got in this year. Kinda fucked up my first audition last year and they were kind enough to give me another shot.” Eddie smiled. “What on earth are you here for?”

“Violin. You?”

“Guitar and songwriting.”

“That’s great, man. I’m just really running late. Catch up soon?”

Soon was two weeks later, when Steve ran into Eddie again while leaving class.

“We should probably stop running into each other like this,” Eddie smirked. “The universe is trying to tell us something.”

“What’s it trying to tell us?”

“Not sure. Maybe we should go grab dinner and find out.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Got better plans?”

Steve thought about how Robin was barely at the apartment due to studying for midterms. He thought about how his only other friend from here was busy rehearsing for their senior showcase.

“Nah. Let me bring this home first,” he held up his violin case. “Actually.”

Steve was on a budget. His parents gave him money, sure, but they thought he was living on campus so the money they sent covered rent and groceries and nothing else.

“I could make dinner. If you want?”

“Steve Harrington cooks? And plays violin?” Eddie fake swooned. “Be still my beating heart. How will I not be seduced?”

Steve rolled his eyes. He remembered Eddie’s dramatics from school and knew better than to feed into them.

“I can make some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”

“Spaghetti sounds great,” Eddie’s fake swoon turned to a soft smile. “You want some help?”

Steve didn’t need help, usually didn’t even want any.

But something about the way his stomach dipped when Eddie stepped closer, and the way he thought about having Eddie in his apartment, made him agree.

“Sure.”

They walked to Steve’s apartment in a comfortable silence, though Eddie kept tapping the back of his fingers against Steve’s hand.

Eddie fit next to Steve. They cooked together, they ate together, they even managed to clean up together. It was easy to find something to talk about. He’d never clicked with anyone like this, not even Robin.

By the time Robin came home, Steve and Eddie were both passed out on the couch, fingers laced together as if they hadn’t been brave enough to do anything more before they fell asleep.

By morning, Steve’s head was on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him loosely.

Waking up to a soft kiss on his lips was something Steve couldn’t have imagined when he first ran into Eddie, but he was pretty glad it was how he started his day.

And almost every day after that, whether he woke up to a kiss, or met up with Eddie on campus for a kiss, he started his day with love on his lips.

[meetmyothersouls]

In desperate need of Phantom! Timothee X Reader, been thinking of it all day tbh.

This one has me so excited! Been thinking about it for a while and I think I came up with a good premise. May or may not need a part 2, since what I’ve planned would make an entirely too long single fic. Let me know if you’d like a part 2 and I’ll add it to my list :) 

Phantom of the Theater  

Warnings: feelings of being watched/stalked, not proofread, Phantom!Timothee, set a years into the future

You moved to New York City to pursue your acting career in 2029. The same year Timothee Chalamet dropped off the face of the earth. It’s a year that sticks out to you; not because you moved your entire life across the United States or because you auditioned for countless Broadway shows, sent in hundreds of video audition tapes to casting and talent agencies, but because it seemed like no matter where you turned, the first 6 months of 2029 was focused solely on one question: where did Timothee Chalamet go?

Things calmed down in the summer. People stopped talking about Timothee Chalamet’s disappearance and started talking about Kim Kardashian announcing her candidacy for US president. That July you got approved for a shitty apartment located on the top story of an old, but operating theater. It was overpriced, it was cold (even in the summer), and it didn’t have a bathroom. But you weren’t on the street, and you were no longer hopping around bed bug infested hotels, so you took it. You had a small savings thanks to your bartending job and a few Off Broadway shows you managed to score parts in since you arrived in New York. 

Things were normal at first. Every morning you woke up and searched for new roles, begged Pablo, the casting advisor for the theater’s show to give you a script of that week’s shows so you could audition--to no avail-- and every night you went to sleep to the sound of whatever play they were performing that evening. And even though it was loud, and the orchestra’s music under the stage vibrated all the way up into your apartment, it was what you always dreamed of. 

“If I could just get an audition,” you said out loud before drifting off one night.

It wasn’t long after that when the script arrived at your doorstep. 

A knock at your door happened early in the morning. Well after everyone left from the previous night’s show but well before anyone was arriving for work the next day. Normally, you’d sleep through something as miniscule as a knock at your door, but this one woke you up. Not too light that it could have been mistaken for the apartment settling. Not too hard to scare the shit out of you. You heard it. The clock read 4:35 AM. The theater didn’t open for employees until 9am, and not to the public until 11am. Armed with this knowledge, you weren’t scared. Bravely, you stepped out of your bed, and padded your way to the door. You unlatched the chain, unlocked the bolt and turned the knob. A sound on the other side caused you to stop. Footsteps? Hurried ones, running softly away from your door. You took a deep breath, grabbed the umbrella you kept beside your door for protection, and swung it open. Your eyes took in nothing but darkness. For good measure, you swung your umbrella into the vacant space in front of you and when you were satisfied with the lack of bodies your umbrella hit, you chalked it up to the fact that you lived in an old theater that would likely make noises from time to time. You let out a sigh of relief, went to shut the door, but stopped when your eye caught the sight of a stack of white paper bound together, almost glowing in the darkness. Against your better judgement, you picked it up, took one last look outside your apartment and slammed your door making sure to secure the chain and lock the bolt. 

You decided you weren’t going to look at the strange stack of papers. You needed to get some sleep; you had a few hours before you had to be up for another series of audition tapes. You turned over in your bed, the papers on your nightstand staring at you, calling out to you. You slammed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to sleep and when it was evident sleep wasn’t coming to you for the rest of the night, you grabbed the papers eagerly. 

You opened the cover page and read it out loud. 

“Patron of Sorrow.”

You flipped the pages, feeling the paper glide across your thumb and realized it was a script. Then, as you kept going, multiple scripts. Seven in total with varying cheesy titles: Rise of Anguish, Unity of Darkness, Angels of Pain, Girls of Dawn, Chasing the Castle, and your favorite: Bakers Without Fear. You took a minute to skim through each script, laughing at how bad they actually were. Then it dawned on you. These were the scripts for next week’s plays you’d been asking Pablo for. These are the plays he writes weekly that the theater shows to people who want a little less Broadway and a little more well...Off Broadway. At the time, it didn’t matter. At the time, it meant you finally had access to the scripts you’d been begging for every morning. And it meant you could memorize them. Audition for them whether Pablo liked it or not. You were going to get a spot in one of his shitty plays.

You sent in your audition tapes, like usual, only this time you knew they sounded rushed and you knew you looked tired. You messed up four times on the dialogue for a film called Without Reason, saying the dialogue for Girls of Dawn instead. You gave up on that one, sent the rest and went back to Girls of Dawn, the first show of next week.

You read Girls of Dawn all day. You ran lines with yourself into the afternoon, and by the evening, you memorized every single line of the character that was, at this point, destined to be yours: Tinsley, a grungy 20 something obsessed with finding the vampire that killed her boyfriend, only to find out the vampire is her boyfriend. You flew down the steps leading into the theater. It was 10:45pm, the show for the night was wrapping up and Pablo was seated backstage, on his laptop, feverishly typing what you assumed was another script. 

“Pablo!” you yelled breathlessly. 

Pablo jumped, his laptop jostled against his knees, sliding off of them. He barely caught and gave you a death glare. 

You winced at his stare. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I just-”

“Damn it, y/n! You made me erase two paragraphs! Thank God for Ctrl+Z.” 

“I’m not sure what that means,” you admitted, “but I want to audition for Girls of Dawn!” 

Pablo slid his glasses down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I told you, I’m not accepting new actors.”

“But why!?” you whined. “Why? I’m good! I swear it won’t be a wa-”

“How could you even audition? You don’t have the script,” Pablo interrupted. 

You stood straighter, and a wave a nausea overtook you. Would he think you stole them if you told him? 

“I uh...I somehow...acquired them...?” You said, your voice going an octave higher at the end, sounding like a question. 

Pablo’s expression was unreadable. “So, you stole them,” he finally said. 

“What? No! No, I didn’t steal them. Whywouldyouthinkthat?” you said way too quickly, making yourself sound unnecessarily guilty.

He stared at you for too long. Waiting for a confession. When you didn’t give one, he slide his glasses back up his nose and went back to typing. 

“I’m not seeing your audition.” 

Your breathing was too fast and too heavy, and your heart was pounding fast out of anger. Somehow those scripts ended up on your doorstep and damn it he was going to see you audition! You began with your favorite scene. 

“I know you killed my boyfriend. I know it was you!” You said dramatically, though the shake of your voice and the tears welling in your eyes weren’t an act. 

Pablo sighed, closing his eyes in exhausted annoyance. His eyes slid back up to you. You waited. Normally, in an audition, someone else said the other characters lines. It was clear Pablo didn’t plan on doing this. So, you did. 

You brought your voice down low, to imitate a man’s and said, “I did it to protect you!” 

You brought your voice back to normal, “protect me from what?!” 

Down again. “From me!” 

“Why would I need-”

“-Enough!” Pablo yelled, interrupting you and causing your shoulders to jerk upright. “I told you I’m not holding auditions, y/n. You need to leave. Now. Or I’ll have no choice but to evict you.” 

You didn’t answer or give him a chance to say anything else. You ran back up the stairs, slamming your apartment door when you arrived. You threw the scripts onto the floor, not caring if a few of the pages ripped away from its seams. You fell onto your bed face down, crying into your pillow. You screamed into a few times, letting the stuffing and feathers take all of your anger. When you finally had enough, you turned your head to the side, and sat up straight. Someone had been in your apartment. On your nightstand, sat a black a rose with a black ribbon tied into a bow around the stem. Under it laid a note. Hesitantly, you took them both. The thorns had been clipped from the rose, like someone cared enough to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt when you touched it. You took the note out of the envelope, written on a small piece of cardstock you read the words written in beautiful scrawling handwriting: 

“He will curse the day he denied you.” 

Chills peppered your body. Someone watched your encounter with Pablo, saw him yell at you, wrote you a note with a rose, left it on your nightstand and somehow left before you came back? 

You leaned back against your headboard, flipping the note over in your hands, and saw a stamp. It was small and the ink was black and elegant. The stamp was of two letters: TC. 

Outside of your door, a soft thud sounded, followed by the same footsteps from this morning. You waited a minute before answering, but when you did you gasped. An entire bouquet of red roses with black ribbons tied around the stem, wrapped in black cellophane laid at your feet. 

Someone was watching you, that you were sure of. 

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp

[evita-shelby]

The Fabulous Miss Shelby

Reposting because of some technical issues

Gif by @hicktown-orchestra

Cw: mentions of sex, an abortion, murder, child loss and depression

In the beginning, the Shelbys and the Changrettas were not enemies.

They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies.

Occasionally Polly fucked Luca, the boys would go out for drinks with Angel and you and Ada would get nice clothes from Audrey’s nieces while she and mama talked.

But then things changed, Polly got married to Michael Gray after Luca was banished to New York, the boys had a falling out with Angel and you and Ada had to take care of Finn after mama died and papa left.

Before you knew it you were in your twenties and accepting an invitation to some Changretta’s wedding just to avoid being rude.

No need to piss off the wops, Tommy had said after ordering you to go by your lonesome while he pines for the mousy bitch who nearly got them all killed.

“Long time no see.” Luca said as he tried making conversation with you.

You were in a foul mood, but the Italians had great food and drinks and maybe, just maybe one of them would take you to their place and return you with a limp later tomorrow.

Would it be too weird to fuck your aunt’s former boyfriend?

It was only a six-year age difference, surely it wasn’t that bad. And Polly had moved on and you hoped he had to.

“Nearly a decade, Luca. John could’ve been a grandfather had you taken longer.” You joke and you feel like the stupid teenager who used to have the biggest crush on Polly’s one time boyfriend.

“or you could’ve been married.” He adds and she tries not to choke on her wine.

One thing leads to another and now you are running off to New York just to see him.

Your brothers don’t know anything about this, no they just think you’ve decided to go on holiday with a friend.

A friend with money and connections and great skill with his cock.

“We could get married, amore, our families aren’t enemies. If you become my wife, our families could rule America and England together.” He says as the two of you lounge naked in tangled silk sheets.

You already lie and say you are husband and wife, why not make it true?

“They wouldn’t agree, you know that, my love.” You say knowing it will never happen.

“I could do some pest control and give them the Rat’s head on a platter, will that make them agree, tesoro?” he asks kissing you again.

As tempting as Grace’s justified murder is, you know that would make Tommy say no.

He loved her.

Just like Nathaniel in the Sandman loved Olympia the doll.

It was pathetic really.

“No, you know how she crowed about Tommy still being in love with her last night. Tommy’s always been a fool when it comes to love and fucking.” You shook your head hating this turn of conversation.

Besides. You were free and would remain so. You loved Luca, but you were never going to be a man’s wife.

That had been why you went to the woman who Polly knows instead of telling Luca you had gotten pregnant during that night a year ago.

“Aren’t we all fools in love.” He said with that stupid grin.

Maybe you are, you think, I am different.

You were the fabulous Miss Shelby, the one who doesn’t suffer from the Achilles heel your siblings have.

Arthur had Linda, Tommy had Grace, Ada had Freddie, John had Martha and now Esme and you would be damned if you followed suit.

This way was better.

It’s 1922 when Luca suprises you at the Derby.

“He doesn’t love you anymore, he’s marrying a woman named May Carlton.” You tell Grace a truth Tommy told you this morning.

Tommy was planning on courting May in truth, he’d asked for advice and you told him he’d find no better woman than her.

That night with Grace was a slip up, a fuck up he’d never repeat, or so he told you after you asked about that.

Grace MacMillan needed to woman up and accept defeat for his sake.

“You are lying!” the blonde cries and takes a swing at you only to be stopped by Luca.

“Why would my wife be lying to you? Thomas Shelby would be a fucking fool to marry scum like you, now go back to New York and pretend this never happened.” He stood at your side and stared her down as he chewed on his toothpick.

“I need to hear it from him.” She demands only for Luca to say the damning words.

“Too bad, he’s been arrested and won’t be coming out of there for weeks.” Luca built up on a lie.

Once Grace leaves in a mess of anger and tears, you are reminded of that question you refuse to answer.

“I think wife was too much, Luca.” You tell him as the two of you walk away together.

“I want to marry you, that is why I came here. Thomas can’t say no of he sees how happy I make you.” He is adamant, thinking that what you need is time.

No man respects your decision to remain free. You love your freedom more than you love Luca.

And he refuses to accept that.

He will never accept that; you hear Polly’s voice in the back of your mind.

Its 1925 when you accept an engagement from him.

He is not allowed at Tommy’s wedding and you are relieved when everything goes wrong.

Angel started seeing Lizzy and this had made a mess because Tommy still held a torch for her.

No woman was enough for Tommy, not Grace, not Lizzie, not even sweet May.

Tommy set the boys loose on the Changretta’s territory and now you wonder if you should just send Luca the diamond ring he gave you on your birthday instead of telling Tommy you were engaged to him.

“You should’ve told them!” Lizzie hissed in pain as her dreams with Angel crumble to dust. “He would’ve let me go if you had told them about Luca!”

After three months of thinking about it you decide to tell him at the opening of May’s charity.

“I need to tell you something, Tommy.” You wear Luca’s ring on your finger as May talks to John and Esme across the ballroom.

Everyone lived May, who couldn’t?

You only hoped your family would accept Luca as well.

“Is this about this mystery man you’ve been with all this time?” he said pointing to the ring.

“Yeah, I’m going to marry him and I think it’s about time you knew who he is.” You begin only to be interrupted by a gun shot and shouting.

The man shouts in Italian, but he isn’t one. You know the Italians wouldn’t do this, not when they know your marriage will fix the issues with the family and let Angel and Lizzie leave tonight.

“For Angel!” the man shouts and aims at John.

But it’s not John he hits, no, it’s May.

May who could never hate anyone. May who brings out the good in Tommy and doesn’t judge any of your like Grace did.

Its when you see the sickening smile on the Russian bitch that you realize who sent the gunman.

May doesn’t die, but Angel does.

May had been pregnant and the baby had been lost from her brush with death.

Angel’s death was caused by the Russians too.

Everyone just wanted to believe that Tommy would put a pillow over his face because his baby son was born too early.

Too bad no one believed you.

The only way to stop this was to marry Luca as soon as possible.

Tie the families together to prevent bloodshed.

“I can’t marry you, Y/N. Angel is dead because of him. My baby brother is dead. I cannot marry his murderers sister.” He cries as he tells you when the tables are turned and he leaves you at the altar.

“If I could make Tommy see sense, I could be of use.” May says when you burden her with your problems.

May had been the only one to know about you and Luca.

Tommy is different, and you understand why he is now harder and meaner and cruel.

He almost lost his wife along with their child, but he was blaming the wrong people.

The Italians weren’t to blame, Section D was the real villain.

“You need to tell him about Luca, tell him why he was at the Charity with you.” She urged you as Tommy kept her like a princess in a tower.

“I will, May, once he comes back from the dinner I’ll come clean.” You swear to her.

The universe hates you; you think as your invincible twin brother is tossed outside your place with a broken skull.

Is this your punishment for saying no to Luca those five years with him?

You didn’t want to marry him then and now that you want to be his forever you just can’t.

And worse, you can’t confide in Tommy about it.

“What happened to your fiance?” he asks when he is fine enough to talk.

His recovery was going smoothly, maybe it was because he had May who was guiding him to the finish line like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Didn’t work out, Tom.” You say and bite your tongue. Wouldn’t have in the long run, he’s Italian and you think Italians hired a Russian with bad Italian to kill John.

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” he asks and you look away.

No one knew you better than your twin and no one knew Tommy like you did.

“Yeah, he waited five years to get a yes from me and now that I said yes he said no.” you admit.

“Do we know him?” he asks again.

You should lie and say no.

“Yeah. Luca Changretta. That’s why he was at the party, they weren’t planning anything against you. He was there so I could introduce him as my fiancé.” It’s too soon. The doctors said no bad news, but this can’t wait anymore.

“Then who sent the man after May?” Tommy’s angry thinking love has turned your head to mush. You’re not him, he forgets that all the time.

“Man was Russian, stole the clothes of one of Angel’s men. Same Russians who framed you for Angel’s accident and death that night too.” You answer, you always did have the answers to the questions he could never ask anyone else.

“Who did you fuck over, Tommy?” its your turn to ask.

“No one, there’s a group of people who don’t like paying for the dirty work. Didn’t know that until Churchill had me sign the fucking contract for the job.”

You aren’t the first Shelby to run away in a wedding dress and pregnant with your husband’s child.

Polly had, Ada and now you.

He’s in Liverpool with his parents when you reach him.

“Tommy didn’t kill him. I swear to you that he didn’t.” Instead of a bridal bouquet you have the identity of Angel’s murderer.

But he doesn’t believe you.

If his parents don’t, he won’t either.

But he marries you then and there when you tell him you are pregnant.

You cease to be Miss Shelby then.

“You cannot save your family.” Your mother-in-law says as she holds baby Angela, Lizzie and Angel’s baby girl while she tells you the news Luca will not tell you.

She thinks it’s wrong that Tommy doesn’t get to pay for killing Angel.

Audrey takes sick delight in tormenting you. She hates that Luca lives you more than he should.

She hates that you for being a Shelby, and she hates her unborn grandson for being one too.

You are seven months pregnant, a boy, you are sure of it.

You cannot save your family from the noose Tommy’s deals tied around their necks.

And all you can do is cry on Luca’s chest when your mother-in-law tells you their execution date has been moved up.

You give birth to Thomas Changretta in the bleak midwinter.

[kiss-this]

I've been listening to Rush! on repeat for the last two days (via youtube because Amazon chose this particular deliver to suck) and it all still feels new, so I may change my mind on a bunch of things. Anyway, so far, this is what I think.

This album actually better than what I thought, not because my expectations where low for some reason but simply because a) this is the first true test in front of an international audience for the band, and I bet they've been under a lot of pressure thanks to all those booooring "true rock fans" just waiting for them to make a mistake, plus all those booooring they've_gone_to_america_they've_lost_themselves_fans just waiting to be proven right (yeah, you wish). Not to mention all the professional music critics waiting to decide if they're trash or pass. Also, I don't think it's easy writing new music while travelling all around the world, but maybe it's just me having the ability to focus of a slug. The moment they have time to dedicate only to the creative process they'll do even better. This is to say their true masterpiece has yet to come. Good for us :)

About the new music now.

First of all I need to say I really appreciate the little Bowie, Beatles, Smith, Michael Jackson references scattered here and there, it was fun coming across them.

Also, they talk a lot about the downside of being famous. I noticed this came as a (possibly bad) surprise for some fans. Why? Måneskin write about their life and experiences since the beginning. In the last two years they literally had no other experience than becoming famous and learning to deal with it. So of course this is a huge part of what Damiano writes about right now, especially since he's been affected by fame not always in a good way.

With that said, it truly starts with a bang. Own My Mind looked like the kind of song I enjoy listening for three or four times and then become forgettable. I was so wrong! It's one of my favorite and I'm as far from being tired of it as I could be. Similar to Don't Wanna Sleep in this regard. Both of them are going to bring whole stadiums down during live gigs and I'm desperately looking forward to it.

Now beware, very unpopular opinion ahead. The song I like less so far is If Not For You. Don't beat me too hard ^^', please? It's just that I find it too sappy, a little boring and there's also that little backing vocals giving romantic Italian comedy of the 70's vibe which I find funny. Sort of anticlimatic, giving the purpose of the song.

Timezone, on the other hand, gives RHCP/Aerosmith vibes and I could listen to it endlessly and still wanting more.

The most surprising of surprises? Bla Bla Bla. I didn't like it at first but now... It's fun, it's silly and puts me in good mood. More importantly, it's punkish and I love it. Same goes for Kool Kids, but this one we knew already and I liked it since before.

Feel and Read your Diary bring the horny back (when did it even leave?) and I am not complaining. At all. Also, the bass?? The guitar?? They bring quality even in the songs meant to be undemanding.

On the italian trio now. I loved La Fine since it first came out and I still do but among those three is the one I like less. Mark Chapman and Il Dono della Vita are both candidate to become my favourite of the whole album. The first is dark, and I understand that for a short time Damiano had a stalker too, right? This makes it even more of a punch in the gut. Also, I don't want to start anything but to all the people who doubted it could be a song the glorifies a criminal... come. on. which band have you been a fan of for the last few years??

Il Dono della Vita has some awesome lyrics, I know I'll love it even more, the more I listen to it. It's a masterpiece and I also loved the little Icarus reference at the beginning. And if they play it live at Sanremo? With the orchestra?? Omg I may not survive. Yes, it's true, Damiano writes better in italian, he already explained why, and why he's writing more in english. It's his choice, he's a big boy, so I wont go there again.

[kristenswig]

Best Original Screenplay

Winner:

TÁR by Todd Field 

After all, “a soul selects her own society.”  But remember the flip side of that selection closes the valves of one���s attention.  Now, of course, siloing what is acceptable or not acceptable is a basic construct of many if not most symphony orchestras today who see it as their imperial right to curate for the cretins.  So, slippery as it is, there is some merit in examining Max’s allergy.  Can classical music written by a bunch of straight, Austro-German, churchgoing white guys exalt us, individually as well as collectively and who, may I ask, gets to decide that?  What about Beethoven?  You into him?  Because for me, as a U-Haul lesbian, I’m not too sure about old Ludwig.  But then I face him.  And I find myself nose-to-nose with his magnitude and inevitability. 

Nominees:

The Banshees of Inisherin by Martin McDonagh

Suppose me house makes us quits. If you’d stayed in your house, that would’ve made us quits, but you didn’t, did ya?  So it doesn’t, does it? I’m sorry about your donkey Pádraic, honestly I am. I don’t fucking care. Haven’t heard any rifle fire from the mainland in a day or two.  I think they’re coming to the end of it. I’m sure they’ll be at it again soon enough, aren’t you?  Some things there’s no moving on from.  And I think that’s a good thing. 

Barbarian by Zach Cregger

There’s gonna be a sign in our yard tomorrow morning. A sign. A “for sale” sign.  We’re moving Frank.  I hate to do it you know but the wife thinks if we don’t do it now we might not be able to get out this time next year.  This neighborhood’s going to hell Frank!

Petite Maman by Céline Sciamma

Are you scared? Of what? That I might not come back. It will all go well. I meant in the future.  I meant your mom. Yes a little. Why? Because you’re often unhappy.  You’re not often glad to be around. I don’t think it’s your fault. Really?  I sometimes wonder. You didn’t invent my sadness.

Saint Omer by Alice Diop, Amrita David, and Marie N’Diaye

Laurence knows that her daughter will always be with her.  She’s inside her.  What I tell you isn’t poetry, it’s science.  We know that during pregnancy, the cells and DNA of the mother migrate to the fetus.  It’s less known that this exchange works both ways.  The cells of the child also migrate to the organs of the mother.  They lodge themselves in her body, from the brain to the toes.  Even after the birth.  Even if the pregnancy isn’t carried to term.  The cells go on living, sometimes throughout the entire life of a woman.  A mother and her child are interlinked, one with the other, inextricably.  It’s inevitable, it’s biology. 

You Won’t Be Alone by Goran Stolevski

Every me...every last me thirsts for every him.  Only not the skin-flesh him.  Him the boy inside.  Him the boy with the eyes...the eyes that look scared even when they’re smiling.  It’s that boy.  Him I want to put my arms around.  To hold him.  To hold him.  Chase the scared-ness away. 

[jones7thavenue]

I've just about had it with losing, but, then again, it's just life, y'know? Just put on the coffee for Pops in a bad mood, after losing to a very good Catwoman, and, right now, I just am not in the greatest or best of emotions to push it at this point, so I'm listening to classical organ on the local public radio station, as I cool my head. I'm not supposed to be using my family friend's phone like this, but an opportune time to do so won't happen again, so scrat it, y'know?

Anyway, I'm just going to find a show to watch, focus on it, forget I was fussy as heck over such a hard play on Injustice 2, via PS4, × I hope Jackie, this phone's owner, doesn't mind, though. She may get upset, but it's okay, anyway, because I promised to not break the thing. Caring for another's property is like watching a nest of rooster's eggs. You're responsible for not letting anything bad happen to neither you nor the little chickies, so it's a big one.

I decided to not add a title to this update, but, once shit dies down, I will.

I hope that, once I get my phone replaced, I won't have it fall victim to another unfortunate accident then recycled for money to replace movies, shows, games, books, and music I had at the last residence with my parents, which brings me a flood of memories, good × bad. More good than bad, really. But!moving on...

If I don't update tomorrow, then it's because the phone is back with the owner, and I'm back to using my mom's phone again by tomorrow afternoon. I hope.

I already replaced a number of movies at the Media Exchange, and added some others, after cashing my allowance check at the PLS. I'll post pictures of them all once my mom gets home from the hospital. She had been admitted yesterday, so I had to make sure Pops doesn't fuck up anything. So far, I have done pretty good. Way better than my own mom. If he's okay, then we are all okay, come to think of it. Getting myself to be on top of things is hard, but very doable still. Listening to the organ cover of Like a Motherless Child on the local public radio station, and, boy, does it cut into me, even at top volume. Just like Martin Gore's cover, man. Fuck, it slaps like a mug, especially with the orchestra. Fucking slaps, man!

Having fun with the weekend at home is like nothing else in this life. Living in the moment is a time to be grateful to be alive! I'm so happy to be in a dimension that is me right now: Music is involving me with reawakening my happiness, the happiness that was dormant for almost five years. Now that I'm solo, with a few shared responsibilities, I can be finally happen again. I'm either the stupidest person I know, or the smartest person I know! I'm going deep, but, it's just mindful meditation, from the heart.

Anyway, as I go and post this, with tags below, I just need to have us fight the better fight. And, overall, I just need to let you know that I love you all, especially my mutuals.

The Universe Matters. Jonesy.

[sanpolh]

Shay broken age

SHAY BROKEN AGE FULL

SHAY BROKEN AGE PC

In another world, I might be whining “Wait, this is it?” after zipping through. That may or may not be true, and if it is, I do understand.

SHAY BROKEN AGE FULL

In practice, being split into episodes hasn’t been to its favour, both in terms of how over-familiar its world feels despite our limited exposure to it, and how bloated this new instalment feels-like a third of the game has been forcibly over-inflated to be a full half to justify the time taken, rather than simply presented as originally intended. Broken Age wants to be one adventure game, simply rolling along from start to finish as if the last year never happened. It's just disappointing that, at some crucial moments, it fails to give the player enough tools with which to solve them.I say ‘Part 1’ and ‘Part 2’, but it’s not quite that simple. In an age in which many point-and-click adventures tend towards not ever letting players get stuck, it is nice to see Broken Age sporting some legitimately challenging puzzles. Some of the puzzles are arguably illogical-as in, it doesn't make sense why that solution was necessary-but because you only have a few things to interact with, you were likely to eventually happen upon a combination that led you down the right path.ĭouble Fine did promise us an authentic 1990's-style adventure game, and that's precisely what it's delivered, warts and all. They might be incredibly subtle, but they exist for you to find, and it's entirely possible that one person will spot them instantly while it might take another hours. I found some of the latter-game puzzles to be maddeningly difficult-but the clues are there. Your experience with the rest of Broken Age's puzzles may vary. At that point, you should have inferred that the rules have been changed. Because when you reach a point with Shay in which you need Vella's information to solve a puzzle, he actually says "Gee, I would know what to do if I were on my ship." He's not on his spaceship at that point, but Vella is, and that's your clue to start up her adventure at that point if you want to proceed. Now, the funny thing is, had I arbitrarily decided to start in Shay's section, my experience might have been totally different. Finding out that I was basically spinning cycles because I wouldn't be able to solve that puzzle without actually giving up on it, ditching Vella's section and starting all over in Shay's section, I felt pretty well and burned. I spent, let's say, a very long time wandering through every room, meticulously trying to use every item in my inventory with everything else, clicking on everything again, desperate for some shred of information that was not forthcoming.Įventually, I cheated: Double Fine had passed out a walkthrough with the review copies, and I looked at it. One of the final puzzles in Vella's section, again, required information from Shay's half (buried deep, deep, deep in Shay's half, it turned out later). This week, it finally drops Act 2, putting Broken Age back together. Surprising no one, Double Fine ran out of money, and began to sell the first half of the game via Steam Early Access about a year ago.

SHAY BROKEN AGE PC

The higher-than-expected funding caused the scope of Broken Age to balloon massively going from a tiny iOS game to a full-on PC and console release starring Elijah Wood and featuring music from the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra. Back in February 2012, game developer Double Fine took a gamble and asked for the then-unheard-of sum of $400,000 via Kickstarter to make a small-scale point-and-click adventure game, something that the company's fans had long begged for but that it felt was financially impossible to fund through traditional means. We've been waiting a long time for this day. Broken Age resurrects all of the key features of classic 1990's adventure games: Gorgeous artwork, a fascinating storyline, funny writing, and puzzles that don't make any freaking sense.

[tetsunormous]

Reencounters

pairing: Matsukawa Issei x f!reader

genre: college au, friends to lovers, smut (18+), fluff

word count: 6.5K

warnings: cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, swearing, nipple play, pinning

A/N: This is for Ria's @bakugohoex's rich boy collab 💜 Congrat's on 3k!! thank you to @ohno-otome and @armins-futon for reading this for me. I love matsukawa but I don't write for him often so this has been really fun :)

Walking into your new dorm room, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sure, you’ve seen the pictures online, but there’s nothing like the slightly dusty window letting in a hazy ray of light shining down onto the slight dip in the middle of the mattress you now call your own. Your desk almost touched the corner of your twin-sized bed, and your new bookshelf barely has enough room to fit half of the books you brought, but this was your new life. It didn’t dawn on you just how different university would be until you arrived this morning, but here you were, unpacking all your clothes into the cramped closet in the corner. Luckily, you’re in the building where you had a single room. Privacy was something you were worried about, and the communal washrooms will be something to get used to, but either way, this was a new start, and no matter how nervous you are, you’re grateful for it.

High school wasn’t terrible, but it definitely wasn’t what you expected it to be. Going into it, you obviously knew that it would be nothing like how the movies depicted, but you were excited. How bad could those four years really be if you had your best friend right by your side? He was incredible. He understood you better than anybody else, would be able to tell how you were feeling without the exchange of words, but most of all, he was your person, and you were his.

There was no doubting that in all your years of friendship.

But alas, like all good things in life, they must come to an end.

The summer going into the twelfth grade, he was longer your best friend. The boy that would go to the farmers market with you and your mom every other Sunday was now lining up for the newest sneaker drop. The boy that would rather spend the night at home and binge-watch your shared comfort show for the seventh time is now out with the boys sneaking into shisha bars and doing donuts in the community centre parking lots with their new cars. You watched as he slowly forgot about you, getting caught up in his new friendships and obsessing over material items that he never cared about before. It’s not that you were upset he found new friends. It’s that the only time he would reach out was to randomly drop off something he had bought you in hopes it would make up for him blowing you off again.

They started small, simple sweaters he knew you would like, but the gifts became almost ridiculous as time passed. He would never let you return them either, so now you have designer shoes for imaginary banquets. Of course, you were always grateful, but you would trade all his gifts just to spend time with him again. His family has always been wealthy, they always went on lavish vacations and drove the nicest cars, but you never really cared about what he spends his money on or just how much his parents make. You cared that he saw you as a person he wanted to be with rather than just someone he could shove gifts towards to make up for the quality time he’d miss.

But now you’re here. You were arriving three hours before the suggested move-in time because you didn’t want to be rushed to unpack before orientation starts later. You’ve seen a few people walking around on your floor, but neither of your neighbours have arrived, and honestly, you don’t mind because that means you’re able to blast your music without worry. As The 1975 fills your room, you stand still for a second, really taking in where you are. You’re now attending one of the best schools in the country, living on your own with a floor of people you don’t know yet. It starts to sink in that you are starting anew. The people who end up in the rooms next to you might just end up being your lifelong friends. As the song comes to an end, you decide it’s time to try to make yourself look a little more presentable since it’s almost time for people to start rolling in.

...

It’s almost five in the afternoon, and everyone on your floor is meeting outside on the field for a quick introduction before group dinner. You’re sitting with your knees pressed to your chest as the girl next to you tries to make small talk. To be fair, she’s incredibly sweet, but you can’t focus on her because somewhere behind you, there is a voice you think you recognize. There’s no way he would be here. Sure, you have no idea what school he ended up choosing, but if he ended up here, he would’ve at least texted you. Right? Before you can confirm your suspicions, orientation starts, and your group leader is already talking with more energy than you can handle.

The group of guys settle down close by, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over, wondering if you’ll see the head of brown curls. Instead, you’re met with a bunch of frat boy looking wannabes that instantly make your eyes roll. To say you’re disappointed that you didn’t see him was so stupid. It’s been over a year, yet here you were, hoping to magically bump into him as if this was some cliche movie. If anything, it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that even though he stopped caring for you, you still longed to see him, to hear him laugh at one of your cheesy jokes. It’s even more frustrating that this new start you’ve been looking forward to, makes you miss him even more.

There are only sixteen people on your floor, but introductions take a lifetime because someone didn’t come on time. When they finally do show up, you almost laugh at this whole situation because, of course, it was him. Of course, he was strutting down the courtyard in some brand new Gucci sneakers and the same Balenciaga sweater he had bought for you a few months ago. Of course, the annoying group of boys behind you gesture for him as he quickly apologizes to the group leaders. And, of course, when you make eye contact, he’s the one looking at you with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

Quickly rushing back to your room after the meeting, you decide you’re ordering in tonight so that you don’t have to see him for at least another day. This is all so fucked up. You wrack your brain trying to understand how probable this whole situation is because, frankly, it feels like a sick joke, and on top of it, he’s the one annoyed?

Naturally, you spend the rest of the night unpacking the rest of your things before ordering your comfort food to wash down all the feelings you’re experiencing. Putting on your favourite show, you begin your tenth rerun as you bury yourself in your blankets. Part of you feels so stupid for completely ignoring your initial dinner plans, but you knew with the mindset you had at the moment, there was no way you would have enjoyed yourself. It’s a bit silly you haven’t left your room since picking up your takeout, you don’t even know who lives beside you, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Slipping into your slides, you head towards the washroom with your little toiletry bag. You pass by the girl you were sitting with earlier, and she sends you a smile. After apologizing for disappearing all night she just laughs and assures you nothing happened. She even points out where her room is if you were up to hang out tomorrow during frosh activities.

Just this interaction makes you feel better, and you quietly hum along to the familiar tune coming from the shower stall.

He used to play this song all the time, claiming it spoke to him the first time he heard it. Since then, it became the song he would play anytime he’d come to pick you up, explaining how this song is special because the ending always reminded him of you. It didn’t matter how long it’s been since the two of you hung out. Every time you heard ‘Pluto Projector,’ it would always bring a smile to your face. You even tried to show the song to your ex-boyfriend, but he never paid attention to your suggestions. He always claimed that his music taste was better. Thankfully that relationship only lasted a couple of months, but still, the regret of not waiting for someone worthy lingers in your mind.

While applying your moisturizer, you hear the water shut, the person pausing the song right as the orchestra starts to come in. Worried about who you may run into, you quickly pack up your stuff. You hear the click of the lock, and as you turn around, you’re met with him, with his curly hair all damp and his obnoxious teal blue robe wrapped loosely around his waist.

Rushing past him, you briskly walk towards your room, but before you can close the door, his foot jams between the doorframe. He pushes his way in and quietly closes the door, only to be met with the unimpressed look on your face. He circles around your room, eyes searching for any trace of your past friendship before standing back at the door.

“What do you want, Matsukawa?” you ask impatiently. It’s bad enough you run into the one person you wanted to forget, but now he’s standing in your room with a matching frown.

Something indescribable flashes across his eyes, and you can visibly see his frown deepen at your question. Leaning against your door, his arms come up to rub over his face, peeking at you through his fingers before letting out a long sigh. “When did I become Matsukawa? I thought I was Issei.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips, and you realize how childish your grudge might be, but he has changed, and the man standing in front of you isn’t the same man you once called your best friend. “When you changed, Matsukawa. Issei was my best friend, and YOU are not.”

His eyes filled with confusion as his eyebrows furrow, taking a step forward towards you. “I’m sorry? I tried to stay in touch with you. You’re the one that stopped talking to me, so I’d try to send you things instead. How was I the one who changed?”

You stand there, staring at him for a second before shaking your head. “I can’t do this right now; I want to have a good day tomorrow, so I need to go to sleep. Please, leave my room.”

His eyes soften a little, and you can see a faint glimpse of his infamous lazy smile, “We both know you’re not going to be sleeping anytime soon,” he stalks over and kicks his slides off before sitting at the end of your bed. “Let’s talk about this because, frankly, I’m tired of watching you decide if you hate me every time you see me.”

The nerve of this man. The fact that he invites himself into your room, declares his stay, and then sits on your bed without permission. You don’t even know if he’s wearing anything under that robe as his hair is literally dripping onto your comforter. Regardless of what the situation is, this action alone has you seething. Turning towards your desk chair, you harshly pull out the slightly imbalanced piece of wood and sit down, silently questioning why he isn’t the one on the chair.

He watches you stomp around, and he kinda chuckles at your little tantrum, missing how easy it was to rile you up. Your glare at him would be a little scary if he didn’t see the way your lips mumbled to yourself. It’s honestly a little cute to watch you all frustrated with him even though he saw one of the shoes he bought you in your closet. Sure, they look brand new, but the fact that you brought them here with you must mean something.

The year you two spent apart has been really stressful on Matsukawa. He thought that you’d be happy that he could give you everything you wanted. He knew he wasn’t spending as much time with you as he used to, but he thought the gifts he spent hours lining up for would make up for it.

When you stopped returning his calls and texts, he was crushed. Everyone could see how he felt about you, but then he watched you get close to another man. Within two weeks, you were dating him, and he was left watching from a distance. Neither of you ever confirmed your feelings for each other, but he could tell that man wasn’t making you happy. He didn’t understand your different facial expressions, he didn’t care about what you had to say, but all he could do was watch the girl he wanted from the sidelines.

Sure, as time went on, Matsukawa also started talking to other girls. None of them ever became his girlfriend, he didn’t think it was fair to get with someone when he was set on you, but he had his fair share of hookups. He has money, a shit ton of it, but he never let that get to his head. It wasn’t his fault that he gained popularity when he started to get into name brands and upgraded his car, but none of that ever changed who he was — at least not to the degree you had him pinned.

He watches you carefully, your leg bouncing impatiently as your eyes glare daggers in his direction. He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a sigh, “what did I do wrong? You didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever I did (y/n).”

The lamp in the corner of your room shines a dim yellow hue onto his features. His brows are knitted in concern as he leans forwards on his knees, his robe showing off a deep v down his chest. You can feel yourself freeze up at his question, goosebumps covering your skin, while your eyes pour into his. “You changed Matsukawa. You stopped making an effort to be there. I’m not some girl you can just buy with all your money. I have never cared about how much you have or what you can afford -- you know that! It doesn’t matter what. I always split things with you because I never wanted you to feel like I was there for your money. But then suddenly, you just stop showing up. You wouldn’t even tell me you made other plans, and I would just open my door to find some package you dropped off.”

His eyes search your face before letting out a deep sigh. “I tried! You wouldn’t answer any of my calls, I know I stopped explaining myself, but can you blame me? Don’t you think I want to take you around and introduce you to all my friends? Don’t you think I miss going on late-night drives with you to 7-11? Every time I would drive past there, you’re all I thought about. You and your stupid obsession with cheese taquitos and Arizona tea. Did you even think about how I felt when you decided to act like I don’t exist?” He hastily stands up and paces around in the confined space of your dorm room. He never raises his voice, so hearing him talk at a slightly louder volume was enough to let you know he was dead serious. “You know, I never stopped talking highly about you because as selfish as it is, those boys have an important family. They have the connections you dream about (y/n), so even when you started to ignore me to go out with that fucking ex-boyfriend of yours, I never said anything.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes before going to sit back down, his elbows now resting against his thighs. “I know you don’t care about my money, but I didn’t know how else to tell you I was still thinking about you. I tried to get you things that you’d like, things that you’d wear. But no, I had to watch you put on a fake smile and laugh at that asshole’s jokes while you stubbornly ignored me to the point I thought you had me blocked.”

Looking up at you through his curls, his hooded eyes looked darker before. His lips curled into a forced smile as he let out a breathy chuckle, “he didn’t deserve you. But what do I know, right?”

You sat there quietly, taking in what he had just said. You didn’t realize how hurt he was. To be frank, up till now, you were so consumed by your feelings, and you failed to consider his own. His head is hanging between his hands, and the silence in your room right now is insufferable. He’s just explained himself, yet all you can do is scoff at yourself. While you were obsessing over the fact that Matsukawa wasn’t coming over to watch another rerun of your favourite show, he was out picking out different gifts he thought you’d like. You didn’t even open the last few because your own emotions so blinded you. Hearing him take a deep breath, he stands up and smiles sadly at you, “nice talk, (y/n). Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry, Issei.”

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, and you can visibly watch as his shoulders relax. It’s been too long since he’s heard you call him by his first name.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve just gotten out of the car to talk to you.”

You look at him with a small smile. Walking towards your bed, you sit down and pat the spot beside you, pulling him in for a hug. His robe is probably the softest thing you’ve ever felt in your life, your fingers sinking into the fabric as you hold him close. His arms are immediately wrapping around you, and you both stay like that for a minute before you pull back, a faint blush blooming on your cheeks.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. You tried reaching out to me, you tried explaining yourself, but I didn’t even give you a chance. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so caught up I didn’t even think about what you were feeling. The fact that you still wanted to introduce me to your friends, even after all the stuff I did to you….I’m so sorry, Issei.”

He gives you a playful smile and lightly nudges your shoulder with his, “yea, that was kinda unfair, but good thing we talked it out, huh?”

You flash him a sheepish smile, but your eyes glimmer with happiness, “yea, it’s good you barged into my room at two in the morning. Just like old times.”

His smile instantly grows at your playfulness, and he gives you a mock scoff. “I’m sorry, but if I remember correctly, you’d beg for me to stay over at two am cause you decided you wanted to watch a scary movie. Have you gotten better with horror movies this year, or are you still as jumpy as I remember?”

The tip of your ears growing warm while you mutter out a quick “shut up.”

His laughter makes your heart beat against your chest because you missed it so much. It’s been a while since you got to hear him laugh with you, and without even thinking, you go in for another hug.

His arms easily hold you close, and one of his massive hands reaches up to pet your hair. “Missed me, didn’t you?” he asks, and you can feel him smirking, so you just nod, your fingers playing with the damp, short curls at the base of his nape.

“Issei?” you ask with a little murmur against his neck.

“Hmmm?”

You smile to yourself and pull back a little, so you can see his face, “so other than hanging out with your friends and keeping up with my relationship, what else have you been doing?”

His face drops as he looks at you with a deadpan stare, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile as you giggle at his reaction. He pushes you back, so you end up falling onto your mattress, his long limbs effortlessly straddling your legs. Before you can think about the position you’re in, his fingers start to poke all-around your torso, causing you both to laugh as he starts to tickle you. “You think you’re funny, huh?” His hands go to tickle your worst spot as he starts to talk, but you can’t hear him over your own laughter. His fingers slow down, but you keep giggling when you’re met with his lazy smirk, “I’m trying to talk, you know. It’s rude you’re laughing when I’m trying to speak to you.”

He leans forwards and has both hands resting at the side of your head. Your faces now inches apart, the faint smell of sandalwood from his body wash now becoming more apparent. You stare into his brown eyes, and it almost feels as if everything stopped for a few seconds. The lamp in your room doesn’t do him justice as the shadows of his face wash over his features, but even then, his eyes stare back at you with a slight twinkle as you catch your breath.

Reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and you tug him close, crashing his lips onto yours. The sweet hints from his beloved Burt’s bee’s lip balm make his lips even softer than you imagined. The kiss is short, but as you both pull away, he’s staring at you with a goofy smile.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, (y/n).”

“Me too, Issei,” you whisper back before his lips capture yours again, this time with more confidence. This kiss is much more passionate than the last, holding onto each other in hopes of deepening it. One of his hands travels down to grab your waist, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip, asking for permission. Your lips part and your tongues swirl together effortlessly while your hands play with his hair, pulling him closer into your body.

His hand feels a little rougher than before against your bare skin because of how often he trains, running down the length of your leg. The light touch of his fingertips admires how smooth your skin is before they trail back up, stopping just before the edge of your pyjama shorts. Hooking your leg around his hip, he leans into your body even further and even nips at your bottom lip.

Matsukawa smirks and whispers against your lips, “did he ever kiss you like that?”

Slightly surprised at the question, you shake your head, answering honestly. “He never made me feel the way you do.”

You watch as his eyes dilate, flickering into a deep brown you’ve never seen on him. The hand that was previously on your leg is now cupping your cheek, stroking your face softly, while his own face blooms into a rare shade of pink. Still, his words are clear, “please...give me a chance? He never treated you right. Let me take care of you?”

Words can’t describe how his question made you feel. You spent years learning about Matsukawa, understanding him to the point where words weren’t necessary to see what was happening in his head. Not once did you think he reciprocated your feelings, let alone want to be with you. Yet, here you are, caged beneath his arms as his hopeful eyes pour into yours.

Turning your head slightly, you press a kiss onto his hand and smile. “Please?”

His face breaks into a smile. His cheeks are tinted rose as the corners of his mouth reach up to his eyes. Leaning down, he peppers kisses onto your face, the loose curls on his head tickling your cheeks as he giggles with you. The kisses trail down to your jaw, and he follows the natural curve of your jawline to your ear. “Is this okay?” he whispers softly, only continuing down this path when you give him a curt nod.

Your legs tighten around his waist when he begins to press open mouth kisses down your neck, gently nipping at the spots that make you let out shy little sounds. His tongue leaves kitten licks against your skin after he’s sucked on it, littering faint marks. Seeing you with light hickeys on the base of your neck and collarbones is completely self-indulgent for him. Thinking about waking up in the morning and seeing the marks he knows he gave you makes him inexplicably happy as he sucks particularly hard, causing you to wince.

Immediately he stops and turns to you, “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? D’you wanna stop?”

His concern for you is truly a breath of fresh air compared to what you had before. Shaking your head, you guide his hands to the edge of your sweater. “You bought this for me… it’s only fair I let you take it off.”

He studies your face for a second before his lips curl into a lazy smirk, quickly pulling the overpriced sweater off your body. He takes a sharp inhale when you reveal you aren’t wearing anything underneath as he’s met with your beautiful tits, nipples hard and pointed. “You let me in here knowing you weren’t wearing a bra? And here I thought you were a good girl.”

Noticing how your legs tighten around him, he smirks even wider. Leaning back down, his kisses trail down to your chest, and his lips feel soft and warm against your skin. His fingers take hold of your chin and force you to look down on him while his lips wrap around your nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking gently at the hardened bud. His hand palms against the fatty flesh of your other tit; his fingers are rolling your nipple before tugging on it experimentally.

Suddenly feeling shy, your arms come up to cover your face slightly just to have him lace his fingers with yours, pulling your arms away. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see how pretty you look. Let me hear how good I make you feel, okay?”

“I’ve never had someone play with my tits like this…”

He just stares at you, brows knitted as his smirk turns into a slight pout. “You’re with me now; that means every part of your body will be pleasured. I wanna hear and see all of you, okay?”

With a shy nod, you gently roll your hips against him, inviting more of his attention.

He kisses you once more, murmuring against your lips, “you’re so beautiful. Let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?”

His lips follow down your body once more, lightly biting your tit before using the flat part of his tongue to feel the valley between your chest. Matsukawa lets out a low moan as you arch upwards, pushing yourself closer to his touches. Letting go of your hands, he begins to massage the soft flesh of your tits and kiss down your stomach, the tip of his tongue trailing against the waistband of your shorts.

“Let me hear you ask for it; I don’t wanna do something you don’t want.”

“Isseiiii, please?” you whine out, the tip of your ears turning hot at the thought of asking for his tongue.

He smirks at you, looking up through his hooded eyes and tsks. “Be a good girl for me. Use your words.”

His words go straight to your pussy, and you can’t help the doe eyes look in your eyes when you whimper out, “please, Issei? Wanna feel your mouth on me.”

You watch as he takes in a sharp breath, the hunger in his eyes shining through despite the dim lighting in your room. He tugs at the end of your shorts until they’re completely off, repositioning himself lower until your legs are resting around his biceps. His eyes zone in on the way a sheer layer of slick coats your lips, happy that the attention he’s been giving you has pleased you. As he shimmies down on your bed, his legs now supporting himself on the floor, he nestles himself between your legs, easily spreading your things open with his arms. Sending you a knowing smile, he blows cool air directly onto your clit, loving how your walls flutter for him.

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

“No one’s ever made me feel like this before...want more, please?”

You look down at him with pleading eyes, your hands cupping his face when you speak. Pressing a quick peck to your hand, he hips his head down and traces your pussy lips with his tongue, savouring how you taste.

The gasp that you let out once you felt his touch was adorable. It suddenly became the sound Matsukawa will chase after the more he gets to know your body and what it likes. He takes one long lap up your pussy, stopping just before your clit and using his fingers, he spreads your lips even more. Once your clit is all exposed, he flicks it gently with the tip of his tongue, looking up at you with all the confidence in the world. Hearing your little moans make him greedy for more, for more desperate and needy sounds, so he goes to press a kiss onto your bundle of nerves. Feeling you twitch beneath him, he gently places his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks earnestly, relishing in the way you buck your hips and call out his name. After a while of pure clitoral stimulation, he leans back up to watch your eyes blink back into focus on his face, a silly dazed smile on your face.

He winks at you and sticks his tongue into your drooling hole, swirling it around to feel the walls of your pussy clench around him. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he nuzzles his nose against your clit, his cock getting unbearably hard at the way you pant our pleas.

“I-issei! Please….need you inside, please!”

Coming back up for air, his hand leaves your thigh as his fingers start to tease around your hole, loving how your pussy clenches around nothing. So needy for his touches when he’s barely even started. He knows your orgasm was building, but he wants to take his time with you. You mean the world to him, and seeing you like this already makes him feel like the luckiest man at the moment.

Taking two of his fingers, he coats them in all your slick before slowly pushing them inside you. His eyes squeeze shut when he feels how tight you are, his mind immediately thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around his cock. When he’s finally inside, he pulls out slowly before sliding them back in, loving how you beg for more.

“Need more, please, Issei! Go faster, please.”

Your hands pull his head up to kiss you while his fingers begin to speed up. With the lewd sound of his hand slapping against your sopping wet pussy, his palm is applying pressure to your clit. Your moans are lost in your kisses, his other hand going back to playing with your sensitive nipple.

“I have to stretch you out, babygirl. I don’t want my cock to hurt you.”

All you’re able to do is nod as his fingers start to scissor your hole, stretching you out even more. His fingers, now knuckle deep, curl against your sweet spot, making you grip onto his hair as he swallows all your cries, suddenly remembering that the walls in this dorm probably aren’t that thick.

His fingers curl into you more, whispering sweet praises as his hand teases and tugs on your swollen nipple. Everything happened so quick, and you’re cumming all over his hand, your sweet sticky arousal covering his fingers as he slows down. Matsukawa is smiling down at you, “you did so well, baby. Bet that felt really good, huh?”

Maybe you’re needy or just horny, but even after your orgasm, you start tugging the tie that keeps his robe up. Your legs are sore, sorer than they’ve ever been, but all you can think about is how full you would feel with him inside of you. He smirks at you as he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking off all your juices before letting his robe fall and chucking it to the ground. He’s wearing his briefs, but you can see how hard his cock is under the thin cotton material. Before you’re able to pull his underwear down, he stops you and lets out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a condom. We don’t have to do anything.”

You giggle and shake your head, “don’t need one; we’re in university, baby. What’s a little fun without risks?”

He lets you pull his underwear down, and his massive throbbing cock instantly slaps against his stomach as he laughs at your reaction. “Had to make sure you were stretched out enough.”

You bite your lips and stare at how big his cock actually is. It’s hard to imagine how you’ll fit that inside of you, but you’re determined to give it a try.

“You ready, pretty girl?” he asks as he taps the tip of cock against your clit, loving how you squirm under him.

“mmhmm, Issei.”

He lets go of his cock and leans up, and pulls you into a deep kiss, completely in awe of you.

“Tell me if you wanna stop, kay?”

Replying with a small hum, he gathers up the remaining slick that’s leaking out of your pussy and strokes his cock slowly, also letting his spit drip down to help lubricate himself. He lines himself up with your pretty pussy and starts to push the head in, studying your face to make sure you’re doing alright. When he sees you smiling back at him, despite the grip you have on his arms, he pushes another two inches inside of you.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. We’re almost halfway,” he whispers into your ear as he kisses your neck softly, sucking on the spot by the base of your lobe. “Such a good girl for me,” he coaxes as his cock slides another inch into your sweet cunt.

Incredibly, he’s only halfway down because you’ve never felt this full before. Still, your fingers dig into his arms when you ask for more. “Just want all of you in me, please?”

Hearing you ask for more even though you already looked fucked out sparks something inside him. He lets out a low growl and quickly pushes the rest of his length inside you, mumbling sweet nothings against your skin. He moans out with you when he feels how warm and tight you are, your pussy stretching more than it ever has to accommodate his size.

“Feel s’good, Issei.”

With a breathy chuckle, he peppers kisses all over your neck, loving the sound of your soft giggles as he pulls back three-quarters of the way, slowly pushing his way back into you. The gasp you let out is different than before, much more surprised but sensual.

He continues this motion a few more times before he picks up the pace, his hips slamming against you while your tits bounce. Each thrust knocks the air out of your chest cause he’s brushing against your spot every time. Matsukawa leans down and presses his forehead against the crook of your neck, muttering how good you feel.

“F-faster...need you faster, is’o good, please.”

Obliging to your pleas, he starts to rut his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin with each movement. He looks up to see your dreamy eyes and smiles. He knows there’s not a thought behind those eyes right now as his cock slams against your walls with each thrust. He goes to kiss you again, silencing your cries as your nails drag down his arms, trying to ground yourself in the midst of all the pleasure.

“You’re s-tight baby I- fuuuuuck, I can barely move.”

You can’t help it. Your walls are naturally squeezing him because he’s fucking straight into your sweet spot with each snap of his hips. You look at him with hazy eyes, entirely in a trance as you moan out his name. He can tell you want to cum, so his hand reaches down to rub your clit as his cock continues to pound into you.

“C’mon baby, cum all over my cock. You can do it...ah shit, yea, just like that.”

He’s been trying so hard not to cum but watching your back arch into him as your nails drab down his back, his name falling out from your lips in a loud erotic moan, is making it really hard. He looks down in surprise when he sees a creamy white rim around his cock, proud of himself for making you cream.

“Good girl...that’s my fuckin girl.”

Satisfied he made you finish, his head falls back onto your shoulder, his hips just rutting into you as he chases his own orgasm. Not even a minute later, he’s calling out for you as he quickly pulls out, cumming all over your tits. His chest heaves along with yours, his hair sticking to his forehead slightly as he empties his load all over your chest.

Once you’ve both calmed down a little bit, he smiles down at you and goes to stroke your cheek. “Had you creaming on my cock, was it fun? Did you have a good time?”

“S’good...thank you, baby,” you say before pulling him down for a kiss.

He gets up and reaches for his robe, “you did so good, took me like a champ heh. I’ll be back with a rag to clean you up, okay? Don’t move.”

As he leaves your room, you stare up at the ceiling and let out a laugh. Not even twelve hours ago, you were cursing the fact that he was here with you, and now you have his cum all over your tiddies as he goes to get stuff to clean you up.

You watch as he comes back into your room, fully changed with a rag in his hand. He kneels beside you and pets your hair as he starts to wipe his mess.

“Why’re you changed?”

“Oh! We’re going to 7-11 once I get you cleaned up.”

“.....it’s like three-thirty in the morning.”

“I’ll get you taquitos and Arizona,” he says as he goes to wipe around your pussy, mindful not to put too much pressure cause you’re still sensitive.

“And skittles?”

He snorts and kisses your shaking thigh, “yea, I’ll get you skittles, brat.”

© tetsunormous 2021

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @arte-misa @strawbari21 @matsusimp @bokutomessy @mentaly-ill @arumiee @kvrooschibichan lmk if you want to be added to my tag list

[nestasgalpal]

The ball is in his court

Fixing ACOSF Part 8

Masterlist | AO3

Summary:  Cassian knows Nesta is supposed to dance with Eris and lure him into a stronger alliance with the Night Court. He knows he's been forbidden from getting close to her during the whole event. He knows she loves to dance. He knows he wants to be the one swinging with her.

A/N: angst because Cassian got very little character development in the book for someone who had that much family drama to deal with. It's not that big of a change as other chapters, but I thought it made sense to add this here with how these three acted in the ball.

Tagging: @gwynriel @zoyaslai @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr  @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron  @jemstan300 @nessiantrashh @azrielsgirl @poisonus-bloom  @loveadora @frosted-crackers  @mireillemystique @pataytayo @968sunflower968 @caram267 @jainadurron @darkshadowqueensrule @amphiptree @finae-bookshelf @niytavia @brainlessfruit @dontgetsalmonella @messyhairday-me @sunsummoner  @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @wannawriteyouabook @psychoticminx @misswonderflower @drielecarla @silvernesta @k0ombayamylord @nina-zcnik​ @arinbelle​

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list in the upcoming chapters!! 

Cassian stood firmly on his feet as he made Mor spin once again. The House was playing music for them, and in some strange way, he felt it getting annoyed at how many times he had demanded to go- "Again". The waltz had just finished, and he was already positioning himself to start all over.

"Cass, you already know the moves, you've been dancing these for centuries" she laughed it off "I honestly don't think you need any more practice for tomorrow."

"Again" he insisted.

With a sigh, his friend went back to first position, seven feet away from him. The sound the House played for them was more like a trumpet with a shoe stuck in it than the beautiful harmonies they had been practicing with.

"Please, I want to make sure I get it right before we leave for the ball" Cassian gave her his best pout face, which made Mor roll her eyes.

"You are not going to dance with her, Cass. You got clear instructions from Rhys about that. I don't even know why I'm helping you with this, we both heard you are not allowed near her." The House probably felt like Mor was doing a good enough job at remprimanding him for his stubbornnes, because the melody of the waltz started playing again, and they moved to the sound of it. "Gods, you two are already making this way harder than it needs to be with your non-stop fucking" Cassian laughed, but Mor was not in the mood for joking, "This is serious. I heard Rhys complain about how long it took to hide your scent on her." With their palms in the air almost touching, they turned and gave two steps back "Behave." she reminded him of what his role was tomorrow night, and how important it was that he didn't ruin Nesta's mission by approaching her at all.

Cassian smiled again. "I'll try my best".

"Cassian" her tone made clear that she was not amused by the idea of what he may do with with all this dance practice.

"I know, I know. I'll be a good General Commander and stand by my High Lord's side the entire night, while she dances with Eris Vanserra" the lightness with which he spoke did very little to hide the feelings behind it. The jealousy.

Mor let him guide the dance, shadows in her eyes. Their imminent visit to Hewn City must be disturbing her, specially knowing both his father and Eris would be there. The stress of the negotiations with Vallahan was wearing her down as well.

"Why do you insist on going after her?" The sudden dryness she spoke with took him by surprise, and so did the question itself. Nesta and whatever the nature of his relationship with her was, wasn't a topic they ever talked about. For the last couple of years, they avoided the subject, pretending it didn't exist. That's why it felt so odd how mad she seemed to be now without any previous warning that the matter was present in her thoughts at all. That it could disturb her so much, was the most unexpected part of it.

It rubbed him the wrong way, but Cassian kept on moving, the smile in his eyes not fading one bit as he looked into hers to answer.

"Jealous that I'm spending my time with her and not you lately?"

The blonde's gaze pierced through him with a cold disdain he hadn't prepared himself for either. "Not at all. Unlike you, I understand what an order is." Ouch. "I don't blame you for following Rhys' command and babysitting her when he asked you to. She's your job, I guess."

"She is not a job"

"Cassian" His friend hardly ever called his full name. This was now the second time in a matter of minutes.

The conversation was taking a turn he didn't like as a sense of danger that made him on guard sat between them. But it was his best friend talking, his sister, so he ignored his instincts and kept moving to the rhythm. He tried to be graceful and move with precision, imagining it was Nesta's pale hand in his.

"I'm serious. You really need to come back from this recess sooner or later. Better if you choose the former, considering you have a job to do, a role to play as the rest of us do. Her included." The dance required him to spin her twice, an artificial pause in her speech as she twirled on his arms "I'm sure it was fun, but Feyre already revoked the order, so it's time you move on and take things seriously again. You have no idea how bad the treaty with Vallahan is going. We must prepare for the worse, have the armies ready".

"You think being here with her is some kind of vacation?"

The flow of her practiced movements didn't disappear for a second as she dissed Nesta, which was unsettling. Apparently, it came natural to her and putting these thoughts into words required no effort. For how long had Mor been thinking this way about his stay in the House of Wind?

"You sure smell like you are having a good time". Mor gave a step forward to the beat of the orchestra. Cassian didn't follow her movement, their bodies colliding.

It was now making him truly angry. Not just her usual dismiss of Nesta, which he had grown accustomed to, but the little care she was showing for him. He hadn't been working less on Illyria for the past months, his duty with Nesta being piled up on top of his previous responsibilities, and in addition to his new assignments as courtier to cover up her absence. He was working his ass off.

Countless, sleepless nights trying to come up with new ideas to help Nesta weren't something he had told her about, but she certainly knew about the exhaustion they put him through. The fighting, the struggle. Having to finally face how lost she was and stop pretending he had nothing to do with it had been a wake up call. Trying to put the pieces together, a painfully slow process they were still working on. They were achieving it bit by bit... and together, he wanted to think. It had been anything but a vacation.

His biggest regret, however, was printed all over her words, truth slipping through the cracks in the lie he had crafted for himself so long ago. That's why Mor's words hit him like a punch in the guts, because he had actually treated Nesta as a job in the beginning, and Nesta probably had thought the same thing -if she didn't still feel about it like that. A job. Cassian flinched. An order given to him to follow, and not his own decision to sought her and be there for her after the war.

"This is not time off for me, and, again, she is not a job."

Mor wasn't listening, "You need to be honest with yourself, Cass. You need to come to terms with whatever it is your cock feels for that female, and move on."

"You did not just say that" Cassian was speechless.

Knowing what she knows.

Cassian put distance between them and scanned the room looking for a chair, needing to sit down. There was one left alone by the wall where they had pushed it to have more space for their dancing. He sat before he felt his blood drop to his feet, his head uncomfortably light as his sight became dizzy.

Mor hadn't just said that. She would never cross him like that. Denial took over, his trustful self convincing him he just needed a moment to focus. Once he felt better, he would realize her words were only a friend worrying, not an attack on him. She was helping. Mor was always there for him when he needed a friend. She was only trying to give him some advice.

Then why did it hurt so much to hear those twisted truths from her mouth?

"Oh, come on!" she was saying behind him. Mor's words were distant and distorted, as if he were underwater. It took him a moment to understand and process them. "You saw what she became after the war just as clearly as I did. You did nothing about it, just like I did. And we were okay with that, we have our own life, Cass, and she doesn't fit in it. There is another war waiting for us in the corner that threatens to break this moment of happness we've built. For our future, you need to come back to be who you are, the Cassian I know. I miss him."

Once again, the plain truth. He had drifted away like everyone else. They had all decided that space was what she needed, and when that didn't work, it was once again them deciding what to do with the pieces that were left. He had agreed to every plan, convincing himself they knew what they were doing and they knew her better than she did. That they had any right to pick a path for her, the biggest lie of them all.

And now Mor's words were shattering the wall of self-inflicted fabrications he had slowly built while Nesta faded away from his reach. He took in his friend's words, their meaning. What she thought, and some of his friends -family- shared.

It made his heart skip a bit to realize that Nesta probably saw it like that too to this day. He had already accepted his mistakes to himself, he knew before the blonde said it what he had done wrong. Yet Cassian hadn't thought about how his actions were read from the outside. Nobody had called him out on his bullshit. Nobody had interfered -wasn't that what friends were supposed to do? So there it was, the reason why none of them had ever tried to help him smooth things between them: they didn't want him to. Stupidly and blindly trusting his friends would have the respect for him he had proven to have for them, he assumed they were just as blind as he was. Apparently, they weren't, and they had purposefully left her to rot.

Up until now, Cassian hadn't entertained the thought that she most likely didn't let him in because she also considered his presence there a task for him to handle, even if they had grown to be... friends.

That was it -a dead end for them.

No matter how hard he insisted on being there for Nesta now, he had already failed her too many times, and she simply wouldn't allow him to get closer a second time. Not the way he wanted to, at least.

His pulse was in his ears. Or maybe he was hearing again the dreadful noises the house played for them before.

Oh, Nesta.

Had she agreed to the plan because she didn't really care for him watching? Did Nesta not care because she simply didn't want to be anything else than friends in the end? Did she even trust him enough to call what they had a friendship?

A glass of red wine appeared on the table next to him and was it was in his hand a second later. Cassian swallowed its content in one sip. It was refilled instantly. Realization hit him right then and there, that he might be in time to save her, yet too late for what he wanted from her. And his ass would be the only one to blame for that. His cowardice. And how could he hope for a second chance from someone who didn't grant one to herself?

A movement in his field of vision took him out of his trance. Mor, who was carefully approaching him, gave a jump back when he got up from his chair, letting it fall back. The loud noise scared her too.

Those damned reports. He should have never agreed to that stupid idea. Nor to the plan they had for tomorrow night. Yes, she had agreed to it, but maybe if he had asked her not to... No, she would have still done it, convinced it was the only way she would not be seen as a coward.

Who gives a fuck about how anyone sees her. She certainly didn't use to. And he used to love that about her.

But now she clearly did, and was ready to do anything to change how he and his friends saw her. Even seducing Eris Vanserra right in front of him.

"Why can't you just leave her alone?" he asked, defeated at the thought that Nesta was indeed going to allow him to be by her side, but probably where he was right now was the closer he would ever get to tearing down her walls.

Mor looked back at him, marking the way his arms hung by his sides, the picture of a defeated male. She showed no compassion.

"Because I can't forget what she did to Feyre. I still remember the night she told us her story, what she went through. I see her grow every day and I'm reminded of who broke her in the first place. I can't let that slide like nothing." Cassian opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what exactly. He closed it again as Mor lifted a finger to stop whatever words he would have come up with from escaping his mouth. She was angry, "She let her 14 year old sister go wonder the woods next to the Wall all alone. Feyre was a child, Cassian. A kid who had to risk her life on a daily basis because your lover didn't want splinters in her fingernails."

Cassian sighed, tired of a conversation that kept circling back to the same point over and over again. He knew what Nesta's choices had meant to Feyre, but he had seen her regret as well, and what those same choices had done to her. Cassian had seen and heard the forgiveness coming from Feyre herself, her actions a window to what his High Lady needed: to move on. They had talked about it, his friend had opened up to him and she was obviously determined to have her sister back at any cost. And so was him. He was determined to help his friend and at the same time assist Nesta with whatever it was she needed... once she came to terms with what it was.

He had taken her to the old cabin they used to live in and had stand by her side as she scanned the place, finding only bad memories of the person she used to be. She wanted to move on as well. So if the two people involved wanted the same thing, why did their friends keep getting in the way using a wound that was already healing as an excuse.

"But you can forgive Elain?"

"Elain has at least tried to be one of us, Nesta has done nothing since she arrived but be against us."

Cassian laughed at that, a bitter, joyless laugh. "Elain is trying to be our friend, while Nesta doesn't like us. Is that it?" He chuckled again. "Are you telling me that the only reason you pick on her is that she doesn't want to be your friend and you can't just accept that? I thought it was her actions to Feyre in the past, but yes, this makes way more sense now." This time it was him stopping her from talking back, "I can see a pattern there. Isn't that the same reason you don't trust Lucien no matter how hard he works to help us? That he has his own life beyond us?" The volume of his voice went in crescendo as his anger rose to meet hers, "You can't be seriously expecting me to leave her because of a petty fight that only exists in your head."

"It's not just me, Cass. It's all of us. No one likes her, no one wants her around, and we are not having our days ruined every time she shows up so you can fuck her. You are not like this, you are not selfish like that." The indignation simmering in her brown eyes didn't make her an inch scarier to him, the childish reasons for it almost making him consider the argument over, hadn't him been so heated himself. "I want my friend back. And so does Rhys, who can't look at her -or Lucien, for that matter, without being reminded of what his mate went through before he found her."

Cassian snapped.

His siphons glowed scarlet red, goosebumps in his arms from the contained adrenaline rushing through his veins. He screamed at her in anger for the first time in... for the first time in as long as he could remember.

"Don't you dare try to make me feel like I'm a bad friend to Feyre to justify your bigotry. Don't you dare try to convince me that I'm the one hurting others, so I stay in my place while you do whatever the fuck you want and then blame the problems that surface on me. Don't you fucking dare play the victim of this when it's none of your business."

There had been genuine happiness in Feyre's eyes the night Nesta and her decided to give themselves one last chance.

Now Mor was reducing Feyre to nothing but an excuse for her own grudges. She was trying to yield her past suffering as a weapon against her sister, which would make Feyre just as furious as he was. She would never use the damage she experienced to hurt someone she loved, and that was the kind of friend he wanted in his life giving him advice. That was the kind of friend Cassian needed.

He had taken Nesta to the mountains and listened to her cry. He had heard from her mouth how she felt.

Worthless.

She had felt like she didn't deserve to be alive.

And apparently, Mor agreed.

It couldn't be wrong to have sympathy for her. It couldn't be wrong to want her. And he did want her. Cassian wanted everything with her. Was he a bad friend to Feyre for that? How, when his friend wanted the same thing?

"She saved my life twice. She was ready to die with me instead of running away. Does that mean nothing to you?" Above all, what broke Cassian's trust in her wasn't simply her disapproval of Nesta. Rather than that, what Cassian wasn't sure he could forgive was how little care she showed for him. "If you don't like her, that's fine. I don't care, and I can promise you she doesn't either. But don't you dare use Feyre or me as an excuse for it."

"I won't apologize for caring. I won't apologize for protecting my High Lady and my best friend, and the life you really want and deserve".

"At what point exactly did you decide Feyre's happiness was above Nesta's life? Was it after you met her, or had you already ranked your priorities the night Feyre told us about her sisters? Oh, sorry, our priorities, since apparently you know what I want better than I do." Cassian wasn't sure if he would have stopped his ranting right there if he had seen any regret coming from Mor, and he never got to find out. His friend's face was a mask of faked boredom as he spoke. "From all people, I would expect you guys to know what it's like to be perceived by outsiders in a way that's different from who you are as a measure of protection. You simply fail to understand that, for her, we've been the bad guys she has to be wary of since day one. And the reason is precisely that we made our minds clear about her in that fucking dinner party and refused to change it independently of what she did to be better".

He would know about it.

A blank expression was painted on her face. "You need to chill."

"Leave." he ordered. It was no up for discussion. Cassian couldn't even look at her right now. He was fuming and didn't want to say things he would later regret. As he opened the glass doors for Mor, he knew he would, unless one of them left.

"Are you seriously going to let a stupid fight about her get between us?"

It was the way she said her. Like she had said it a hundred times before, like others had pronounced as well, including him not so long ago.

Cassian turned to face the blonde, a special kind of anger glimmering in his eyes.

"Me?!" he screamed. Mor gave instinctively a step back, "Am I going to let it get between us!? You are the one who brought her up, Mor. You are the one who has a problem, and I'm the one pretending you don't trash her at every chance you get, so we can still be friends. I'm not the one letting an argument get between us, for the only thing I've been doing over five hundred years is make everything easier for you. And now, I'm done." Her eyes went wide.

But Cassian was now beyond turning. He had tried to leave and make her go to avoid exactly what was about to happen, "Are you seriously going to let a stupid sister fight only you care about at this point get between me and my happiness? You really despise her so much you would take the chance of being happy with Nesta away from me only to make her miserable?" he spat.

Cassian took a step forward and Mor gave another one back at the same time, recoiling. There was fear in her face as he made his way to her, a kind of fear he had never seen on her features whilst looking at him. "Just look at me in the eye and answer this question, Mor, and I promise there won't be more fights between us for better or worse: Would you rather have me unsatisfied for the rest of my days than have me happy, if that requires her being blissful as well? "

Her silence was too long. It was too damn long.

Cassian spread his wings, the glimmer of his siphons mirroring his anger, and went for the glass doors.

"I only want to protect you." Mor cried behind him. Cassian walked fast, but she was at his heels when he reached the banister, begging him to stop and listen.

One single tear run down her beautiful face. If any other person had made her shed a tear, he would be the first one going after them to make them suffer unimaginable pain. Mor was his best friend, had always been. Cassian thought there was nobody in the world he wouldn't at least beat up for making her sad the way she looked now. But he heard her whimper, saw the hurt, and realized it was too little compared to what she had inflicted on him. On Nesta.

She had gone too far. And at the same time, she was giving him too little.

He turned to face her, needing to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. A part of him refused to believe this was actually happening, wanted to trust in that, once he met her eyes again, he would see regret in her pupils. The hope he had learned from her ages ago making him give her one last look before he aimed for the sky.

Of course, Mor was too stubborn to show any kind of surrender. Too proud to be regretful.

"I am a 500 year old warrior. She is a 25 year old female whose family she can't talk to without pushing them away. And you think I'm the one who needs protection because she is mean to those she doesn't like."

It was not a question. Cassian wanted Mor to hear what her case sound like to him. Before he left, Cassian wanted her to know this was not going to be a short argument and they wouldn't be having lunch together next week. It was a breaking point in their friendship, and he was going to stand on this hill as long as it took, unmoving no matter how many jibes she trowed at him or how many tears wetted her face.

Mor cried in silence, and only because the winter breeze was cooling him down, he didn't get angrier at her for that, at himself, and at the world. Why did they always find a way to make things harder than they should be?

"Wait, please, don't go." The sound of his wings spreading again almost prevented him from hearing her whimper as she said, "I can still teach you one last dance," she murmured. Cassian listened carefully, she didn't dare moving, monitoring his position as if he were a wild animal and she was a rabbit trying to be discrete to not become his prey "There is one gavotte they are likely to play. She is so good at it, you would think she's known the moves for decades and not days."

A temtative hand reached for his arm and stayed there. He had never seen Mor stutter, especially when it came to him. Cassian had always been her best friend, the one who never got mad at her and she could count on. Now she was unsure if he was leaving for the day, or if he was flying away from her for Cauldron knows how long. She didn't tighten her grip on him when he didn't push her away, it remained light and unsure. "I think you already know it, but we can practice that one a couple of times. Just in case you get a chance to dance with her. You'll look great by her side... like it's meant to be".

Cassian noticed his cheeks were wet as well. His gaze burned so fiercely Mor couldn't hold his stare. With anger still painted all over his features, Cassian nodded and followed her inside again.

Mor didn't say a bad word about her for the rest of the evening, and even if he couldn't know where she went afterwards to rant about it, he appreciated her silence.

---

A couple of minutes after her orgasm, Nesta's legs were still shaking. Cassian drove his hand up and down her thighs, feeling her soft skin with the excuse of a massage to help her muscles relax.

He needed to calm down as well -it had been a particularly long day. Nesta had been happy to follow him into his room after dinner, feeling something was off. He had to restrain himself from telling her when she asked about it. First, because he didn't want her to know he was taking dance lessons with Mor. She would know the reason behind it in a second, and he didn't feel like exposing himself like that for a second time that day.

He also couldn't tell her about the argument that hours later still kept his head bussy. He didn't want her to know how frivolously she had been discussed, what both Mor and him had said about her in the same living room where their kisses after dinner had started.

Nesta's breathing was steady, tranquil. His cock was still inside her. He needed to feel her touch. She wasn't in conditions to leave his room even if he came out of her, but Cassian didn't want to give her a chance to get rid of him just yet. He needed her presence there a little longer.

Nesta's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pressing his head to the crook of her neck. He kissed the soft skin and felt her pulse beat fast against his lips. The path of wet kisses he planted all the way up to the spot behind her ear made her moan.

Cassian felt his blood rushing back to his cock.

With his hands, he cupped her breasts. A sigh escaped her swollen lips, his own closing around a hard nipple. Cassian marked with kisses and playful bites his way down her abdomen to the apex of her thighs. Nesta's let a loud moan escape when his tongue hit with precision her bundle of nerves, drawing circles around it. Teasing her. Making her wetter if that was even possible.

Unaffected by Nesta's pleas, he enjoyed playing with her, his mouth exploring her folds as if wanting to drink her in. Cassian couldn't hear anything, the sinful sounds she let out a song his blood echoed, roaring in his ears. Her hand found his head, her hips clashing against him as she tried to ride his face. Oh, he loved it when she did that, so desperate to have him closer, for his touch to never leave her.

It was his lust what determined every movement his body made, convincing Casian he could reach heaven just by climbing up her hips. Cassian didn't stop until he felt her thighs clench the sides of his head. The hand that held him fixed between her legs became a fist in his hair, encouraging him to keep going, keep licking and keep playing with her most sensitive spot until his tongue took her over the edge one more time.

Yet he hadn't had enough of her. He needed more and more, and after each time they slept together, the urge to have her again grew stronger, as Cassian became more impatient for the next time. Nesta felt the same way, by how her hands found his wings by reaching behind his shoulders and aroused him again. A grin spread through her face when he let his lover play with him in whatever way she pleased. Whatever she wanted from him, Cassian would give.

He climaxed one more time all over her breasts, before he finally renounced to her body. He was content resting by her side, their legs tangled under the sheets.

It was now a matter of time before Nesta left his room.

Cassian's legs tangled with hers. Nesta moved idly against him, making herself comfortable. Their bodies fitted together like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, their breaths the only sound in the room. He could tell she was cold as he once again found himself caressing her arms, pale like porcelain under the moonlight that came through the window. Cassian pulled the sheets to cover them and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Nesta had her walls down. She looked so peaceful curled up against him.

"You don't like us, do you?" even if he whispered the words, they were loud in the silence of the room.

Nesta was fighting to focus her sight, just as tired as he was. "What do you mean?" Oh Cauldron. That raspy voice of hers after sex. Too much moaning for her own good. And he hadn't even enjoyed her throat that night. He had to picture terrible things in his head so his cock would behave and not react to her "that was really great sex" voice.

"My friends and I. The Inner Circle as a whole, you could say." His hand rested in the small of Nesta's back, drawing lazy circles.

She maneuvered to get rid of his touch, sitting up on the bed. The absence of her body against him was painfully obvious. Cassian laid on his back, fighting the impulse to sit up as well. He moved his hands to his nape with faked laziness, as if the question was simple small talk. Yeah... the small talk they never had after sex. Not weird or suspicious at all.

Good job, you idiot. She's not coming to your room in weeks. He cursed himself.

He couldn't withdraw now, it was too late. Nesta's gaze was feline. On guard.

"I don't think I dislike any of you more than you dislike me."

"Hey, I don't dislike you!" he ignored the cautiosness on her tone. He would pretend everything was okay and pray Nesta somehow went with it, "I would say, in fact, that I am very fond of you. And so is Az, for what's worth."

She smiled, a cold grin that didn't seem to fit with the rest of her face, still flushed, eyes glassy and tired. "Then you don't have to worry about it." He said nothing, only kept looking at her. He had learned that, if he waited long enough, she would go on. It could be only to insult him and then leave... but she would go on.

---

Nesta sighed. Where was he going with this? What was she even supposed to respond? No, she didn't like half of them... that if she counted the ones she barely tolerated. But she could sit in the same table as them and be civil. She was even working for them, so why he would bring that up two minutes after he came all over her, was beyond Nesta.

"I thought you didn't care what your friends thought of this" she pointed between the two of them, her gesture just as calculatedly casual as his had been.

A wet washcloth appeared on his nightstand. Nesta mentally thanked the house for her timing. If she was forced to have this conversation, she would rather be clean for it. Nesta rubbed it on her chest, Cassian's gaze following and fixing on her breasts. She cleared her throat, urging him to answer.

"And I don't. I was just curious if you did."

Nesta sigh.

"You've snapped at me before for calling one of you an asshole, Cassian. Do you really expect me to go on a detailed answer on how much I value them and their opinions?" Cassian tightened his jaw, but didn't answer. He waited for her to go on, knowing his silence was pressure enough for her to give in and talk.

If she said she didn't mind what they thought of her, she would be lying. But if she told him she did care, she would be lying as well. It wasn't that simple, a "yes" or a "no".

Nesta cared and worried about their opinions, not because she valued their judgement, but because she was still afraid she didn't have enough power in that Court to face their truth with hers. She had her own thoughts about them, but they didn't have the weight on Cassian one word from any of his friends had.

Nobody ever asked her what she thought of them, because it didn't really matter. Yet everyone expected Nesta to take into consideration what they wanted -who they expected her to be. They had crossed the line in the most disgusting ways to make sure she did the right changes to fit into the mold they had created for her. And Cassian had been a part of it.

Now, from all people, Cassian was asking.

"Don't mention them when we are in bed if you want to see me here again." that was the little bargain power she was sure she had over him. The territory she could claim for herself.

Once again, it took Cassian some time to come up with his own words. Nesta's brain was going a thousand thoughts per minute, reading his face, his body, trying to anticipate where he was going to strike next. He had chosen to bring this up right after sex, when she was slower with her wit. Prick.

When Nesta thought he simply wouldn't answer, Cassian finally sat on the mattress, shoulders down, his body apparently relaxed, his muscles tense and wings tucked in "I know this is just sex, and that's enough for me. I'll take it." As he mouthed the words, Nesta came out of the mist that clouded her thoughts, ready to cover up any crack on her armor. "I just want to know if my friends have anything to do with you not wanting... more."

For that, the answer was yes. She did worry what they thought of Cassian and her being... close, only because she wasn't sure what Cassian would do if they didn't approve of them together.

Nesta didn't care, but she worried what it would mean for her if they asked him to leave. Nesta was sure she meant enough to Cassian for him to put on some resistance. But when push came to shove, if they ever asked him to choose, she doubted Cassian would put her before them.

And she wasn't ready to be broken like that.

There was one thing about Cassian she admired above anything else he had and was, and that was his loyalty. Absolutely unmoving. She saw first-hand how this male loved, so ardently, so unwavering. If Cassian was asked to choose and chose his friends, she wouldn't blame him, she would understand. She had seen him put his life on the line for them without thinking, the act natural to him.

It was knowing that Cassian wasn't the obedient dog others had claimed him to be what would be devastating for her. To be so sure that he didn't feel the need to follow his High Lord to the end of the world.

If he chose them, duty wouldn't be the reason. Cassian would do it because he literally loved them more.

It was precisely that what made her so afraid to let him in. To not know if whatever he wanted from her would ever mean to him as much as the bonds he already had. If there was a chance for him to value it even above those. Because she wouldn't take less.

Nesta couldn't tell him she didn't care what they thought, for it would be a lie. And she couldn't tell him about her reasons either without bearing her heart more than she was ready for. And every time she reminded him -or herself- that it was just sex, she remembered why she refused to give him anything else.

So yes, Nesta cared about what they thought only because she feared them in a way Cassian wouldn't understand. He had defended them against her in the past like he didn't know that side of them existed at all.

Unable to answer, Nesta nodded.

Cassian took in her gesture. At his silence, Nesta practically launched herself out of Cassian's bed, aiming for the door and grabbing her nightgown on her way.

He was there before she could grip the knob. His hand slammed the door to make sure she couldn't open it. Nesta turned on her heels to face him, angry at how aggressive his gesture was. At the audacity to behave like this after she gave him the answer he had asked for, only because he hadn't liked it.

She was trapped between his body and the wooden door, her face an inch apart from his naked chest. Because they were still naked. He banged his head against the door and closed his eyes.

"You know I would give my life for you. In a heartbeat. Without hesitation." Nesta could feel her mouth dry. She couldn't believe he was making a scene about this, considering what her mission the next day. What had happened that afternoon before she came back from the Library to shake him like this? "You know that, right?" Cassian insisted.

She nodded one more time, her forehead brushing his shoulder.

"I know you have good reasons to want them far away from you, Nes, but they are part of my life. My family. When I ask myself what I want in my future, I know I want them in it. We've been through so much together that I really can't picture my life without them at this point. To be honest, I don't want to picture it either."

Nesta's throat burned and so did her eyes, lined with tears. She wasn't ready to listen to this coming from his lips.

"But I want you too, and I don't even know if you think that's possible or if I'm making a fool of myself by trying to go after you."

She was glad Cassian had his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the mess she became as his words hit her. Nesta closed them as well, so the tears didn't come out. "We have a mission tomorrow, Cassian. I need to get some sleep and be well rested."

He didn't move.

"Let's not jeopardy the mission for a question you already know the answer for".

In a matter of hours she was going to be dancing with Eris in Hewn City trying to lure him into an alliance with his beloved friends because they had asked that from her. And she had agreed because the future of the frail political situation they were in depended on it. She needed to focus her mind back on that. She told herself that by doing so, she would forget about his confrontation, and by some miracle he wouldn't bring it up again after that.

"Why did you even accept to help with that plan, Nesta?" Cassian asked again, an angry whisper in her ear.

Because it's worse to stay in my room while you are there with them and wonder if you would vanish away once again if I don't follow all of you wherever you go.

The low light of the lamp threw shadows on Cassian's hazel eyes when he opened them to look straight into hers. They were so beautiful. He stretched his arm to cup her hand, but Nesta hid it in her lap before he could.

His arm hung there for a moment, as if not knowing what to do with it.

Don't worry, Cassian, I'm choosing this for myself. I'll do it. I want to do it.

And in return, she only asked him to keep things casual.

Nesta knew it was unfair to him. She was giving him no choice. It was selfish. But no one expected anything better from her anyway. She was self-absorbed, everyone knew that. It seemed to be her defining characteristic in their eyes from the beginning. No need to change that now. The only thing Nesta was willing to replace was her relationship with herself, with who she was. The only goal in her mind was to be as ready to fight for her life as she was to give it for others. Only then, she would be able to share her heart the way she wanted to. And if he was still around when that happened, she would gladly give him a piece. Just not yet.

It would take time, but he had promised to stay no matter how long it took. He had sworn.

Her voice was too close to cracking. "You should go get some rest as well. Don't think too much about this, Cassian. It's just sex, remember?"

"Just sex" he agreed.

Nesta moved her hands up and carefully placed them on his chest to push him away. He obediently gave a step back, freeing her. She went straight for the door knob and opened it. Nesta exited as fast as she could to turn her back on him before he saw the effect his damned questions had had on her.

"And I have no intention of changing that for my own reasons. Your friends have nothing to do with it."

It's you, she thought.

"So many things are happening to me at the same time," she said instead, "that...I don't even know how to deal with them and not have a breakdown every five minutes. I need you to be the one thing in my life that is easy. Please." there was no point in hiding her weeping anymore. "And I don't need anyone to die for me. I would hate that, actually. I want someone who is going to stay alive and by my side all the way. And that's why you need to let go." Nesta wasn't sure whose heartbeat she was hearing, but it was thundering at an alarming pace.

"I understand" he said. His voice was not her lover's caring tone, nor her friend's easy-going voice. He was putting distance between them, making it impersonal. She didn't blame him, as she did the same thing and closed the door behind her.

She went straight to her room and asked the House to warm up the cold space.

There were no dreams for her that night.

---

On the same room one floor above, Cassian stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to find sleep.

The sun came up before he got to close his eyes, still thinking about what Nesta had asked from him. What his High Lord had asked from him aligning with her request as well. What Mor thought of it all. The ball and Eris being the one to spend the entire night with Nesta Archeron.

He had a job to do, a character to play he knew too well to mess it up even if he had gotten no rest, so that part didn't worry him one bit.

Only when he finally got up with the first rays of sunshine, Cassian came to terms with what he would do that night and how far was he willing to go. If what he wanted for himself was worth risking all the good things he already had, both with his friends and with her.

Maybe it was time to stop being a coward who adapted to the group's needs. Maybe it was time he gave the first step. Or perhaps he would do better waiting, not rushing things and allowing people to come to him whenever they were ready. No. The person he had in mind the entire night and kept him from resting would never go to him, pride and uncertainty preventing her from taking risks with him. Yet one step too far could mean three steps back, and then none of it would be worth it.

Mor was right, he was not being his old self as he took a cold shower, put on his leathers, and flew to the River House to put Rhys' plan for tonight into motion. Cassian was not being the illyrian Commander they had always known when he stepped into Hewn City armed to his teeth and ready to improvise and do absolutely everything his heart asked him to do.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 15: Silk and Salt

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

A real date.

Mulder hasn’t been on a blatant, show-up-with-roses, ‘I’m into you and would like to get laid maybe’ date in a good five years. Possibly longer; he really doesn’t remember at this point. His life before Scully seems strangely two-dimensional in memory these days.

Part of him thinks that fancy dinners or elegant nights out don’t really seem like their style, but he figures they can decide together after the fact. They have to try it at least once, right? God knows she deserves it.

They’re busy with Mulder’s Gettysburg ghost case for the next few days (he was right, which Scully would not accept), but by Wednesday things have settled down, and he’s able to plan.

“Saturday, May sixteenth, at five,” he announces without preamble on Thursday morning. “I’ll pick you up. And don’t be alarmed, but I’ll be wearing a tuxedo.”

“Okay,” she says, surprised. “I take it this is the date I requested?”

“Yes it is,” he replies. “But that’s all I’m going to reveal. The details are a surprise, and if I recall correctly, somebody wanted to keep personal discussions outside of working hours, so by that metric I’ve already said too much.”

Scully presses her lips together, nodding. “Say no more,” she says. “Now where’s your report?”

He’s not nervous. He’s a grown man; a federal agent, for fuck’s sake. This is nothing compared to some of the tense situations he’s been in throughout his career. Knocking on his partner’s door with a bouquet of red roses under his arm doesn’t even make the list.

Regardless… he’s a little nervous.

Scully opens the door in a flurry of dark blue silk and delicate perfume. “Wow, hi,” she breathes, stepping back and opening the door wider. “Nice tux.”

“Thanks,” he says faintly, drinking in the sight of her.

She’s wearing a silky floor length slip dress with teeny little straps, and he has the fleeting image of snapping them with his teeth, leaving bite marks on her smooth shoulders. She sees him staring and smiles.

“Navy blue; exciting, isn’t it,” she says, gesturing sheepishly to the dress. “I can only handle one fashion adventure at a time.”

His eyes travel her body, appreciating the way the fabric skims her hips. “You look incredible, Scully,” he says, voice oddly hoarse. He clears his throat. “These are for you,” he adds unnecessarily, holding out the bouquet.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the roses. “These are gorgeous, Mulder. Let me put them in water.” She steps into the kitchen and sets the bouquet on the counter. “You know, the last time somebody gave me flowers, I was dying of cancer,” she says conversationally, bending to retrieve a vase from the cupboard under the sink. “Needless to say, this is a preferable occasion.”

“Mark didn’t…?”

“No,” Scully replies, filling the vase under the tap. “I think flowers happen less in real life than they do in movies, at least in my experience. I can count on one hand the number of times a date brought me a bouquet.”

“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers, so I think I have you beat,” Mulder says.

“I’ll get you some sometime,” Scully says, and it doesn’t seem like she’s joking. She unwraps the stems and places them in the vase. “I’ll give them food and a fresh cut later,” she says, and Mulder nods as though he understands flower care. So water’s not enough…?

“So where are we going?” Scully asks, taking her wrap off the back of the couch and draping it over her shoulders. “I’m assuming - actually, hoping - there’s food involved.”

“I would never neglect to feed a lady,” Mulder assures her. “We have reservations somewhere, but that’s after this.” He withdraws an envelope from his jacket and hands it to her.

Scully peeks into the envelope and pulls out two tickets, scanning the tiny print. “The Kennedy Center?” she says in surprise.

He nods. “The National Symphony Orchestra is playing a selection of Vaughan Williams,” he replies. “Thought you might like it.”

“Mulder, this is amazing,” she says. “I haven’t heard live music in ages. It’s one of those things that’s hard to prioritize.” She slips the tickets back into the envelope and hands it back to him. “So, are you ready to go?” she asks, picking up her little evening bag, gathering the long chain in one hand. She loops the other around his elbow.

He tucks the tickets back into his jacket pocket. “Let’s go paint the town.”

In Mulder’s estimation, one of the best things about going to the symphony is that there’s not much to watch aside from the waving arms of the conductor. Therefore he feels free to close his eyes, absorb the music, daydream a little without risking missing anything important.

The most important thing, after all, is sitting right next to him.

He glances at Scully often, taking in her beautiful face, the rapturous look in her eyes, the elegant curve of her nose, her tender mouth. He loves the way she wore her hair tonight; it’s shiny and wavy, pulled back on one side with a little comb. He fantasizes about slipping the comb out of her hair, sifting his fingers through crimson strands as he draws her in for a kiss. Feeling tendrils brush his face as his lips travel to her earlobe, her neck…

She’s looking at him now, an eyebrow arched. He shrugs, heat in his cheeks as he faces forward again.

He feels something brushing his finger and glances down to see her small, manicured hand creep on top of his, their little fingers intertwining.

The music soars, and he floats away with it.

“That was wonderful,” she says as they walk out of the theatre. “The last piece especially, The Lark Ascending,” she notes, glancing at the program. “It was magical. I’m so glad we did this.”

“Not bad for our first real date?” Mulder asks, hand on the small of her back. He secretly relishes the slip the fabric beneath his palm.

“Not bad at all,” she replies, smiling up at him. God, what did he ever do to deserve that smile? He’s grossly inadequate.

Mulder glances at his watch when they reach his car. “I expected the concert to be longer,” he admits, wincing. “Our reservation isn’t until eight, at that French place on northwest M Street.”

At that exact moment, Mulder hears Scully’s stomach growl.

She looks up at him apologetically. “You can ignore that, can’t you?”

“How hungry are you, Scully?” he asks, leaning against the car. She grabs his elbow and pulls him forward. “Mulder, you’re going to get dusty,” she warns. “And I’ll admit I haven’t eaten much today… I’ll admit I was a little nervous.”

“You were nervous? Why?” he asks, concerned.

“Well, nervous and excited. Because this… this is new. It’s a good thing,” she explains, “But it’s going to take some time to get used to.”

He nods. “Adjusting.”

“Exactly.”

Her stomach lets out another rumble.

“Scully, we should eat now. We can save the restaurant for another time,” he says. “I can’t have you passing out on me; you’re the doctor in this partnership. What’re you in the mood for?”

She licks her lips. “Don’t laugh,” she warns. “Actually, let’s just start walking,” she says, looping an arm with his. “There’s a spot not far from here that I really like. It’ll be a surprise.”

This is incredible.

Mulder wasn’t aware that it was possible to fall this hard for a person, but Scully never ceases to amaze him. Of all the places she could have picked, she chose an ancient, cramped little fish and chips shop down by the Potomac. So here they are, dressed to the nines at a tiny table with two heaping baskets of fish and chips between them. Their ten minute walk had made them both a little warm; his jacket is off, shirt sleeves rolled up, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. Scully’s shawl is draped over the back of her chair, her arms enticingly bare as she cuts tender sections off of a slab of crispy battered cod.

“People are staring at us,” she says in a low tone, dipping a bite of fish into the saggy paper cup of tartar sauce. “You think maybe we’re overdressed?”

He grins at her. “Might be. They’re all looking at you,” he insists. “A gorgeous redhead in a silk gown, chowing down on greasy seafood? It’s like spotting Halley’s Comet,”

She locks eyes with him as she chews, a smile quirking her lips. “You think I’m gorgeous?” she teases.

“Of course,” he replies easily, pouring ketchup over his chips. “And brilliant, and compassionate, and adorable, and-”

“Stop,” she implores, holding up a hand. “I can only handle one compliment at a time.”

“Then we gotta increase your stamina, Scully, because I could easily go on.”

“Oh could you?” she says, raising a brow. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“I’m ready when you are,” he replies.

“Mm,” she hums, busying herself with her fork. “I’ll keep you posted.”

He leans forward, knees bumping hers beneath the postage stamp-sized table. “Can I confess something?”

“Sure,” she replies, popping a chip into her mouth and brushing salt off her fingertips.

“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again. I would have earlier but your lipstick looked really nice and I didn’t want to smudge it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Wow,” she says softly. She drops her hand to the table, runs a fingertip over his knuckles. “Well, when we get out of here…” she trails off suggestively.

He hopes she doesn’t notice him start to chew faster.

[cannedstring]

hiiii! i’m ella :-) here’s a quick lil’ intro on violetta below before i hope off to w*rk. i’m sry it sucks. i do more later? maybe? so excited to be here.

◜  *  :  alisha boe . cis woman & she/her . the beach ii by wolf alice .  ━━  the legend surrounding london’s l’academiae furorum would not be complete without VIOLETTA LARSEN . the academy's TWENTY-THREE year old FIRST SOLOIST has returned to furore for SIX MONTHS , oft described as LAX, STARRY-EYED, CANDID, DISTANT  &  has proved utterly indispensable to the company. in passing , they’ve come to be associated with SALTED CITRUS ON THE RIM OF SOMETHING CRISP AND BURNING — CRUSHED LEAVES SEEPING EARTH BETWEEN CLASPED HANDS &  vibrations on a worn-out stage, feet against warmed hardwood, leaping and spinning . hair in waves, held by saltwater, dewy-afterglow as the sun’s first rays fall upon last night's sparkles and laughter . and mind masked by the right amount of hazy, chest bubbling as everything shifts to more pretty, more nice . whether this will be their final curtain call is anyone's guess  &  the company’s worst nightmare .  

pinterest.

sahra rose quickly, naturally gifted but also a hard worker. danced on air, moves as smooth as they were sharp. style noted once as ‘uncomfortably beautiful’. alexander was a quiet, serious pianist who at first glance would go unnoticed, blended into the rest of the orchestra, but when he played, all eyes fell on him. a classic tale of romance. she danced to his music. he created music for her to dance to. they became bonded by the endless act of creating something great from nothing.

violetta was a ‘something great’ in their eyes, despite the way her formation had cut the careers of her mother and father short. they wished for something beyond the halls of furore. to create their own legacy and they did. traveled all over the place with baby, then child, then teenager, violetta, in tow. sahra and alexander — goodwill ambassadors, worked to build schools to spread dancing and music all over. socialites at the brim of the best events and ideas. 

they never imposed any boundaries on their sole daughter. she grew up learning from her parents but also whoever and whatever caught her eye. exuding confidence in the most cool-girl-culture-esque way with the shadow of nepotism ofc but you could never really pin violetta down. 

she seems to deal with everything  (annoyingly) with so much ease, doesn't know the concept of worrying (may be because of the fact that she always carries the best weed and shrooms — a must), knows about all the drama but never involved in any of the drama.

quintessentially she’s kid cudi dancing during electric feel at mgmt coachella set but as a person ifykyk

her venture at furore may have been expected all things considered but it wasn’t. a whim like many other things that violetta decided to tread into. although, she had her mother’s trainings and her father’s music and did all the right things albeit in very wrong ways, but it created her own unique style, not as perfect as her mother’s, but effortless, ripples in a stream. she kept at it for two years, the promise of principal dancer was there before she decided that her journey was over and went onto pursue other things to the chagrin of the academy. just bc she felt like it. violetta was seemingly unperturbed and went into acting, traveled some more, did a few apartment-tour-what’s-in-my-bag maunders. 

two years passed and she decided to return. by another whim was a reason accepted by most, although many had expected the academy to completely bar her, but again preference by bloodline ruled. violetta wasn’t made principal dancer though, first shunted to second soloist (to set an example) but then quickly first soloist once more.

in reality, violetta’s return was the most planned thing she had ever done in her entire life. meetings with her parents were booked as ‘dinner with sahra & alexander at 8 pm’, but their family dynamic was never the norm. still filled with love and joy. the news during one said dinner cast an ugly dent onto all of the great things that had been built. (illness tw) alexander was sick, had months — maybe — but it was all uncertain. the only uncertain violetta ever had difficulty dealing with in her life.

love was always characterized by passion in violetta’s mind and it felt right, needed, that both of her parents saw her dance on the stage to the song alexander had written for her, when she was born composed of notes that her mother had danced to all laced together. it was a way of managing grief. of saying all the things she wanted to say to him, and them.

[d-criss-news]

Actor And Producer Darren Criss Reveals His Creative Process

The producer, singer and actor talks his approach to songwriting, discovering his sound and how he’s ready for the next chapter.

We don’t know about you, but we’re currently experiencing the Bank Holiday blues. With the realisation that our days of summer maybe coming to an end were in need of uplifting sounds and singer-songwriter Darren Criss is keeping the energy going with his fun-filled EP “Masquerade”. Between the slick alt-pop productions and high-octane energy, the artist puts his theatrical abilities and prowess at the forefront of the EP. Laced with serene dance floor-ready melodies, the actor and musician instantly gets the party going on the project, kicking it off with “f*kn around”.

“The dirty secret is that every song is character-driven,” the artist revealed when discussing the project. “I just chose wording that could perhaps aid people into understanding this exploration of genre, this self-aware exploration of genre a little more. For those people that only know me as an actor, I’m trying to guide them into this notion of music and songs being a form of acting.”

No newcomer to the scene, the artist has spent the past decade gracing our screens in the cult favourite Glee and the thrilling Assassination of Versace: American Crime Story. Wanting to continue his musical journey in the form of producing and writing, we caught up with the multi-faceted artist talking his growth over the years, staying creative in a pandemic and how he’s ready for the next chapter.

Check out the interview below now…

Hey Darren, how are you? How has this past year been for you? It’s a strange question to answer because everybody’s answer is so much more complicated than what you can say in a quick easy tight polite answer. You know, I’m well, as well as one could be given the situation. I feel, you know, luckier than most. Even with the music that I just put out there’s still more that I’d like to do, but I got to do even more than I thought I’d be able to. So that tends to be kind of the theme of the past year and a half. I feel like I’ve been so consumed by working on so many things for so long, that not a lot of people outside of my inner circle know about that. You know, it’s been a lot of high output but seemingly low visibility. So now finally getting to put out some of these things and talk about them… tipped scale of visibility versus output is hopefully having a chance to even out for a bit, to where the amount of work I’ve put in can somehow match that people you know may or may not know about what I’m doing. You know, I’ve been really busy. I’m the kind of guy where if you give me a white canvas it’s a more…I wouldn’t say stressful, but I’m more likely to fill up a blank canvas immediately with as much shit as possible – I guess that is more stressful than having only a few places to fit things in, and I usually keep pretty busy. Ironically when I’m really busy, that’s when I can get stuff done. Like you know that phrase ‘if you want something done ask the busiest person in the room’, and I think there’s a degree of truth to that because you know, the chaos kind of begets chaos, and productivity begets productivity, and in a lack of anything else to do it was like ‘I wanna do all these things!’ and then it gets really crammed, so it’s nice to be kind of simmering down from this overwhelming call to arms to get as many things done as I could with this new unprecedented free time that I had. So, in short, I guess, am well if you wanna use that! I feel, I’m just relieved that a lot of this stuff can exist somewhere outside of my head but it’s a complicated answer, I’ve been able to do a lot more than I thought I’d be able to.

With everything that happened last year, was your creativity affected? The time that it yielded is the kind of time that a lot of creative people fantasise about. Of course, we would have all preferred it in a very different way when you say ‘if only I had time to sit down and work on this’. I think we all have; I say creative people but we all say, ‘if only I had time to paint the kitchen, learn a language, get in shape’, you know do something different that requires a bit of time and focus. We were all given that golden ticket, of course take that with a massive grain of salt, I’m fully aware of the price with which that came, of course if we had the choice, I don’t think any of us would have wanted it to happen the way it did. But none the less, for those of us who did take the time to focus, to hopefully be productive and proactive with the situation we were thrown into, it was creatively beneficial to finally get to address things that had been sitting kind of on deck and dormant in my mind, and it was just a matter of having the time to give them any attention. One of the joys of jumping between acting and music is there is a battle of time commitment, because neither one is a thing you can do casually. If you’re acting in something, there’s a great degree of scheduling that really eats up a large chunk of your day. While I’m in an acting project, I’m writing stuff and playing music but the actual logistics of producing music is as time consuming as the acting. I am envious of people that can kind of just show up, sing a song and leave. I, unfortunately, am not that kind of person. Writing a song is only a small piece of putting music out. Production really does take a large part of my emotional and intellectual efforts, and I really dive in head on. And that’s not even mentioning the promotional side of it. So, it really does take a lot of time to dive into those things, and I was finally given that. If anything, it was hard to decide what part of my musical menu that I wanted to serve up. It just came to a matter of what felt right at the time, what seemed fun. I kind of wanted to put out something that was positive and fun, and unapologetically so. And something that really showed up for a side of me that I felt like hadn’t been represented in the past. The musician side, and unfortunately, we haven’t been able to perform these very much. We’ve done little videos here and there. Stuff that really showed my roots as a musician, a garage rock guy, a guy that really likes getting in the weeds of production. In the past I’ve put up things that are a little more analogue, singer-songwritey, and this is more me as a producer and a musician.

How did you first get into music, what sparked the interest? Well, I’ve been playing music my whole life, and not casually either. It’s such a massive part of my identity, and that’s one of the main driving forces of me wanting to put out as much music as I possibly can. These five songs on this EP are a small part of a much larger body of work that I’m dying to get out whenever I can. When you’re a songwriter, or just in general a creative person, you have more ideas back logged than your body can execute. This is only a small part of a much larger puzzle, and a lot of these songs, the ones that I’ve put out and the ones I’m still trying to put out, are ghosts that have been haunting me however many years., some more than a decade, some more than two decades. The reason I mention this is because I’m trying to illustrate how pivotal music and making music has been throughout my life. I started playing violin when I was 5, and that was a big part of my cultural education, learning how to play an instrument that is so dynamic and requires a pretty specific ear and technical ability. Now I’m not saying I was fantastic at the violin, but I think the training that I had on it from 5 until my late teens really shaped the way that I would create music and think about music, certainly as a writer and a producer, but with just how I would jump between other instruments as well, because the violin was such a great touchstone for me to end up taking up the piano or guitar, or drums, or other instruments that would really formulate how I create music. Between being the orchestra nerd kid that played a lot of music throughout my young life, and also being the guy that would play in bands, its just been such a huge part of my life. As I’ve gotten older and gotten to understand this other version of myself that exists in more of a public view, that has little to do with that I know, I have started to notice that person, that avatar of myself, isn’t necessarily associated with music. And that was troubling to me, so I wanted to rectify that.”

And now you’ve just dropped your EP, talk us through your mindset going into the project? If I was just a recording artist, and that’s all I did, I’d like to think that I’d have a much larger body of work to show for. I feel like a lot of songwriters feel this way. There is just simply too much music…now I’m not gonna say it’s all fantastic, there’s a reason you have to triage the ones that you think are the best at the time, and there are many songs that I feel would be outdated, they feel very of the time 10 years ago. But you’re always trying to put your best foot forward with the pile you have lurking behind you. So, it is a hard thing to decide which thing you want to put out. Killing your darlings is always a hard thing, figuring out which ones to really focus on is difficult and it usually comes down to who you decide to collaborate with – right before the pandemic was one of the most tumultuous times of my career where I was producing and acting in a show for Netflix, and I was also kind of show running, acting, writing music for, editing, doing everything for this other show I created called ‘Royalties’ on another platform. I was doing both at the same time, and one of the things that made this possible was the people that I would collaborate with. A young man by the name of CJ Baron who I produced and wrote this EP with, he’s sort of the midwife that I chose out of working on Royalties because we had a lot of great songs together. I keep referring to myself as a producer, but I do it from a much more cerebral space, whereas he is a much better technical producer than I am. We really shared a lot in common, so by the time I realised that I wanted to make a piece of music you have to decide ‘who do I want to go down this yellow brick road with?’ And when I decide with CJ, that kind of already hinted at the kind of music that I would put out because he has his own fingerprint, and so I thought there’s something that I have that might mesh well with that fingerprint, so that kind of helps the decision process along of what songs am I gonna put out. But in another world CJ wasn’t interested, so then I think ‘Okay let me try and produce an album with this person’, and that person would reveal a different selection of songs. I’m very open to seeing what the universe is allowing and pushing towards, and I kind of follow that northern star to figure out what songs I’m gonna put out. But the mindset was always ‘put something out’, on a completely pragmatic level. What did I want to have to show for if whenever we got out of this crazy, new age of ‘what does this pandemic mean? We have time to do stuff, when it’s over what do I want to sit there and say that I accomplished?’ And at the very least I needed to put out a few songs, so that was really my mindset – no excuses, this is the time that you used to hope for, and so what are you gonna do if you’ve got the golden ticket, you’ve won the time lottery – so don’t fuck it up Darren! That was my mindset.

You describe them as character-driven singles, why is this? The dirty secret is that every song is character-driven, I just chose wording that could perhaps aid people into understanding this exploration of genre, this self-aware exploration of genre a little more. For those people that only know me as an actor, I’m trying to guide them into this notion of music and songs being a form of acting. The number one question I always get it ‘which one do you prefer?’ and I always say they are the same to me. When I’m an actor I treat characters, characterisation of my voice and body, characterisation of how I deliver words like a piece of music. You’re scoring it the same way, there’s cadence, dynamics, volume, nuance, all kind of things that can make ‘a piece of music’ unique to a person. And that’s how I treat dialogue and characterisation. The other side of that coin is I treat music like I’m acting, like each song has its own character when you’re playing live or recording in a booth. You are donning the proverbial mask of that character and what it requires. I really wanted to keep people into this idea that at the end of the day, it’s all performative and all part of a narrative that don’t necessarily have to do with each other and the way that if you ask Alexa to play a ‘Jack Nicholson playlist’ it would be very disjointed. It would be like okay The Shining, that’s a vibe, and then it would go to As Good As It Gets, and that’s a completely different vibe. They wouldn’t necessarily be on the same playlist, but they are distinctly and undeniably Jack Nicholson. So I always thought that it was a bit of a double standard that actors can do this but in music, you know, I’m proud of this but it’s also very annoying – a lot of my songs would probably not playlist together on the same genres because you have more jazz songs, like a trip hop chill tune that might end up in the back of a Starbucks, but that wouldn’t necessarily go on the same playlist as a tune like ‘I Can’t Dance’, which is a crazy song because it doesn’t even sound like me, I’m literally putting on a different voice, I’m singing like two different people putting on an affectation. There’s a lot of things that are very different but uniquely and distinctly me. The word masquerade is a celebration of a lot of different masks, and in theatre we talk about ‘The Masque’, and how each Masque has it’s own style, history and culture, and I really love the genre, and I love Masques, and I love things that make them interesting, and celebrating things that make them unique, and really trying to maximise their effectiveness as a genre with whatever tools I have as an artist, so that’s really what I’m trying to go for, this whole character driven idea is – it’s all a masquerade.

It very much has a fun-filled vibe to it, was this your intention and why? I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I sat in a studio saying ‘Hey lets not have fun!’, especially during a time that was as fraught with a lot of troubled times. This EP was recorded during very troubling times, so I think I’d be delusional to think that whatever joy is in this EP was not some kind of reaction to that, trying to offer something positive is definitely my MO in life in general, so that’s always gonna bleed its way onto my records. Like it or not. The intention is to record things that can be effective. If the vibe you feel is fun, great. If you feel any vibe at all, whatever the fuck that means, that’s a win for me. If that happens to be the word ‘fun’ then awesome, there’s a lot shittier adjectives that can be derived from this body of work so I will absolutely take it. My intentions are again to try and honour the songs. When you write something it has its own magnetic pull, it has it’s own gravitational pull that you have to kind of follow. If a song sounds a certain way, you want the lyrics to feel the same way that it sounds, and you want the production to feel the way that it vibes for lack of a better word. All songs have different body types and dressing it up and knowing how to tailor it to accentuate the things that make it fun or sexy is really sort of a strange alchemy. It’s not up to me how people experience it, but that’s what makes it fun. Once you put something out into the world it’s up to other people to use their own adjectives of the suit you tailor. I’m always excited when it leaves my head and becomes somebody else’s experience. So hey, if it’s fun – great!

What do you want people to take away from the project? Obviously, I hope people enjoy themselves. Any musician or artist would hope that there’s some kind of memorable experience to be had from it. If I was talking about what I hope people take away from it, that doesn’t have to do with the music itself, I hope that every time I put out music it’s me broadcasting this notion that this is something that I do, and that this is a big part of my identity. I think the songs themselves and what they’re about and how they feel are less of an insight into my identity as the notion of me putting out music is, because I feel like for any artist your journey is a constant negotiation between how you see yourself and how you would like to be seen, and how audiences are willing to see you. And you know, sometimes that balance is not always even. Sometimes the way they see you isn’t the way you see yourself, and sometimes the way you see yourself isn’t the same as the way they see you, so you want to be somewhere in the middle. And ‘Masquerade’ is a huge step forward for me to try and represent who I am and what I’m about to folks who might not see that. So that’s the biggest goal I think with any release but particularly this one.

Who would you cite as your inspirations? I’m one of those people that, when I say that everything inspires me, I’m not trying to be cute. It’s a problem. It’s an actual scourge on my life, where I find everything interesting. I find everything inspirational. It’s such a core belief that I have that there is inspiration to be derived from every walk of life. Stuff like from a lawn chair to a Bach cantata, there are so many things that can be interesting and incorporated into some creative output. It’s just all about how you look at it and how you can perceive and understand where it comes from. There are so many things that are inspiring to me. Of course, this is the massive macro answer that you weren’t looking for, you’re probably looking for ‘what artist are you inspired by?’ I think I’m just inspired by people who are really genuine to themselves, and this is an ironic answer considering that I actually try to be as many different people as possible. It’s a strange thing that actors are celebrated for not being anything like themselves professionally. And musical artists are separated for being as close to themselves and putting their souls as close to the chopping block as possible. I think I’ve really found my niche as a storyteller. I’m envious of some of the great troubadours of history, that can put their souls out on the record for us and put their own personal experience into things. Leonard Cohen and Joanie Mitchell, and Carole King, more modern people like Taylor Swift who really can just bare their souls for us. I really admire them because that’s not a muscle I have. And when you’re an artist I think ‘Okay so what muscle do I have?’, and I think ‘Okay I’m like a playwright, I can make each story for these songs and try and bring them to life with as much accessible ability and reality, and as much truth as I can convey, that’s not to say they’re disingenuine, they’re born from a genuine idea but they’re supported by my background as an actor. Baring myself isn’t something that comes as naturally for me, I really admire those people and I try and perhaps emulate a lot of their song writing in whatever limited way that I can. Genres are inspiring to me, lets talk about song writing, and then there’s producing which are two different things to me, because when I hear music I hear chords, I hear melody, I don’t listen to the snare sample, but I always hear the bare bones and then I think about production. So as far as producing is concerned I think it’s really important to know all genres and to listen to what makes each one interesting and respecting those genres, and then when you are producing something yourself, and then taking from each thing by knowing why and how they work within that genre, so again to use a song like ‘I Can’t Dance’ which is a nod to late 70s/early 80s, somewhere between disco and new wave, I’m employing the things that make those genres fun, to me at least, and trying to smoosh them together in a way that sounds cohesive. So…everything is inspiring to me, it’s hard. But each song has a different source of inspiration, but they don’t transfer between all songs.

You’ve also wrote for animated series and for Glee, is the process different for producing? “This is actually a very good question. I think this ties into what I was saying before about writing for narrative is something of a calling that I think I’ve realised more recently is kind of where I can plant my feet more easily than any other type of song writing. I was mentioning the people that can bare their souls, some people have a really good ability of putting themselves out there but also writing as a satirist of character that he creates. The person that is a master of this is Randy Newman, he’s one of the greatest American songwriters of the 20th century. He has an amazing ability to create these scenarios or create first person accounts of people that aren’t actually him, but he can contextualise with his literal voice, his song writing voice, and make those their own sort of satirical version of himself. There’s a lot of layers going on there, but I’ve always thought of him as really excellent. He’s like a playwright with music, he’s writing musicals, I mean he’s won Oscars for writing music for narrative! That’s something that I’d really like to do – from a technical standpoint it’s actually very liberating because when you’re writing music with your name on it, you’re the artist, then there’s this sort of weird expectation that you’re trying to service which is why I like this idea of putting the mask on and separating the songs from my own personal experience, because I need to separate myself from my own experience of the music you’re hearing, at least on the surface. My big break was A Very Potter Musical, that I feel to this day are my biggest hits because I don’t really have hits, but as far as the songs that people know that strangers know of songs that I’ve written, they were songs that were written for characters. It’s a bit like painting by numbers. If you just write a song from scratch about anything, it’s like the canvas I’m talking about again. You can do anything, or go anywhere, and that’s overwhelming. Having parameters, knowing where the gates are, is extremely helpful, knowing when the deadline is, knowing how long your party can go for. It means you can maximise the space you know you have. When you write for narrative you go ‘this is the character’, ‘this is how they speak’ – so you already have your lyrical information there – ‘this is how they talk’, ‘this is the singer, the singer has a great range that goes from this note to this note’, ‘in this scene we need the character to go from point A to point B, and we want it to be a song that sounds like X’, so you create all these amazing little ingredients, and I look at artists like a service industry, I really enjoy servicing what the person or the experience requires. When I have a menu of ‘we want this, this, this’, it’s like okay great I’ve got you! A three-and-a-half-minute song that sounds like this song, but has to be in this key and has to be a duet, I really thrive on that. And it’s probably one of my more favourite versions of song writing. And usually there’s a deadline, so I can get it done! Because I need to get it done for production. I really enjoy coming back to writing for narrative, because I did that for Royalties with CJ, and when I realised how much I enjoyed doing that and how productive I was when I was writing for a narrative, that’s when I got into the idea of ‘I need to stop trying to bare my own soul in music’. I think if I treat it like I’m writing for a character, not only can I get it done faster but I feel like I can make things stronger. So that’s when I decided that’s what I’m gonna do for this next EP. Writing for other shows and characters is what helped me realise my strengths as a songwriter.”

What is next for you? What are you most excited for? “As I mentioned I think productivity begets productivity, and that’s exactly what happened with this EP. Even if the pandemic hadn’t happened and I didn’t have the time, I think I would have been just as emboldened from working on Royalties with CJ and it got me very excited about working on music and how much joy that gives me. Any artist will say the same answer, but I think by the time stuff comes out artists are already over it because they’ve been living with it for a year and a half, and in my case over a decade with these songs, so I’m always ready to move on and go to the next thing. Everything is a stepping stone, so I’m very happy that this EP is out, I think it’s a great representation of a lot of stuff that’s been unaddressed for far too long. I just wanna get going, it gets me excited about keeping the ball rolling as a songwriter or as a producer, I just don’t want this to be like ‘This is the thing I did during the pandemic’, I want to keep it going and be more proactive about keeping time aside for it, because that’s the name of the game. When you’re acting or doing music, you have to balance it with time, and this pandemic has shown me how much I enjoy spending time on music, so I’m gonna carry that on. But of course, as soon as I say that, that’s when something unexpected and something too juicy that I can’t keep my hands off it happens on the acting side. One learns to be pretty flexible, because as soon as I say one thing something else will happen, and that’s been the narrative for the past decade of my life. I hope to just keep going. I’ve been this lucky for this long so I’m not gonna pretend like I’m going to keep being this lucky. If I get to act great, if I get to do music great. I can’t believe I’m in a position where its like ‘oh if the acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll just do music!’ or the other way around, it’s a highly privileged list of options, and I’m fully aware of that. So as long as I can have one or the other to fall back on, I will always be excited about option. It’s not always up to me, so we’ll see. Everything that I’ve put out is just a way for me to renew my lease with my ability to show up for myself as well as people that I don’t knows ability to be interested in what I have to do next. But I won’t flatter myself, I’m not gonna say that lease is forever, so I’m just trying to put in the time and work to keep it at the very least somewhat interesting.”

Photography - Amanda Demme

[rowan-underthehouse]

Last Night

Chapter 3/3

Rating: Mature

See first chapter for more notes

Read it on ao3 here

Dean’s heart stops.

Ten seconds ago, he would have given just about anything for this moment. Now he’s not sure he can even turn around.

“Thought you'd wait until I was done pouring my friggin’ heart out to show up? Thanks, Cas. That’s just…that’s just great.”

It doesn’t come out as angry as Dean had hoped.

He swipes a hand over his face in a feeble attempt to mask the shake in his voice. Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze boring into his back.

“What are you doing here?”

That does it. Dean spins around, the bitter laugh in his throat winning against the tears still stinging his eyes.

“Not sure how I could make that anymore obvious, man.”

“You should be home with Lisa and Ben.”

No matter how hard Dean tries, he can’t twist Cas’ words into anger. Fear, maybe. Shame. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing angels came with a comprehensive instruction manual.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“There are things I can’t tell you Dean. Things you wouldn’t understand.”

Dean gives into the little nagging voice in the back of his mind and takes Cas’ rough hands in his own. He’s come this far, he may as well commit to the whole chick flick.

“Let me try.” His voice cracks around the vulnerability of it. “Please. You’ve never given me a chance to try.“

Cas squints at him, a sort of intensity burning in his eyes that makes Dean want to kiss him or run. He barely has time to wonder if this is about to be a summer rerun of Cas beating the shit out of him in that alley before Cas has him by the collar, backing him against the car. Cas crowds right into his personal space, and Dean swears to every god he’s ever heard the name of he’ll never complain about it again.

“You don’t want this, Dean.”

His voice is impossibly more gruff. Dean feels it pour through his entire body. His eyes flick to Cas’ lips.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

And Cas kisses him.

Cas finally fucking kisses him.

In the split second it takes Dean to get a hold on Cas’ face, desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, Cas hands are on him.

Dean has felt good. He’s felt the ghost of kisses pressed into his thighs for days after they were gone. He’s lost himself in dingy truck stop bathrooms and motels that cost less than a good meal, and apartments with comfortable couches and clean sheets. He's spent years soaking in pleasure until the pain of everything around him dulled.

None of it compares to this.

When Cas pulls away, Dean catches him by the belt loops.

“Dean…”

“I want you, alright? And everything that comes with that. Don’t make me say it again, I sound like fucking Air Supply.”

It’s Dean who leans in this time, catching Cas’ lips in a kiss so sweet he finds himself waiting for the swell of an orchestra or some The Notebook style rain.

“Things have gotten…messy,” Cas gasps between kisses. “Heaven is in chaos because of me.”

Dean tilts his chin up, looks him in the eyes. “We’ll figure it out just like we always do. Let Heaven burn for a night.”

Dean’s not entirely sure who opens the impala’s back door, but they stumble in with equal enthusiasm, a tangle of limbs and breathy laughs as they wrestle with too many layers.

Logically, Dean knew Cas’ hand would fit perfectly against the mark he left on Dean’s shoulder, but feeling it there is something else entirely. The stars visible through the back windshield are brighter. Blinding, almost. It’s overwhelming, but Dean doesn’t care. He could drown in Cas’ grace and go with a smile on his face.

After what might be an hour or a week, Dean hooks his legs around Cas, pulling back to catch his breath.

“You know what you’re doing?” It’s an honest question.

“Yes.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Dean only knows two things for certain: One, Cas definitely knows what he’s doing. Two, however he survived without hearing his name on Cas’ lips like this before, he’ll never be able to do it again.

“Dean?”

Dean opens one eye, beams up at the angel above him. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Cas smiles back, pushes a piece of hair out of his face. “I love you.”

Eventually they’ll have to talk about this. They’ll have to talk about Sam and Raphael and what this new thing between them is.

Eventually there will be a shabby little house in Northern Illinois. They’ll spend nights there when they can, and the shelves will collect dust when they can’t. There will be nights when Dean wakes up in a cold sweat and learns to curl into the body beside him until he can steady his breathing. There will be days they barely get out of bed to eat and mornings where Dean wakes up to an empty bed and a note with updates about Raphael. Some days will be spent pouring over maps and plans, and others Cas will stagger home, beaten and bloody, unable to do much more than collapse silently into Dean’s arms for comfort. But for now there’s only the impala's backseat, and they way Cas’ mouth curves into happy little smiles against Dean’s. Everything else can wait.

…

They’re in an overcrowded parking lot when Lisa asks it, people pouring out of the stadium around them. Ben and Matt laugh a few paces ahead, trying to explain to Castiel what exactly about the baseball was supposed to be exciting.

“Do you regret it? Going back to all this?” She gestures at the cut still healing on the side of Dean’s head. A souvenir from yet another hunt gone wrong.

His smile, the way he looks at his boyfriend like he hangs the stars in the sky, serves as enough of an answer.

“Do you regret telling me to go?”

“Not for a second.” She squeezes Dean’s arm through his jacket. “I’m happy for you, Dean. You did the right thing.”

And for maybe the first time in his life, Dean is sure he did.

Chapter 1 // 2 // 3

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓮 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝓮 𝒟𝒶𝓂𝓃𝓮𝒹 (𝓓𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷!𝒮𝒶𝓃) 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛! 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)/ 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝐴𝑈

"𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆...

𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍’𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔.."

-𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆: 𝑷𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

The young raven haired man strolled through the crowds of other guests, taking a glance or two whenever something seemed to catch his eyes. But those glances were only fleeting. There seemed to be nothing particularly interesting in any of them.

He took in the scene before him: long, glittering ball gowns spun around, either in tune to the orchestra playing or in a presumptuous effort to be shown off to others. The male specimen differed no greater than their female counterparts, often standing up straighter or running a hand down their expensive and delicately tailored suits, except they were willing to take it a step further and actually discuss how much they paid for it.

Foolish mortals

He scoffed as he studied each one of them. It was truly sickening to him how much humanity had reached its lowest point. More frequently than not, he noticed how humans more than ever were vain, prideful, arrogant, egotistic and disdainful of anything or anyone who wasn't them.

It wasn't entertaining anymore. He recalls a time many centuries ago when he would get a thrill out of corrupting the innocent, driving the wisest of beings into insanity, destroying picture perfect marriages and making the purest of souls fall into an abyss of sin and darkness.

What was the point of trying to do all that now when some of them are destined for destruction since the moment of their birth? It truly irritated him.

Sighing he picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays carried around by the many butlers, poor useless souls as he liked to refer to them. He sipped on the crimson liquid, it's alcoholic venom doing nothing to him even though it was probably his 13th one already.

13? Was it?

He lost count. He shrugged it off though. He could drink it as if it were pure water, his kind were immune to this substance unlike humanity.

He snorted when he'd look at certain people's masks. While most went all fancy and elegant, others decided to have fun and make sure their attire stood out, in the form of red or black masks, adorned with either fangs, horns and overall rather gruesome or grotesque visages. Clearly they were meant to represent none other than his fellow kindred. He scoffed at their personification of him.

"Damnable bastards. If only you knew we are some of the most beautiful creatures to walk next to you....."

Perhaps that's the main reason why they all, man or woman, no matter their age, education or social status, end up ensnared by them. They were irresistible.

He was about to walk out of the hall, bored out of his non-existent soul, when a small titter caught his ears. Turning his face towards the sound, his breath was caught at the sight of an ethereal looking woman. His eyes scanned her from head to toe. She was absolutely perfect: from her luscious (enter color) hair, to her satin smooth skin, all the way down the her tempting figure. Her scarlet colored dress was impeccably on her, the deep plunge in the chest decorated with sequins and rhinestones daring men to not gaze at her cleavage. The waistline was fitted and then fanned out to accentuate her captivating body. Anyone would think this lady was sin itself, she certainly looked the part.

But San knew better. He could see and feel the aura around her. She was wholly pure, absolutely nothing to signify that she'd been stained or deemed unclean. She was simply an overly sheltered girl who no doubt wanted to fit in, be regarded as a mundane person like the rest of them.

Absolutely perfect if you asked him.

He sauntered in her direction, his devilish smirk plastered on his face. Sensing a pair of eyes, she tilted her head and made contact with the demon, now unable to look away from his alluring gaze. Even through the mask covering half of his face, she knew he was the most handsome man she'd ever see, albeit she'd never seen a lot of men in her life anyway.

Inexperienced and naive as she was, she let him stand next to her and take her hand. Lifting it up to his lips, he introduced himself:

"Choi San. Pleased to make your acquaintance my fair lady."

Delicately, he placed a kiss to her fingers, before releasing them from his hold. His touch was cold, but it sent a burning sensation up her entire arm and she found herself longing for his touch again almost instantly.

"L/N Y/N..." She replied in a voice that was merely above a whisper.

"A truly befitting name for such an angelic lady."

He chuckled to himself at his use of the word. If he was successful, which he always was, by the end of the night, there'd be nothing angelic left about her.

He extended his arm out towards her.

"May I have the pleasure of requesting the next dance?"

He made it a point to flash his dimples, knowing they only added to his charm and rendered women unable to refuse him. She stood up and linked her arm in his. He felt a shiver when she touched him, a feeling he only felt when his kind were in the proximity of a pure soul. It was precisely what he'd been craving for who knows how long. Definitely more than a hundred years since the last time he felt such a presence.

He guided her to the dance floor, the other couples already in position. If there was anything San prided himself on, it was his dancing. He's had years of experience to learn almost every dance that had been created, not only because it added to his attractiveness, but because it truly was one of the few mundane things he thoroughly enjoyed.

He especially loved the waltz they were currently playing. Waltzes were so elegant, refined, polished and were perfect when seducing someone. Intense eye contact, hands intertwined and his arm pulling her close to him, he could see a glimpse of the light blush peeking out underneath her ebony mask. She was flustered, exactly how he wanted her. They were practically gliding across the dance floor, perfectly in tune with the music playing.

"Did you come alone?" San decided it was time to strike up a conversation before going for the kill.

Y/N simply nodded, looking down somewhat ashamed. Instantly he knew she was probably not supposed to be here in the first place.

Interesting detail.

"Tired of sitting at home all bored?" He raised an eyebrow at her, but already knowing the answer.

"Can you tell?" She asked, wondering if he could read her mind.

"Well..... I can tell a lot of things about you..."

Releasing his hold on her waist, he lifted his hand to spin her around before bringing her back into his embrace, now closer than before.

"Things like what?" She wanted him to elaborate.

He hummed along to the music, making her impatient for his answer.

"Like..... how you want something exciting to happen tonight. Your eyes are practically for something, anything, that contrasts the dull life you've lived so far..."

She widened her eyes when he spoke those words. Was she that easy to read? That a mere stranger could notice that about her?

"And your countenance only serves to confirm my theory." He finished.

She sighed softly and loosened her grip on him, wanting to walk away, but he only tightened his hold on her. He smirked at her and leaned in, whispering dangerously close to her lips:

"Why don't you let me open up a new world for you?"

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

The girl fluttered her eyes open, soft blissful pants escaping her lips. It had been a while since they left the mansion, where San took her to what she assumed was his place. Ruby red walls with matching velvet carpet, umber brown furniture, candles in every corner being the only illuminating feature in the dark room. The only exception was the bed. It was a pitch black color with white sheets and blanket.

Her dress had long been discarded in one of the chairs in the room, the only article clothing her at the moment being her cream colored garter belt with matching thigh high stockings. San thought they looked absolutely adorable on her. The visual only heightened his need to claim her, to corrupt her, to stain her forever with his unholy mark.

He was currently in between her legs, his mouth attached to her heat. Purple blotches were already decorating her inner thighs, courtesy of his teeth. He swirled his tongue around her clit before sucking down on it. He moaned and that action alone made her thighs tremble and close around his head. But he was having none of that. His hands pushed her thighs apart again, nails digging into her petal soft skin as he continued to ravish and feast on her succulent taste.

"S-San...wait...feels f-funny...." She stuttered out after a few minutes.

He knew exactly what she was referring to: she had about to have an orgasm. As much as he'd love to see her come undone on his tongue alone, he made an effort to pull himself back before the feeling got too intense. She let out a whine of frustration and looked at him with a puzzled look, unsure of what was happening.

San ran his thumb across her lip.

"Don't worry darling. I told you I'll open up a new world for you..

And I always keep my promises."

Unzipping his pants, he pushed them down his legs and threw them onto the floor. He smirked as he took in Y/N's astonishment as she gaped at his nude form, or more specifically, at his thick and long length. She seemed to hesitate for a minute, no doubt intimidated by his size, wondering how was that supposed to fit in her.

Climbing on top of her, he placed a reassuring kiss to her temple.

"I'll take good care of you darling...trust me."

His lips captured hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped inside and danced around her mouth, almost like the waltz from hours before. His hands went to the back of her thighs, lifting them up and wrapping them around his waist. He lifted his hips up slowly, the tip of his cock pressing against her folds. He began slipping inside her, going inch by inch so she could get adjusted to the feeling, not wanting to scare her.

Although it took a lot in him to not just pound into her as he wished to.

She wrapped her thighs tighter around his waist, the foreign and stinging feeling of his intrusion causing her to hiss and cry out a little. San peppered kisses across her jaw and neck in an effort to soothe the pain, while his hands drew circles around her thighs. He stayed still until he felt her relax under him. She looked back at him, her face asking what to do now.

"I'm going to start moving now ok? Just relax and let yourself go."

He pulled out of her in a speed that was torturous to him. Then he slowly pushed himself back in, watching as she took deep breaths and looked down at where their bodies connected. The more she looked at him pushing in and out, the more it helped to relax and put her at ease. San knew it too. Her at first raspy breathing turned to soft, melodious moaning.

His hips snapped up and began rolling at a faster pace, causing his cock to hit the perfect angle in her. Her breath hitched and she gasped when the overwhelming feeling in her stomach started to return, building up inside her, threatening to be released any second now.

The demon could feel it too. He's had years of experience to know what her body was doing. He watched as her face contorted, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Sa-San..." She called out, trying to warn him.

He smirked at her.

"I know, I can feel you clenching around me. You feel so good. I can't wait to feel you cum on my immense cock."

His dirty talking only served to have her whine underneath him. His hand reached down and began toying with her nipple.

"So come on babygirl, let me feel you burst. I know you can do it.....

Give it to me."

He commanded those last words to her and just like he knew would happen, she shuddered under his body, her first orgasm in her entire life taking over her, a soft pathetic whimper being the only noise she could muster. It wasn't anything too loud or over the top, as San pretty much expected. It was her first time.

Besides.....there was plenty of time to have her scream his name.

He kissed her nose and smiled.

"You did so well darling. I'm so proud of you."

She blushed at his compliments. San pulled out of her, a proud evil grin plastered on his face as he noticed the sticky trail that dripped out of her onto the sheets: a few droplets of blood signifying he had deflowered her.

Now to corrupt her even more.

He picked her body up and spun her around, making her get down on all fours as he gripped her hips once again.

"Now it's my turn to have a little fun."

She let out a loud moan when he entered her for the second time, her body still sensitive from her first orgasm. San didn't bother to go slow anymore, he knew she could take it. He thrusted in and out of her at an inhuman speed, low moans and hisses coming out of his mouth.

"Fuck! I can feel you getting close again beautiful, your pussy is so fucking tight, it's practically swallowing my cock."

He chuckled when he felt her clench even tighter around him.

"Oh you like that don't you? You like being told you're nothing but a cockslut?"

She hid her face in the pillow in front of her, trying to hide the groan that just past through her throat. San however grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face back up.

"Answer me you little whore."

She yelped when his hand landed a harsh smack to her ass.

"Y-yes San!"

He smacked her once again before pulling her even more roughly and pressing her back to his chest.

"Right now it's Master. Got it you filthy slut?" He growled into her ear.

"Yes Master!" She cried out.

"Good little whore." He praised her.

He continued his merciless pounding, one of his hands trailing down her abdomen to rub her now swollen and pink clit. Y/N now had a few tears rolling down her cheeks from the overstimulation and she hung her head low.

"Uh uh little slut. None of that."

His free hand wrapped around her neck, forcing her to look up. He tilted her slightly to the right so she could see their sinful reflection in the mirror by the wall.

"Look at you. You look so fucking desperate, wanting to cum again on my cock. Is that what you want? To cum on master's cock? Then beg for it."

Y/N let out a series of whimpers, collecting all the strength she could to cry out:

"Please master! I want to cum, let me cum on your cock!"

San was loving this. It had been so long since he had such an innocent thing begging for him.

"How bad do you want it darling? Does Master's cock make you feel that good?" He teased her.

"Please Master I want it so bad! It feels so good, please don't stop!" Her words were barely incoherent now from how overwhelmed with pleasure she was.

Having being satisfied by her answer, he squeezed her throat, causing her to gasp and writhe her body as her second orgasm took over, far more intense than the first. He never slowed down his pace therefore making her convulse even more violently and shriek out a chant of his name, further heightening his pride and ego.

Very soon after, he cursed loudly as he reached his own climax, his cock spurting out his cum inside her, filling her up with his sinful load. She collapsed on the bed, worn out by the physical intimacy that just took place. San chucked darkly when not even a minute later she was completely passed out. That always happened. Humans couldn't handle having intercourse with a demon, they were practically insatiable and always passed out after a night with them.

Pulling the blanket to cover her, San ran his fingers through her hair. He admired her features for a few minutes. She was really beautiful, an ethereal beauty that only came once every century. Even in her now corrupted and tainted state, she was still the most alluring person he'd ever seen, and he's seen even angels themselves.

Now he knew he wanted her all to himself, completely for him and for no one else to own. He wasn't going to allow anyone to take her from him. He didn't have to worry about celestial beings claiming her, they wouldn't want her now. But other demons might want her.....

Getting up he opened a drawer and took out something he'd never imagine using in any lifetime. But there was always a first time for everything. He held up the gold contraption in his hand before letting it set over one of the flames from the various candles in the room. Once he made sure it was hot enough, he approached Y/N quietly.

It's a good thing she wouldn't wake up for a couple hours....

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Y/N squinted, trying to let her eyes adjust to the lighting. She felt a dull aching in her lower abdomen and legs, reminding her of the events that took place last night. She looked around, seeing that she was still at San's place, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up and rubbed her shoulder, feeling some sort of burning and stinging pain.

She paused when she looked at the mirror and noticed something on the back of her shoulder. Getting up and trying her hardest to walk with her limp, she went to the mirror and turned slightly to the left. She froze when there was a bright red mark on her upper back in the shape of a pentagram with the letter 'S' in the middle of it.

She started freaking out. Was this some kind of joke? Where was San?

"Well good morning my dear."

Speaking of the devil, he appeared right behind her, making her whip around and face him.

"Did you do this?" She asked, pointing to the mark.

"I did. I think it really suits you." He smiled proudly.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"Why you ask? It's simple."

He took a few steps forward. Leaning in, he gripped her chin.

"Because you're mine now and I own you."

She scoffed at his words, repulsed that he could do this.

"You're insane." She spat out.

"I've been called worse." He sat up straight again.

Y/N marched over to the chair on the other side and began grabbing her clothes.

"And just where do you think you're doing?" San crossed his arms in front of him.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving."

He let out a hearty laugh at that.

"Leaving? Oh no sweetheart. You're not leaving. You can't leave me." He told her.

"Yeah? Watch me."

She pushed him out of her way and headed for the door, but before she could reach for the handle, San appeared right in front of her out of thin air, causing her to step back in fear.

"What the-" She exclaimed.

"Let me repeat myself darling..."

San began to take steps towards her as she began to slowly retreat from him.

"I own you. You can't leave because you're mine now. I marked you so no one else takes you from me, in other words..."

He slammed his hand against the wall behind her when they reached it. She watched in horror as his dark orbs shifted into a fiery red color that burned deep in her soul.

"You're bound to me for all eternity...... and now you're a part of my world....and there's no turning back..."

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

[myelocin]

Redefining You | Kuroo T. , Miya A.

Summary: The three times you realize you love Tetsurou, and the fourth where you finally say it. A redefinition of the love that came to you, unanswered. 

Characters/Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou, You, (Miya Atsumu comes on ch 2)

Warnings/ Genre: Mentions of alcohol (beer?), tattooed!Kuroo, Angst, Unrequited Love, Healing, Slice of Life

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: I felt some things last night and thought about some songs, so therefore here is an angst that is near and dear to my heart. 

[Part 1] | Part 2  | Epilogue | Bonus

-

The first time the thought came to you was at age 13. You didn’t know what love was, never really felt it before, but as you stared at the way he hid behind his bangs and shuffled closer to his black jacket- you felt it. The first tap on your heart, first flutter of the butterflies, and the first kisses of an oncoming blush blooming onto the apples of your cheeks.

At thirteen, Kuroo Tetsurou said his hellos through cheeky smiles and light laughter. When he didn’t have volleyball, he’d be seated next to you in your orchestra class sharing a music stand, and engaging in small talk. He scoffed at your weird jokes, but he looked straight at you when you talked about your day. 

You remember thinking about him in the school bus on the way home.

In him, you saw happiness; felt it even. During movie “dates” where the two of you watched Bridge to Terabithia while video calling at one in the morning because actual dates at the movie theater weren’t allowed by your mom just yet. Now, in your older years, you still often think back to those moments and laugh to yourself at how you turned beet red at Tetsurou typing ‘ur cute.’ on the chat box.

And so at thirteen years old, though still innocent towards the idea of love, through your own definitions you decided that the only explanation was that you loved him. And so love him you did.

-

The second time was four years later. You had moved abroad after your mother’s passing, and hadn’t really thought about the boy with the seemingly eternal bedhead. You flowed into your new routine quite easily despite the stark difference in culture and environment. At this point, though you still had moments where your thoughts ghosted over Tetsurou, you concluded it to be the stage where it had become just a funny memory.

Except, of course, there was that one vacation your dad forced you to go on (it being his hometown), the one where you literally knew nobody and didn’t speak a word of the dialect, in some weird turn of event you found yourself pressing the call button next to his name. Long story short, there was a really awkward conversation about why you were calling him at five in the morning but he eventually cracked a joke that was so like him, that the conversation with him just flowed naturally afterwards.  

A call turned into two, and then before you knew it, despite on standing in the opposite sides of the world, a deeper friendship between the two of you grew. 

Phone calls between the two of you became a regular fixture of your day, something that you eventually looked forward to. Still keeping in contact with the same group of friends you and Tetsurou grew up with, sometimes it felt like you never left at all. You found out that he eventually left orchestra and instead devoted his time to the volleyball team in his highschool along with Kenma.  It seemed like a natural choice for him to leave. After all, you saw him often scowl at the orchestra teacher during breaks.

At seventeen, you had that feeling again. You felt the familiar flutter during every goodnight and good morning call Tetsurou slipped within your day. Snapshots within your day included a random selfie Tetsurou had sent you and various other text messages that updated you about his day. For almost three years, you saw him through a screen. You saw Tetsurou falling asleep while flipping through an algebra textbook, yelling with or at Kenma with a game controller, or just laying back in his bed tossing and catching a volleyball while you flipped through your own notes. The distance didn’t mean much to you because despite being thousands of miles apart, it felt like Tetsurou was right there.

Your favorite moments had to be the summer of your final year in highschool.

 It became a routine where Tetsurou, knowing that you completely trashed your sleeping schedule, you were more than awake at three in the morning for him to call. That summer he finally got his license and developed the habit of driving around with you, plastered on the screen of his phone, your voice blasted on the speaker instead of playing the music you knew he liked driving to.

 He’d stop by a convenience store to buy ice cream and eat it with you (having your own midnight snack) at a quiet parking lot some distance from the city. And the two of you would stay like that for hours. You’d muse about the three a.m. thoughts swimming around your head that night and he’d listen, with the occasional snarky comment (that became endearing to you over the years), and he’d talk about the three p.m. thoughts swimming in his.

And despite being on opposite sides of the world, you managed to watch the sun together. Though, the only difference was that as it rose on your corner of the world, he sat and watched it set in his.

“We’re watching the same sun, though,” he’d say, and in a way, it made the distance feel a little absent.

So your heart decided to beat again, during a Saturday evening that autumn: when you accepted the skype call at seven p.m. and waved a good morning to a sleepy Tetsurou. He replied with a good evening before settling back into his bed with a mug of coffee and his fleece blanket wrapped up to his head.

“If you were here we could have actually gone on a date instead of that shitty video call, you know.”

You looked at him, pouting into his mug of coffee, eyes still a little bleary from sleep and figure enveloped in a giant blanket. “I know.”

“I bet we’d look cute together, (y/n).”

You pressed your face into the heels of your hands and scrunched your nose towards the screen. “Tetsu, I would look cute. You’d look slightly cuter next to me.”

He scrunched his nose and retaliated with an equally snarky comment, but you didn’t mind. The same flutter in your stomach told you that you didn’t mind. The way your heart pounded a little faster as you looked at your best friend bathed in the morning light, hit the final nail in the coffin with the assurance that you absolutely did not mind.

-

The third came in scattered moments. 

For a while you had kept it as a secret for yourself, but eventually coming clean to Kenma one night as he drawled about how annoying Tetsurou had gotten over his new girlfriend. The blonde gave you a look through the screen before groaning, “My God, (y/n). I was rooting for you two.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate the girl. Next to Tetsurou, she seemed like sunshine and you could see it. In the way his smile tilted a little higher and the way his eyes shone when she spoke. He often replied to her with a voice as soft as hers, so you yielded. “He’s happy, Kenma.”

Kenma looked at you with a flat look, so you took his silence as his response. Huffing out an exhale and pushing the controller to the camera’s line of vision, you met Kenma’s stare. “Another round?”

The realization didn’t come as a completed that came to you at once.

Slowly, even as you told yourself that you were okay, and whatever this was is okay, you knew convincing yourself was another story. The dynamic between the two of you didn’t change, or at least on Tetsurou’s part he genuinely thought that it didn’t.

The mornings and evening calls were still constant even though the duration had become shorter. Gone were the nights you’d idly sit and watch Tetsurou fight sleep during homework. But it was fine. You knew she must have kept him awake enough to finish the worksheets.

Jealously was an ugly emotion, you thought. 

You knew it didn’t suit you, but you couldn’t help but feel it bubbling during that one Sunday night he’d rang you up at five thirty in the morning, because he knew you wouldn’t hesitate to answer (you didn’t), and waved a hello before flipping the camera and showing his girlfriend shyly waving at you from the passenger seat of his car.

Your throat tightened when you looked at the watch, then looked at the screen where he forgot to flip the screen, showing the setting sun’s light cast on the two.

You laughed out your excuse of needing to catch up on a little more sleep before you clicked your phone off and turned towards the window.

The sun had risen, and your heart may have clenched a little at the thought that he was watching the same sun set with someone who wasn’t you, but Tetsurou smiled in that special way with the twinkle in his eyes, so even as you watched the sky light up from the first peaks of the sun’s rays, you decided that because you loved him—you didn’t mind.

-

The next year continued like that.  The friendship stayed although the dynamic you two shared changed. As the year progressed, you took note of the dwindling calls, and hasty text messages. You didn’t bother to keep up with how their relationship deepened, but still had the heart to like every Instagram post either of them posted during anniversaries. You held on to the birthday messages or songs he randomly sent you and listened to the words that you sometimes imagined were what he meant for you. Once in a while the conversation would last longer than the occasional greetings and things felt like they clicked back into place again. But the next day, there never came the nostalgic good morning, or the sight of him with bleary eyes in the morning light, so you tucked that little piece of memory and listened to the same three songs you imagined were for you.

And because you loved him—for that time it was enough.

Before the autumn of the following year began, you found yourself seated on a twelve hour flight back to Tokyo where for the first time, in over seven years, you stood in front of him. Tetsurou was beaming, and you felt choked up.

Tetsurou’s hello was made known through a tight hug and a, “Glad you’re home.” So for that short while, you wrapped your arms around him and breathed the scent of his jacket, because for the first time in seven years, in a way he felt a little like home.

So as he sat across from you and said, “You would’ve loved her! She had to go somewhere that’s why she can’t come. But maybe you can meet another time!” you didn’t have it in you to let your smile crack and instead reached forward to clap him on the shoulder.

“Tetsu, you’re whipped.”

He laughed but nodded at your comment, but again, you took note of his happy smile so you let yourself try to mirror the emotion he held in his. And because you loved him, you thought of the tunes of the songs you imagined were for you and searched for the momentary peace in that.

-

That one time where you finally broke your silence was when he walked into your apartment with a chipped smile. 

Another two years had passed where you watched Tetsurou grow into a new identity. He still cracked the same jokes from years ago, that you remembered, but his change was first subtle with the way he liked his coffee made to the resolve hardening in his eyes, and to the ink that wrapped around his arms. But he still had moments that made him reach out to you, and in those times you’d catch him animated about the most mundane things in early sunlight— you allowed yourself to love him quietly in silence.

“I have beer,” he said as he shrugged off his coat and rolled his sleeves up. 

From your spot standing in the kitchen, you eyed the fresh ink on his arms. “New ink?”

Tetsurou placed the pack of beer in the middle of your table before taking a seat in the couch. He threw his head back and looked at you. “Yup. Got it earlier. Come sit,” he patted the empty space next to him with a little extra emphasis, “I really need a hug.”

Grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter, you made your way to where he was and sat at the empty space next to him. Automatically he slumped against your form and began picking at the chips.

Your hands patted the spikes in his hair and you leaned back, Tetsurou warm against your side.

“I feel like I’m dying,” he mumbled in your side.

“You’re not dying, Tetsu. Your heart just hurts.”

“I really love her,” his voice didn’t crack like you expected it to but his hand fisted the hem of your sweater a little tighter, so you sunk your hands into his hair and began smoothing out the wilder pieces. This had always distracted him, so you hoped it worked this time around.

You gestured for him to sit up and follow you as you grabbed a can of beer as you sat up. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

Tetsurou grumbled a little before grabbing his own can and following you to the balcony. You leaned against the railing, cracked the tab open and took a swig. Tetsurou joined you by the railings and clinked his beer against yours before taking his own sip.

Tokyo’s skyline looked beautiful in the night. You peered at the man standing next to you, his own can pressing against his lips. “What made you get a new tattoo?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know.”

He paused to sigh. “Just felt like it.”

“You know you’re a good person right?” you ask.

“I’m not as much of a saint as I wish I was.”

“None of us are saints.”

He tipped tipped the can back and gulped down the remainder of his beer. “Not many people have broken a person either.”

And after a little pause in silence, you reassured him, “You’re gonna be okay, Tetsu. In time.”

“I don’t think I’m in that mindset yet.”

“Yet.”

He looked at you and sighed again. You thought even with tired eyes he looked beautiful. “Yet,” he repeated back.

And somehow along that night, the hours stretched into a comfortable silence. 

This felt a little like déjà vu. With Tetsurou settled behind you, chin on top of your head as he enveloped your form in his, the both of you facing the east. Little specks of yellow lights began to dance around the sky.

Tetsurou’s voice broke through the silence as he said, “Have you ever loved someone?”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his warmth, already rehearsing the tunes of the song that brought you a false blanket of serenity over the years. “I have.”

“You did?” he asks, and his is tone sounded a little shocked, but you felt it in you that deep down he must have known, or suspected something even.

“Yeah. Eight years. I saw him in everything.”

“How,” his tone was a little more tentative his time, considering he was now dancing on unfamiliar territory, “how did you let go?”

“I haven’t yet.”

He stayed silent but he squeezed you a little tighter.

And then the two of you watched as the yellow of the sun finally broke through. 

Slowly, the morning light illuminated the outline of Tokyo. You truly felt like you were in some sort of déjà vu as you looked at Tetsurou, for the first time, bathing in the same light, from the same sun, where you fell in love with him all those years ago.

You thought back to when your friend had told you that experiencing déjà vu meant that it was the universe’s own way of telling you that you’re going down the right path. And looking up Tetsurou, who felt the warmth of the sun with his head tilted back and eyes fluttered close, you knew you were right where you’re supposed to be.

Which was why you traced the ink on the side of your wrist and in a steady voice spoke, “I love you.”

He stepped back and looked at you. “What?”

His expression looked a little confused and you smiled. Holding out your wrist to him, you spoke again, “I began to tell myself that every day.”

“I realized because he made up such a big part of my life, when he moved on I felt missing and stuck. Kind of like being in a loop.” You giggled and willed yourself to remember the meaning of déjà vu again before continuing, “So like, the times where he’d be gone, I just decided to replace them by telling myself that I love me. I told myself good morning, and goodnight, and kept snapshots of my day to remind myself that I’m living this life and moving forward.”

Tetsurou looked beautiful in the morning light. Confused, but still beautiful.

“I realized in those eight years, I lost so much of myself. And he looked so happy. His eyes were literally sparkling, Tetsu! I thought that shit only happened in anime. But that kind of love happened to him so I thought I deserved that too.”

“I got this tattoo a few weeks ago, see?” 

You turned your wrist to the side and watched as he traced over the inked bundle of baby’s breath. “I read somewhere that it meant everlasting love. I was in the middle of another sad girl hour moment so I thought why not give it to myself? It’s a start, right?”

Tetsurou’s lips quirked up at your words before he looked at you. “I’m proud of you.”

You looked back and met his gaze. It didn’t hold the same sparkle that it did for her but you didn’t mind. The feeling of déjà vu never went away so you inhaled a sharp breath. Tetsurou truly did look beautiful in the morning light, more so as he stands in front of you with a gentle look in his eyes. More than five of the eight years that you knew him had you spent dreaming about the morning like this where you’d stand with your hands in his own, eye to eye in the same side of the world looking at the same sun that lay witness to your growth.

You took him into his arms and buried your face in his chest, inhaling his scent. He smelt as familiar as he felt. And the moment still feels like déjà vu you feel like you could cry. Your heart constricts in the way that kind of hurts but also kind of doesn’t, and you feel his hand rub circles on your back, so you speak, “You’ll find peace, Tetsu. We’ll get there.”

His cheek presses against the crown of your head as he murmurs, “In time.”

And in that moment you realize that even though you love him, first you tell yourself a silent ‘I love you’ , and then echo, “In time.”

-

proceed to part 2 here!