#i will miss the music that was created by

[cr4yolaas]

WHIPLASH — LOOK BACK

work is horrifying. men are horrifying. the whole world is horrifying, and horribly against her. she tries not to let her structure crumble — but there are limits to everything.

002. that's the industry, baby! / masterlist / 004. distractor

"I hate him," she mutters under her breath. It's barely a whisper beneath the noise around them, but the anger laced in it is pungent. He watches her take one, two, three sips from her drink before slinking down onto the wooden counter.

"You still haven't told me why."

Her head slowly rotates, shifting around in the nook she's created with her folded arms, to face him in all his midnight glory. The music is nothing but white noise, and all she can hear is the subtle thumping of her heart against her ribs.

(She doesn't really remember how he looked that night. All she recalls is his signature hat and the pretty jewelry he wore.)

There's only a string of restraint left in her. Her rationale — fine-tuned and perfectly curated after just a few years of surviving through this industry — tells her to keep quiet; that any details about her irritation and regret, no matter how long they may fester in the pools of her stomach, cannot slip out. But when he lays down to match her position and whispers a question, one she barely misses, the little string snaps.

"I'll just listen, if you want. No advice. No input. Just an ear."

(What happens between that and the moment they find themselves outside is a blur.)

It all spills out, the reservoir that she's been carefully maintaining up until then bursting at the seams. She rambles on about shitty coworkers, who can't seem to stop relying on her, shitty editors, who don't have any sense of proper management, and a shitty ex, who used all of it to get his way. All of her — the people pleasing, the work obsession, the ease in which she let things happen under the guise that something good would come out of it all. She tells him about it all in chronological order (because it's the only way she seems to remember things these days), from the opportunities he'd stolen from her grasp and the arguments and the pure, bubbling humiliation she feels just from thinking about it.

And he listens. Like he'd promised.

A part of her finds solitude in the knowledge that her chances of seeing him again are slim to none. Another part longs to see him again — how can she resist when he looks at her like she'd hung up the stars over their heads?

(The rest of the night is gone to time. She can't recall anything — she actively tries not to, a subconscious decision made the day after. What she does know is that she regrets it — regrets baring her soul, wide open, for someone gone so quickly.

It's a necessary evil. She knows she can't grow attached. But part of her wishes he'd stayed, just for another hour.)

★ super short filler/interlude :) a little background on megs' and yn's history

★ this took place when yn just transferred publishing companies -- she wasn't a sport editor at the time, hence why she didn't recognize him

★ i'll leave this chapter up for interpretation buttt there is an actual plot behind it, mainly w/ what happened @ yn's old company

★ in the main tl, the aespa fangirls don't know abt this night nor anything that yn shared </3 they r under the assumption that she transferred js for the fun of it

★ they minus toge

★ i rlly don't like how this one came out but i couldn't figure out how else to write it without it getting too detailed. this night is meant to be a memory that yn tries to force down, which is why it isn't as in-depth

★ hope u all enjoyed :)

TAGLIST: @kameyyy @s777athv @solecitoszn @1l-ynn @valvoria @standcom @kissunday @hqnge @applepi25 @fushiguruuzzzz @reveurdoll @anotherwriternamedclara @sh0ot1ngst4r @starrysho @lizbix @diearama @cherryredribbons @asuritam @tiramizuloz @saltypuffin1040 @burnishingbagels @beepbopzlorp @reezerdotcom @tibibibi123 @carneries @gumims @chososcamgirl @anngelllla @fefesooli @anngelllla @tiramizuloz @vrxouei @s3ns4ti0n4l @lucentwings @sentifua @in-the-marina-trench

divider creds @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[opal-apparition]

A Matter of Pride - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Ellana Lavellan never imagined the man who orchestrated her family’s ruin would become her husband, but an ancient contract leaves her no choice. Lord Fen’Harel, cold, calculating, and fiercely proud, loathes everything she represents—and despises himself even more for the way she begins to unsettle him. Proud and sharp-tongued, Ellana refuses to bend to his disdain for her Dalish heritage, sparking a war of wit and will that neither can afford to lose. Yet, as intrigue and danger close in, their battle for dominance may reveal a truth far more perilous: that hatred and desire are closer than they dare admit.

Rated Mature / Long Fic / Slow Burn / Regency AU / Enemies to Lovers

Excerpt (taken from Chapter 3):

Lord Fen'Harel's arrival created the sort of silence that rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Conversations faltered mid-word, dancers missed their steps, and even the music from the band seemed to fade in submission of his presence. 

He moved through the crowd with measured grace, each step deliberate as if stalking prey even though his days of hunting enemy soldiers had ended. Ellana’s eyes went to his face first, to his hair, where the sides were  shaved close, exposing the sharp angles of his skull and the pale curve of his pointed ears, a contrast to the long, sleek cascade that fell down his back. It was a style that eschewed vanity, instead emphasizing the harsh symmetry of his face—the severe cheekbones, the narrow bridge of his nose, and the slight downward tilt of his mouth. Then, her gaze trailed lower, to his clothing. The Viscount’s formal attire, impeccably tailored in shades of deepest green and black, made most other gentlemen's clothes look garish by comparison. No ornate embroidery or excessive decoration—just clean lines that emphasized his tall, lean frame and the aristocratic tilt of his head. There were no gilded embellishments, no embroidery to flaunt wealth, and there was no need: 

Viscount Fen’Harel had commanded legions on the battlefield in chaos, he would command the same awe here through understated silence.

"Well," Dorian murmured beside her, "he certainly knows how to make an entrance. Though I must say, he seems in an particularly stern mood tonight. I do hope you've considered your approach carefully, my dear."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ellana's fingers tightened on her evening bag, the documents inside suddenly feeling both inadequate and absolutely essential. "Though you sound concerned, Lord Pavus."

"Concerned? No, no—fascinated, perhaps. Intrigued, certainly." His smile held a hint of warning beneath its charm. "It's not often someone willingly seeks to bait the wolf in his own den. Though I suppose if anyone could manage it with grace, it would be you."

Before she could respond, Countess Mythal appeared at Lord Fen'Harel's side, every inch the gracious hostess in elaborate silver silk that caught the light like moonlight. Even from across the room, Ellana could see the family resemblance between aunt and nephew—the same aristocratic bearing, the same ability to command attention without seeming to seek it.

"How fortunate," Dorian commented, watching the pair with sharp interest. "Countess Mythal always does enjoy a bit of drama at her gatherings so long it is not at her own expense. Though I doubt even she expects quite the entertainment you're planning to provide."

Ellana straightened her spine, summoning every lesson in deportment she'd ever learned. "What makes you so certain I'm planning anything at all?"

"My dear Lady Lavellan," Dorian's voice held genuine amusement now, "no one, especially a Lady, carries a portfolio of documents to a ball unless they intend to cause absolute chaos with whatever is inside them. It's simply not done in polite society." He raised his glass in a small salute. "Needless to say, I heartily approve.”

Across the ballroom, Lord Fen'Harel was now engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with several council members. Even from this distance, Ellana could see how others deferred to him, creating a subtle but clear circle of space around his tall figure. A young debutante attempted to catch his eye and was summarily dismissed with a mere glance.

"Ah, poor Lady Rosewood," Dorian commented, following Ellana's gaze. "Third attempt this season to gain his attention. Though I must say, she lasted longer than most before wilting under that particular look."

"Does he always affect such disdain for company he considers beneath him?" Ellana asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

"Oh no, not at all." Dorian's smile held a hint of mischief. "Sometimes he's much worse. Though I should warn you—" He paused, dark eyes glinting with sudden interest as he noticed something over her shoulder. "Ah. Speaking of warnings..."

"Lady Lavellan." The voice behind her carried the crisp authority of someone unused to being ignored. "How... unexpected to see you here."

Ellana turned to find herself face to face with Commander Cassandra Pentaghast, her formal uniform making her seem even more imposing than usual. The Commander of the City Guard rarely attended social functions, preferring her duties to society's games. Her presence tonight suggested more than casual interest.

"Commander." Ellana dipped into a slight curtsey. "I wasn't aware the City Guard took such interest in social gatherings."

"We take interest in anything that might disturb the peace." Cassandra's direct gaze left no doubt about her meaning. 

"Particularly when certain parties seem intent on causing... disruptions."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Ellana replied smoothly, though her fingers tightened on her evening bag. "I'm merely here to enjoy the hospitality of Countess Mythal's renowned gathering."

"Of course." Cassandra's tone suggested she believed this about as much as she believed in flying nugs. "Then you won't mind if I—"

"Seeker Pentaghast!" Dorian interrupted with perfectly calculated enthusiasm. "I've been meaning to ask your opinion on that fascinating report about the new harbor patrols. Perhaps you'd care to discuss it over here?" He gestured toward a less crowded corner of the room, smoothly inserting himself between Ellana and the Commander.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed, but something in Dorian's expression must have given her pause. "Very well, Lord Pavus. Though we will continue this conversation later, Lady Lavellan."

As Dorian led the Commander away, he glanced back at Ellana with a slight nod toward the opposite side of the room, where Lord Fen'Harel had moved away from his admirers and now stood somewhat apart, studying the dancers with apparent disinterest.

The message was clear: If she meant to confront him, now was her chance.

Ellana took a steadying breath, touching her mother's pendant for courage before making her way across the ballroom. Each step brought her closer to Lord Fen'Harel, the rustle of her silk skirts marking time with her heartbeat. He stood alone now, a glass of wine untouched in his hand as he observed the dancing with apparent disinterest. Up close, his presence was even more imposing—something in his bearing suggested barely leashed power, like a storm contained in crystal.

"Viscount Fen'Harel." Her curtsey was precise, measured to the exact depth appropriate for their relative stations - deep enough to show respect, but not so deep as to suggest submission. "I believe we haven't been formally introduced. I am—"

"Lady Lavellan." He continued studying the dancers, as though the act of turning to face her fully would be beneath his dignity. His voice carried the crisp authority of someone unused to being questioned, each word precisely measured. "Your reputation precedes you."

Something in his tone suggested this was not entirely a compliment. Ellana felt heat rise in her cheeks but kept her spine straight, her chin lifted. Let him dismiss her if he wished—she had not come this far to be deterred by cold manners and colder eyes.

"How fascinating." She allowed just a hint of steel to enter her own voice. "I wasn't aware I had garnered enough notice to warrant a reputation. Though perhaps you're referring to the impact your latest trade proposals will have on traditional merchants? That would certainly explain your reluctance to acknowledge me directly."

Now he did turn, fixing her with a gaze that had made lesser nobles stumble over their own excuses. The full force of his attention was like standing too close to a storm—crackling with barely leashed power and the promise of imminent destruction.

"You presume much," he said softly, dangerously, "to question policies you barely comprehend. Though I suppose that's something of a tradition among your people.”

" My people?" Ellana's fingers tightened on her evening bag. "You and I are both elvhen, my lord. Or have you forgotten that in your rush to destroy centuries of shared heritage?"

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Heritage," he said, the word precise as a blade, "is not synonymous with progress. Though I realize not all are capable appreciating the distinction."

Around them, other guests had begun to notice their exchange. Conversations quieted as nobles shifted to better observe what promised to be the evening's most interesting entertainment. Ellana was acutely aware of the growing attention, but she pressed on... You can read the rest on AO3! :)

[lilithsaga]

While there are a lot of things I'm worried about in the upcoming year, at least I have the OFF game Steam release to look forward to!

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they smile, listening to the gentle silence before starting to sing a low, nearly inaudible hum. It held the same few notes constantly on loop; a lullaby of sorts that they intended to keep silently singing had they not nearly tripped over the roots of their tree. In that action, they leaned against him, finding balance before straightening themself up again. They waltzed with him for a few moments more, just in the general vicinity and not too far away, before they slowed and reached a hand to cup his face, kissing him again to make a peaceful end ]

“We made it. You want to come sit?”

[ they tugged on his hand gently, the one still intertwined with their own, pulling him towards it. With their other hand, now free, they shifted their scarf and then their cloak, pulling the remnants of dried blood hopefully out of his sense of reach, ensuring they would not receive questions or worries during what is now a long and peaceful night ]

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[yourlocalabomination]

This is Hatchetfield, People go missing everyday!

[izloveshorses]

Christy Altomare and Derek Klena in Anastasia the Musical on Broadway

[supercantaloupe]

saw a post last night complaining that the sound of music film and its popularity contribute to the "universalization of the holocaust" and that by depicting an austrian catholic gentile family's opposition to the nazi regime instead of being about jews, it paints some kind of false picture of who the nazis' real targets were. and i'm sorry but that is such a narrow minded, externally motivated reading of the film/musical. and i say this as a jew who broadly agrees that holocaust universalization and the sidelining of "the jewish problem" (as it was known in that era) in film and media is a genuine and pervasive problem. the sound of music...that is really not the right target for your ire, my friend

[bewakulfi]

online friendships ars so bittersweet

[duelinthesun]

I live in constant fear of never being able to consume every single piece of phil ochs media there is

[biffhofosho]

If you don't hear from me again, it's because I have shuffled off this mortal coil and descended into madness on the wings of a fallen angel named Mito.

[almostvermin]

Goodmoenirng did you sleep well my dear angel >_<

my dreams are tormented by horrific visions called project sekai shuffle units

[avesseloflanguage]

NOOOOO

NOOOOOOOOO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[itwaslegendary]

the parallels between so long, london and you’re losing me still have me on a chokehold cause “and i’m fading thinking ‘do something, babe, say something. lose something, babe, risk something. choose something, babe, i’ve got nothing to believe until you’re choosing me’” // “and you say i abandoned the ship but i was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip, holding tired to your quiet resentment” is crazy

also the medical/resuscitation imagery: “i can’t find a pulse, my heart won’t start anymore for you” // “i stopped cpr, after all, it’s no use”… god she’s a genius

(edit) and another one: “my face was grey but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick” // “and i’m just getting color back into my face” ughhhhh

[strxnged]

i started watching hermitcraft 10 .. i need minecraft content at moments where i cannot play the game

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but like Peter Parker reincarnated as dick grayson angst

[a-little-bit-poss]

being bored is something to avoid at all costs