#i will not keep my mouth shut about these artists and songs

[willow-asin-winnie]

I am of the correct opinion that songs in languages other than English need more love and for that matter, let me introduce you to: My German Batfam Playlist Project!

And who do we start with? Jason! So here, enjoy the playlist and my elaborations, because I have thoughts and will not keep my mouth shut <333

The masterlist <3

Also on ao3.

Neue Probleme ("New Problems") by Crystal F:

Life takes it course, no matter if you're prepared or not. Nothing ever seems normal, you'll always wait for life to finally make sense. Sound familiar?

Notable lyrics: "I think too often that I am nothing and that I can do nothing, far removed from the man I wanted to be"; "If something good happens, it's the others."; "I'm still afraid they'll forget me"

Durch die Nacht ("Through the night") by Pavel Paloma:

This one, actually, is the robin-anthem and therefore, Jason has his part as well, maybe I'll translate the lyrics fully at some point (there's no official lyrics, so mhmm). Anyway, it's a story of someone literally running through the night with someone else, dancing through it, but something changes over the course of time.

Notable lyrics: "Now I'm running through the city alone, I'm running through the night alone"; "Now I need to see where I stand, it's half past three in the night, please don't come back, please let me to you"

Trophäe ("Trophy") by Paula Carolina:

Being betrayed by the one you loved, feeling you're just a trophy to them. The lyrics explain it better than I could, but it's so angry jason coded.

Notable lyrics: "No, no, I don't want to be your trophy, just one out of many"; "No, no, I won't be your trophy, why don't you hang the others on your wall?"; "Your network, it's always your network, will it save you once you're hurt?"; "Will you notice if I'm suddenly gone?"; "And sometime, once you're alone, in an empty room, sitting in front of your daughter, Maybe you'll think of me, how you forgot my birthday."

Hier raus ("Out of here") by Cédric L'amour:

You look towards the one that wronged you full of anger. You need to get out of there, before you do something you'll regret. Doesn't that sound like his anger towards not only Batman, but also Tim?

Notable lyrics: "The people scream your name and I don't understand the hype"; "I need to get out of here, just out, if I don't leave right now I can't promise anything"; "Why is nobody saying anything? Why is nobody appalled? But I have to accept it?"; "I will get my revenge"

Blut / Leben ("Blood / Life") by REPLEKA:

Basically what the song says is: As long as you would come save me, I can die tomorrow. How is that not Jason coded?

Notable lyrics: "You were what kept me alive"; "I can't see anything, it's foggy, just reflections of neon lights in your eyes"; "Your blood flows through my veins"; "I trusted you blind although you couldn't see"

Wand ("Wall") by Ennio:

This song screams desperation. You built your wall and you kinda want people to try and break it, but oh what if they succeed? Who even am I behind it? But life has to go on anyway, somehow.

Notable lyrics: "I built my wall, people look at it. Will someone come close and try to understand?"; "They say do what's right, but when you do it's not right."; "You're not in the mood [to argue and to mingle], decline the call, and down your drink."

Alles nur gelogen ("It's all a lie") by KAFFKIEZ:

I see this song as the transition period between him not wanting to go home and slowly warming up to the family again. It's rocky, it's all different, but what can you do?

Notable lyrics: "It's all a lie, nothing is as it once was"; "I'm never home, I promise too much [...], I'll be home for Christmas, maybe"; "Whatever I say, it's not fair, I can't be fair enough for us both right now"; "I'd say I miss you, but I'm scared what that means, so I just try to move on and forget who we once were"

Elektronisches Mädchen ("E-girl/Electronic girl", but in a very very literally translated sense.) by Punk Christ:

This one, I can't quite explain. It's actually about people desperately trying to be different from the others, but subsequently being just like everyone else.

How is Batman commiting crimes in the name of justice okay, but not him?

Notable lyrics: "You say you're punk, she says your emo, he says you're just an electronic girl"; "Just admit you're actually like everyone else"

Mein Spiegelbild (hasst mich) ("My mirror image (hates me)") by raumfisch, Liser:

Being very painfully aware of your own flaws, but struggling to do anything against them. Also, what even are the chances Jason never broke a mirror after meeting the others again?

Notable lyrics: "Even the cashier at the corner store knows my life is a lie"; "It's not bad to be alone, I'll just drink for two."; "I count the flaws of the reflection, thoughts swirling. The image laughs, because he knows better. I fall for it"; "No, I'm not hurt, I am fine on my own, even if the shards of my mirror tell a different story."

Warte, warte ("wait, wait") by Subway To Sally:

Jason in his revenge era. Just. Look at the lyrics and you'll get it.

Notable lyrics: "In the streets, on the markets, you hear it quiet then loud, there is a monster in the city"; "a few people disappeared, now the people live in fear"; "in the dark, the werewolf is waiting for you. Wait, wait just a little while, wait, just wait for him."; "Everything around us falls apart, and in midst of the flames sneaks the monster into the light, bites down on your throat, drinks your blood and wishes so much that they'll talk of him in even a hundred years"; "All wolves and vampires, all demons, are just this: Humans that hunt humans"

Mein Kopf ist eine Party ("My mind is a party") by Paula Engels:

A party as a metaphor for panic, basically. It fits. Trust me on this. I think the deeper reason I think it fits is because Jason's arcs don't make sense in my head without panic. The anger and fear after being resurrected, everything that happened after, the "replacement" thing.

There is underlying panic, once the rage is not present enough to distract him from it.

Notable lyrics: "My mind is a party, can't breathe. I haven't felt for too long how it feels to feel nothing."; "My mind is a party, don't want to be here. I'm alone and the room closes in. Is the party winning?"; "The room is too small, all their stares on me, suddenly everything is quiet. They smirk is wide, say: 'You can only lose'"; "And I ask myself 'Is this still normal?'"

deine mama mag mich nicht ("your mother doesn't like me") by Yunus:

Okay, so. This is a hypothetical, okay? It's a great song. In theory it's about the parents of your love disapproving of you. But just. Bear with me.

Notable lyrics: "your mother doesn't like me, she's afraid of losing you, although i was always so friendly to them"; "I stand in front of your family like a sacrifice, don't know if I can do it again."; "I feel their death stares on me, but they can forget me breaking up with you."; "If they knew I'll stay, they'd kick me out"; "I hold back, why don't I ignore it? Where does love start and where does it end?"

...Hear me out. Red Hood Jason as the narrator. With past Jason as the lover.

GUT<BESSER<ICH ("GOOD<BETTER<ME") by TJ_beastboy:

Jason high on confidence. What you can do, I can do better. Nothing else to add.

Notable lyrics: "Didn't you already know? It goes: Good, better, me."

CONCLUSION:

More people need to listen to German music and I will supply you with it. If you enjoyed my ramblings and subpar translation skills, make sure you check out the next playlists once I post them.

Also, if you enjoyed the songs, make sure to check out some of the artists other work! Some of them are still very small and it would mean the world to me (and probably them) if more people got to enjoy their music.

Also, here the link again, in case the one above doesn't work: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5HvMcE3IEO84vgqvNpr3d9?si=8376107780924f79

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! I've recently found your blog and first of all, let me say that you are brilliant! I read your fic about singer!reader x Hotch and I was wondering if you'd be open to write another fic/drabble about them? Like imagine it's Valkyrie's opening night of her tour for her new album, the entire team is there, and reader keeps looking/pointing at Hotch during the songs (like Taylor Swift is doing whenever Travis Kelce is there?) I just think Hotch would be so flustered it would be so cute *-*

No worries if you don't feel like writing this btw! Hope you have a great day!!

Opening night | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem singer!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing

A/N: Thank you so much! I’m glad you found my blog and hope you'll enjoy this one too! 💕

The venue buzzed with anticipation, the low hum of conversation and excited cheers weaving into a symphony of pre-show excitement from your fans. Your opener had just left the stage, almost jumping with excitement as she relayed how great the crowd had been. You loved seeing how energetic she was coming off the stage, knowing that you'd made the right choice in bringing a newer artist on tour with you, rather than the more established one your label had recommended during the planning meetings.

The stage was dark and wrapped in mystique as your crew moved around in the shadows, changing a few instruments out and moving some positions of others as they prepared the stage for you and your band.

The BAU team occupied a cluster of prime seats up on the balcony, their enthusiasm apparent in their attire and energy as they waited for you to come out.

Despite their excitement, no one matched Garcia's energy. She sat at the edge of her seat, ready to jump out of her seat, her bejeweled glasses catching the dim light. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered for the fifth time that evening, shaking her head as if to reset her reality. “Hotch — our Hotch — is dating Valkyrie. THE Valkyrie. My favorite artist of all time. How does that even happen? What alternate dimension are we living in?” Hotch smiled quietly to himself as he listened to Garcia

“This is wild,” Morgan said, leaning back in his seat with a grin as he looked out over the stadium. “I still can’t believe we know Valkyrie. Like, know her know her.”

“She’s amazing,” JJ agreed. “This new album? Masterpiece.”

Rossi chuckled, sipping his whiskey. “I think we’re all in agreement. What about you, Aaron? Nervous to be the muse tonight?”

Hotch, seated at the edge of their group, straightened his tie and gave Rossi a glance. “I’m just here to support her,” he said simply, his tone calm, the usual stoic Hotchner tone that showed no emotion. But the slight tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement, a crack in his normal demeanor that didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.  

Garcia gasped dramatically, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline. “Oh my GOD, you’re blushing already!” she exclaimed, her fingers moving quickly to snap a picture. “This is going in the vault.”

Hotch sighed, but his smirk lingered. “Garcia put the phone away.”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, grinning as she angled for another shot. “This is for posterity, boss man. You’ll thank me later.”

Morgan leaned back in his seat, shaking his head with a laugh. “Posterity, huh? I think she just wants proof she knows someone famous by association.”

“Don’t we all?” JJ added with a grin, nudging Garcia.  

Before Hotch could muster a reply, the rest of the lights in the arena shut off, and the venue was plunged into darkness. A wave of energy rippled through the crowd, the excited murmur rising into a roar of cheers that shook the room. The stage lights remained off, the suspense growing as the audience clapped and whistled.  

Then it started — a chant, low at first but growing louder with each passing second as more and more of your fans caught onto it.  

“Valkyrie! Valkyrie! Valkyrie!”

Garcia clutched Morgan’s arm, her excitement bubbling over. “Do you hear that? That’s for her!”

Hotch leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the stage. The chant grew louder.  

The first note of the opening song rang out, clear and strong, echoing through the venue like a call to arms. The stage erupted in light, beams of gold and white cutting through the darkness as the music built to its first crescendo. Suddenly, a platform at the center of the stage began to rise, smoke swirling around its edges.

And there you were, emerging from the floor, your silhouette framed by the blinding spotlights behind you, creating a halo-like effect that made you look angelic. The crowd’s cheers exploded into an uproar, the sheer volume rattling the balcony where the BAU team sat.

You stepped forward with effortless grace, your breathtaking costume catching every flicker of light. It shimmered with each movement, the intricate detailing making you look like a constellation. The energy you radiated was magnetic — electric — and it pulled every eye in the room to you.

Hotch’s gaze never left you, although he could sense several men in the pit staring at you with hungry looks — he couldn't lie, it made him a little jealous and perhaps even a little overprotective, wanting to jump in a hide you away.

He’d seen you perform countless times, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the crowd or the grandeur of the venue; it was the unmistakable pride that welled in his chest watching you command the stage as you did.  

As you launched into the second song, your voice soaring effortlessly through the lyrics, you began scanning the crowd. Your smile widened when your eyes found him. You paused for the briefest moment, microphone in hand, before pointing directly at him.  

The reaction from the audience was deafening, a mix of cheers and laughter as people tried to decipher who the gesture was for. Hotch, however, stiffened in his seat, his normally composed self giving way to a look of wide-eyed surprise.  

“Oh no, she didn’t!” Morgan barked out, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against Rossi. “Hotch! You’ve been claimed!”

“She’s bold,” JJ whispered, grinning as she nudged Garcia.  

Garcia fanned herself dramatically. “Forget Hotch — I’m in love.”

Hotch shook his head, a small, embarrassed smile playing at his lips. He tugged at his tie, adjusting it more out of habit than necessity, and kept his focus on you.  

And you didn’t stop.  

As you moved through your set, you stole moments to lock eyes with him, a sly smile or a quick glance that sent the team into fits of laughter every time. During a particularly sultry number, you sauntered across the stage, letting the lyrics drip with honey as you zeroed in on him. The crowd saw a confident performer captivating her audience — although you were sure a few fans had caught on by now, and that you'd find edits and clips from tonight on social media in the following days — Hotch only saw you teasing him mercilessly.  

By the time you reached the final song, Hotch’s usual exterior had cracked. His tie was loose, his cheeks faintly pink, and his lips tugged into an almost constant smile.  

“She’s singing to you again,” Garcia teased, leaning over to snap another picture.  

Reid tilted his head. “Well actually, she’s pointed at him approximately seven times now in this song alone. That seems statistically significant.”

“Statistically significant” Morgan repeated in a mocking tone, laughing. “Reid, it means they're whipped for each other.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving you, and shook his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”

But when you sent one last wink his way before stepping off stage before returning for the encore, even he couldn’t deny the truth.  

[flamingo-writes]

A/N: i am back from the dead after months. And it should’ve come as a surprise that I absolutely loved Hobie. Looks like a rockstar and is an absolute punk. My type in a nutshell.

I’m gonna be using some of these headcanon for future

Gal in The Chair — Hobie Brown x Artist!Reader

I think Hobie would be the kind of guy to fall for someone who he’s known for a long while, that being said, you’d perhaps known him all of your life

Having grown together, the two of you shaped a lot of each other’s beliefs. So no wonder the two of you were so compatible.

After the spider bite, you saw the whole journey from Hobie freaking out at first, to him figuring out how to use his new abilities.

He designed his web shooters, being the genius he is with technology. You helped him with his suit, specially his mask.

You became his Gal in the Chair

You liked to fix up and personalise clothes. All of your pieces of clothings came from second hand shops and you gave them a make over doing all sorts of stuff on them to make them unique and yours.

You also did this with a lot of Hobie’s clothes. As well as teaching him how to use your sewing machine.

After graduating high school, you opened a small alternative clothing shop in with unique pieces, doing the same thing you did for your clothes on this one. As well as doing hand made jewerly like bracelets, necklaces and earrings. You also had a talent with plants, managing to almost magically bring plants back to life and reproduce them like crazy, you added selling plants into your small business.

As Spider-Man gained traction, he low key promoted your work to his followers and people who agreed with him. This in order to keep negative attention from falling on you, and keep bad guys from thinking and theorising that maybe you knew Spider-Man.

As a side gig, you educated yourself on coffee making, and learned about the different processes and types of coffee beans there were. It started as a hobby, but soon you also implemented that into your shop.

The fact that you were so versatile, made Hobie feel incredibly proud of you. You seemed to be so independent, and creative and that never ending curiosity and passion made him harvest feelings for you.

Eventually, the close friendship, and companionship grew into affectionate and romantic feelings.

Hobie was always flirty, but it wasn’t until now that you started behaving differently. Normally he played his electric guitar but now you found him playing his acoustic guitar more.

He showed you a song he wrote. And while it was unusual —however, not imposible— to hear a romantic song coming from him, it wasn’t until the first minute that you realised the song was about you.

That’s how he chose to tell you about his feelings.

He didn’t intend for it to be this romantic, he simply one day word vomited the song and used one free afternoon to add the music.

After hearing his song, it was actually you who grabbed him and kissed him.

More than satisfied with the outcome, he kissed you back, put his guitar down and pulled you over his lap.

You two became inseparable since. You already were, but now it was more evident.

You worked at home, doing all the creative things you did, selling them, helping Spider-Man with art shows and gigs.

Those who paid close attention, they were able to determine you were some sort of associate to Spider-Man. However, all of them were also punks and anarchist so of course they kept their mouths shut. Spider-Man was always looking out for those in need. They were going to help a brother back and not tell anyone whenever any authority or weird-looking threat asked if anyone knew Spider-Man, or someone close to him.

You became widely known between Spider-Man supporters, although none of them would ever dare to snitch on you.

After Hobie met Gwen, she brought her over, you two became close friends right away. Letting Gwen crash at your place more often than not. She even offered to help you with the dishes and the groceries as thanks for letting her stay.

“You’re Hobie’s friend, you’re welcome whenever you want,” You’d told her.

Pav was also a frequent visitor. He loved your coffee, he taught you how to make chai. And you had chai ready for whenever Hobie told you Pav was going to be there.

Pav also bought plants from you all the time. Most of them for his mom. He once asked you if you could make a set of earrings and a necklace for his mom.

The set was a success and Pav always told you how much she loved them,

Eventually Miles also came around. And it wasn’t until Miles met you that his suspicions of Hobie and Gwen dating dissappeared.

Miles saw the absolute pure love with which Hobie looked at you. He still made the same sarcastic and cheeky jokes while talking to you. But the way he looked at you was completely different to the way he looked at anyone else.

Hobie convinced Miles to buy a plant and some earrings for his mother.

“Listen mate, this is what my girl does for a living. Plus the world needs to learn to appreciate the handiwork of an artisan,”

Miles was even surprised at how Hobie still looked cool while being mushy and cheesy with you as he hugged you, kissed your head, or played with your hands or hair.

Hobie had zero fucks to give about what people think about him, he doesn’t give a shit about PDA. Gwen thinks it’s gross, Pav thinks it’s adorable, Miles is simply puzzled as to how he is still cool when seeing his parents doing the same thing would make him cringe so hard.

Hobie is amused by the different reactions he gets. Especially Gwen’s grossed out face.

He still loves kissing you every chance he gets. Whether if it’s kissing you passionately. A subtle peck. Sweet kissed on your cheek or your forehead.

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, established relationship, new relationship, discussions of sexually explicit music.

A/N: this is my THIS. IS. MUSIC!!! moment. CupcakKe is my girl and if you can't appreciate a good hoe anthem then we can't be friends. Anyway, writing's been super tough lately and it feels like it's only getting more difficult with each passing day so I just wanted to attempt something fun. Hope you enjoy!

"Whatchu listening to?"

"Oh, just..." you plucked your earbuds out, placing them next to your phone on the kitchen island, your eyes avoiding his. "The Cure, Bowie. same old stuff."

"Right, yeah..."

He didn't believe you. Not this time and not any of the other times before that either.

This was the latest instance of him finding you like this -- hips swaying rhythmically with a kind of confidence that felt different from usual, the kind you fell into when you think no one's looking, your lips mouthing the words to a song he was yet to figure out.

The front door had been left unlocked for him and quietly, he'd let himself in, inching closer while you danced. Your back was to him, a bowl full of brownie mix in one arm that made the room smell sweet with few drops of vanilla, wooden spoon in the other as you stirred it into the rest of the contents -- snacks for your movie date tonight he gathered.

Eddie had hoped to catch a few of the words you were uttering under your breath, even holding his own in an effort to be more quiet as he loomed nearer but it's the faint scent of cigarettes and Irish Spring still clinging to him that gave him away. You'd managed to sense him just in time once you smelled it, a jolt scraping up the length of your spine alerting you.

Your lips pressed together instantly, lengthening into a quick, tight smile as you turned to him and hastily hit pause on your phone. It took some effort to stop his own lips from drooping into a frown when he saw you do it, screen going dark as you press down once on the power button next.

Ouch.

It bothered Eddie that you'd try so hard to hide something like this from him when all he wanted to know was what had made you light up like that, all lively and clearly enjoying yourself. So why all the secrecy? Why shut him out?

The questions he wants to ask are packed tight in the back of his throat but he keeps them from erupting out of his mouth for the time being, accepting the kiss you place on his lips as you greet him properly. His heart thaws at the sincere "missed you", you whisper to him when you pull away, your smile now the kind that reaches your eyes as you hand him the bowl and spoon right after. "Could you mix this up for me? I'll be right back", you explain as you head off in the direction of the bathroom with a little wave.

Oh. This was his chance.

"Yes Chef!", he calls out to you with a convincing smile, placing the items down on the counter, spoon speared into the mix and forgotten as he picks up your phone instead once you're out of sight.

Sure, he does feel a little guilty going through it but you'd been so mysterious about the whole thing, always finding a way to sidestep the question like an arrow aimed in your direction whenever he asked you what you'd been listening to. He just had to know once and for all what was on this damn thing so he could put all his wondering to rest and enjoy the rest of the night with you.

Opening up Spotify, he taps on your last viewed playlist. 'Playlist 1'. Inconspicuous. Too inconspicuous, he thought while narrowing his eyes. Scrolling through, he sees that most of the songs are by one artist, someone he's never heard of before so he decides to hit shuffle, unsure of which track to pick and listen to first.

A beat commences, something quick and jumpy and what sounds like wet slurping? okay, he hadn't expected that. Already off to an interesting start.

His eyebrows rise up slowly past his shaggy bangs when the moaning begins, high pitched and accompanied by more sounds that fall short of what he'd call family friendly.

"Oh honey, what have you been listening to?", he mumbles, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk when the vocals begin.

No quick head in my bed I can't have that I want that long neck not talking giraffe neck Aint no laying down man we bout' to have late fun I'm about to make your balls stick up like space buns

"Holy-"

Want your dick soaked? place it down my throat Tongue tickle your dick but not telling a joke Peddle in this pussy that's how you rock a boat It get live in this pussy, I'm not talking periscope In the sheets I am a bully Give more head than a hoodie Every time you make me cum it looks like vanilla pudding-

"Eddie?"

The sound of his name makes him turn, finding you back in the kitchen with your eyes darting back and forth between your phone in his hand and the slack jawed look on his face.

Pulling an earbud out of his left ear, the song continues to play in his right.

"Baby, why-"

I got three holes for it like a pretzel Tight as a virgin boy don't get nervous(tight)

"Why've you been hiding-"

I save dick by giving it CPR Put my mouth on it like CPR Let's make porn and watch it on VCR

The question fizzles out on his tongue like a dying fuse, unable to hold back the snickering laugh that rolls up out of his chest, doing his best to stifle it and failing even when he presses a palm to the front of his lips.

"Oh god", you realize what he's listening to, stomach somersaulting as you try to snatch your phone back but he's too quick for you. "Nooooo way, sweetheart" he holds it up high out of your reach, a grin so bright it's bordering on blinding on his face.

You struggle like that for a minute, chasing him around the island with one hand desperately yanking at dark leather to pull him closer as he puts some distance between you, the other trying to reach for or even swat your phone out of his hands, too rattled to care about something like a cracked screen right now.

But despite your best efforts, all those years of hauling ass out of beer soaked back yards with pockets full of illicit party favors at the first sound of sirens has made Eddie impossible to pin down, slipping out of your grasp with expert ease.

"I fuck doggy style so much I need to go to the vet? Fuck me, she's a modern day Hemingway!", he barks out another laugh, this time no longer holding back and the sound of it triggers a giggle to work it's way out your own throat. He always did have an infectious laugh.

You give up trying to retrieve your phone then, pressing your face into the front of his shirt as you build up into a laugh too, shoulders shaking, arms lowering.

"So, pretty demure taste in music you've got here", he winds an arm around your waist, pulling you in for an embrace.

You look up to offer him a smile, a little sheepish considering how ungracefully you'd evaded the topic this long, only to be found out like a teen caught with a copy of Penthouse under his pillow.

"Where'd you learn that word, Munson?", you try to deflect long enough for your cheeks to cool down.

"Where'd you learn about the queen of obscene?", he shoots back breezily, tapping his thumb on your phone screen.

You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second. It's not often that Eddie bests you like this but there's something sort of enjoyable about the way he makes you want to squirm a little under his gaze, knowing he's got the upper hand.

"I wasn't sure how to tell you. She can come off a bit...strong, I guess".

His lips pinch together, forcing away a crooked smile. "Really? because-", he looks back to the screen to read off the lyrics. " 'your dick getting more blows than a birthday cake's pretty subtle in my opinion. A real thinker".

You laugh again, delivering a weak punch to his left shoulder. Things were still new with Eddie. He hadn't yet seen this side of you and those whispering new relationship jitters had gotten the best of you, worried he'd think of you differently like shitty ex's past unless you found a way to ease him into your other interests.

But now that he's ripped the band aid off for you, you realize how stupid you'd been -- really damn stupid because this was Eddie Munson. He'd never judge you, least of all when it came to your taste in music of all things and that reminder was everything you needed to shake off those unfounded nerves for good.

So, you happily forget the movie that night, both of you sat atop your island with your legs crossed like something out of Sixteen Candles, eating warm brownies right out of the pan placed between you.

The rest of the night's spent playing CupcakKe's discography for Eddie, both of your cheeks sore from how hard you've been laughing and smiling every time he pretends to be scandalized by a verse one moment and then shamelessly belts out the next once he'd got the lyrics memorized, exaggerated fake moans and all.

You wouldn't be hiding anything from Eddie again, not now when you've found someone with whom you can be yourself around, always.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body. 

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is. 

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to. 

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes. 

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod. 

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts. 

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down. 

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?” 

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems. 

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed. 

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom. 

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone. 

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.” 

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches. 

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort. 

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show. 

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements. 

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front. 

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way. 

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed. 

“We’re finally alone, baby…” 

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.” 

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily. 

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said. 

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate. 

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran. 

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks. 

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you. 

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing. 

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side. 

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom. 

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring. 

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips. 

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door. 

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.” 

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast. 

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm. 

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read. 

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you. 

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground. 

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well. 

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you. 

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth. 

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away. 

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend. 

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed. 

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked. 

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her. 

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own. 

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune." 

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?" 

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously. 

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound. 

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home. 

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal. 

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up. 

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage. 

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do. 

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself. 

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.” 

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he? 

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you. 

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.” 

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better. 

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.” 

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.” 

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day. 

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?” 

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off. 

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.” 

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

[good-beansdraws]

Massive Milgramsona art/info dump as a treat to myself!! Alas, my fatal flaw is being unable to shut up about anything even while simultaneously embarrassed/nervous to share, so here's literally all the info I have on her 😅

Profile:

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Number: 012

Color: #E7355B

Age: She’d be 20 when Milgram started

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Song genre: Pop/theater (a mix of Mahiru and Kazui's vibes)

Backstory: She is studying abroad in Japan to work on technology related to the mv machine when she stumbles into top secret info about the trials. Horrified at the lack of prior testing, she demands to be included in the experiment to make sure the brand new tech runs smoothly and doesn't harm anyone in the process. To prevent her leaking info to the public and deciding an extra participant wouldn't hurt, Milgram agrees.

Role: Rose performs routine maintenance and updates on the extraction machine, and checks in with prisoners' health to make sure it's not having any adverse effects. She listens in on the interrogations, ringing the bell to signal Es when the machine is ready for use (re: my theory on how it works >:3). She then watches the mvs after Es to make sure there are no glitches.

(Though she is a personal milgramsona, her role in the story is supposed to reflect the audience's experience overall when it comes to how much info we know, emotions we experiencing regarding guilt/responsibility, and how much power over events we actually have given the voting system and trial breaks.)

Trial 1

Jackalope's comments during trial commencement: Oh, I almost forgot participant 012, Rose. We've never had more than one staff member before, so we figured that sort of numbering would be fine. Hey, don't look at me, it's not like it was our idea to include her. She's not a prisoner -- the only crime she's committed is sticking her nose where it didn't belong... You can ask her for the details, but she's just here for maintenance on our extraction machine. It's not easy keeping that thing running smoothly, you know? As part of her duties, she'll be privy to all the same information as you, but don't let her be any more of a busybody than she already is -- she has absolutely no authority when it comes to your verdict decisions, got it?

MV: Mic Check - “Can anyone hear me?”

VD: Positive Feedback

Cover: Pathological Facade - Ghost

Her album would release last in line. The VDs aren't interrogations since there's been no crime -- Es asks about her duties and observations of the prison. In them, she admits her predictions that she and Es will eventually be on trial for their involvement in the prisoner's fates.

Thus, her mvs are focused on her emotions towards the prisoners, her pride in helping bring justice, and her guilt at providing Milgram a means to pass judgement on people she cared about. I'm going to Goncharov the actual mvs/songs, but Mic Check is generally an introduction to her job behind the scenes prepping the equipment that will allow the prisoners' songs to be heard, as well kick off symbolism of her as a performer herself. She'll make a comment about how the experiment is leading to tragedy, "as if someone said Macbeth" (then covers her mouth, as she's standing in a theater herself).

I kept getting tripped up looking for Deco*27 songs that worked and weren't already taken, so I decided to go with some favorites and vibe-matching songs from other artists!

Comments during trial closing: It's good to hear you weren't a pushover when Rose gave her thoughts on the verdicts -- you guys disagreed on quite a few of them, eh? Ah... so she's not the type to pick fights, is that it? I guess that explains how she's managed to get along with everyone. (sigh) Even you knew better than to get attached like that. Well, at least she's kept our machine up and running the whole time.

Trial 2

Commencement: Now I need to wake Rose. We're going to need some extra upgrades to our machine if we want to get the most out of this round of extractions. I've got a sneaking suspicion that she and her bleeding heart are going to try and sway you during this trial. Her duty is specifically to look out for the prisoners' safety, but yours is only to judge them. Don't forget that.

MV: Changement - “Don’t say ‘break a leg,’ if it might just break.”

VD: Control Variable

Cover: TOXY - Kujiragi

I did my best to write out the title pronunciation out in katakana since I wanted it as the name of the dance move, not a direct translation of meaning. I went with シャジェモ "sha-je-mo" as the closest I could get to the "shanj-mou" sound, but feel free to correct me if there's a better way to write it. The door is based off of various set designs for Clara's home in The Nutcracker. (There's no deep meaning that this is the only one not opening -- I realized too late all the others are cracked open and my art app doesn't have the tools to easily fix that so I'm sticking with it 😭)

A changement is a small jump in ballet -- I thought it was fun to combine that (which means "to change") with Control Variable (refering to the variable in an experiment that never changes). The video shows conflicting emotions as her decisions/inaction caused so much to happen between trials, yet at the same time she feels like there's so much she'll be unable to change even if she really wants to intervene. Her mvs show the prisoners pretty regularly (since they are her crime, she's realized), and the teaser line is paired with references to Mahiru's broken leg.

The thumbnail combines different areas of study -- mechanical, medical, musical, mathematical (theater spotlight, muscles, Weakness notes, motion formulas). I think it's super cool how many areas of expertise are passed around the fanbase when discussing the characters. I've picked up new facts about plants, food, anatomy, geography, music, animals language, (sigh. color theory.), hobbies, professions, mythology, etc from fans with different fields of knowledge. While that's one of my favorite aspects of the project from the outside, I think it would be super intimidating to someone on the inside trying to tackle so much information at once.

Closing: As for Rose... (laughs) I thought she was dooming herself before--! Not only has she gotten hopelessly attached to everyone over the course of this trial, she's even started a relationship with one of the prisoners! And of all the people she could have chosen... Eh? Oh no, we have no policies against that for our staff. I mean, the whole point of Milgram is to explore human nature, the power of emotions, the complexities of connections, all that crap. I'm just grateful she shows a bit more common sense when she's operating the machine...

Trial 3

MV: Showstopper - “There won’t be applause, but I’ll take a bow, okay?”

VD: Please Exit Left

Cover: Ironina - Nilfruits

I don't know the album theme yet, but this is the tentative sprite and thumbnail design. The T2 sprite was kind of an "innocent" one, since at the beginning she still has faith in her role in the prison, excited to work with everyone there. (Plus, I joined the fandom a little after t2 started so that's peak excitement time lol). The T3 sprite has much more of a "guitly" feel to it because, at the end of T2 and after this hiatus, she'd harbor a lot more guilt about her position and fear about the experiment's conclusion. As a fun little detail, her pencil has been replaced with a more permanent utensil as final verdicts are locked in.

Now listen. My artist brain was constantly fighting my science brain when doing sprite designs -- I know gloves like that and nothing else isn't proper PPE. I know none of those are safety shoes (god forbid wearing just socks??? to the lab???). There should be no jewellery at all. The whole point of a lab coat is that you don't roll up the sleeves and expose your bare skin. However. It's anime character design. There can be compromise.

Referencing Rose's personal life as a performance and comparing Milgram's trials to one, I wanted the mv to play on "showstopper" as both a great show and a literal attempt to stop the project before it reaches its finale. There would be creepy comparisons in the mv between operating stage equipment and prison executions: curtain/set ropes and nooses, heavy duty lightswitches and electric chairs, etc.

Misc.

And lightening things up again -- birthday art and minigrams :3

Birth flower: Camellias. Pink camellias symbolize love but also longing. The fact that they bloom in winter, and have a quick death (the entire flower wilts at once, instead of individual petals falling off), have inspired different meanings in different cultures -- overcoming hard times, facing death in battle, inseparable lovers, and so on

Three minigrams featuring my own annoyance that her design is a bit close to Shidou's coat/gloves look, a mandatory short joke, and a pun that works so perfectly for my Put-In-Situations guy

[finrays]

Thinking this morning about the time I got to witness the universe spank a pedantic asshole that I was about to slap myself.

I was at a folk concert given by the local symphony orchestra with my family, and the guy sitting a row behind us was being just… insufferable. Aside from the fact that he was bloviating excessively about every song on the program, the tone of his voice was just MADDENINGLY smarmy and superior. I was ready to turn around and shove the program in his mouth the whole first half of the concert.

Then we get to Ashokan Farewell, which is a song I really, really like. This fucking moron starts going “Ah yes, it’s an old Civil War folk tune, written by an artist from the South, I believe-“

And if you know anything about the song you’ll know that’s entirely wrong. It’s a rumor that got started because Ken Burns used it as the intro for his Civil War documentary series. The damn thing was written in 1982 by Jay Ungar and his wife Molly Mason, and it originated as a goodbye/goodnight piece at a mountain valley in Upstate New York where they used to hold fiddle and dance camps. One of his companions cautiously ventured this and was summarily dismissed with something like “Oh, well that’s not what *I* heard.”

It took a HERCULEAN effort not to turn around and Well Actually this guy. I strongly feel that if you’re gonna be smart about something, you should be cheery and excitable about it, as if you’re sharing a bag of snacks. The point is to share the knowledge you love, not to try and puff yourself up like a blowfish.

But I was beginning to observe how much smoother my life went if I hid my strangeness at that point, and a lot of that was shutting the hell up. So I just held my tongue, ground my teeth and sat there.

And I was rewarded for it; the conductor must have heard my psychic scream, because he introduced the song by pointing out the Civil War Folk Song rumor and then dismissing it and providing the real info.

Folks.

Mr. Grand High Cultured Muckity Muck. Went DEAD SILENT. I heard not another word from his mouth for the rest of the night. It was magnificent and I immediately had the NEW problem of not giggling and kicking my feet.

Sometimes, if you stay quiet and keep out of the way, an asshole will own THEMSELVES, and it’s glorious to witness.

[deityoftherain]

chord crush - Scwhip Band AU Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M, Gen

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 7,578

Summary: Being a musician himself, Fwhip often found himself admiring another's music, even if their style wasn't what he normally went for. When scrolling through their socials after practice, they stumbled upon an influencer who managed to peak their interest the moment he opened his mouth to sing for the camera. Fwhip had expected his infatuation to stop there, but, as luck would have it, that very influencer decided to visit Empires Nightclub during one of the nights WRA was working a gig there...

Written for @djpurple3, my artist, through @mcytblraufest!!!

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

“Good practice, everyone!” Joey clapped his hands together quickly. “Gem, you were a bit pitchy, and there was some stumbling on timing from a few of you, but only a trained ear like mine would pick that up.” “...Thanks Joey,” Fwhip replied flatly, trying to keep the annoyance out of their tone. Joey could be frustrating to deal with, especially when almost every praise was paired with criticism, but Joey was a good employer and a pretty decent friend deep down. Fwhip tried not to let it bother him too much.

Wither Rose Alliance (WRA for branding purposes) was currently practicing at Empires Nightclub, preparing for the gig they had there the next day. Though they often practiced in Pearl’s garage, when Joey offered them the venue, they’d take it. Getting on the stage they would be performing at allowed them to get a feel of the room and also see for themselves how their new songs bounced off the walls.

Joey waved his hand dismissively. “Get some water in you and start wrapping up. I need you out within the hour so we can start opening. Cod Alliance is supposed to be here soon and I don’t need you all distracting each other.”

Cod Alliance was another rock band that played here regularly. They were more of a punk band, whereas WRA had more folk influences in their music, especially considering they had a violinist. The two bands have known each other for quite awhile, which was unsurprising considering the town they lived in wasn’t that huge and their music styles had some similarities.

“Distract each other?” Sausage gasped dramatically, even as Joey turned away to start setting up. “Why, I would never!”

“Uh-huh, sure you wouldn’t.” Gem snorted with a roll of her eyes. “Last time you and Jimmy saw each other, you got into an argument and ended up making out.”

“It’s not my fault you walked in on us!” Sausage exclaimed with a playful smirk. “You’re just jealous you’re not the one to kiss him. You know, he does this really hot thing with his tongue–”

“Shut up!” Gem pressed her palms against her ears, turning away from him. “Nope! I don’t need to hear this!”

“But Gemmm!” Sausage draped an arm over Gem’s shoulders, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Jimmy and Sausage have a very messy and complicated dating history that honestly gave Fwhip a headache to think about. No matter how many times they fought, Sausage always managed to win back Jimmy, even if it was only for a night. Fwhip was aware that Jimmy’s other partners, Katherine, Joel, and Pix, disapproved, but they also couldn’t stop her anymore than the WRA could stop Sausage. Technically, what they were doing didn’t hurt anybody. It just made it extremely awkward for Gem and Pearl to try and foster a relationship beyond friendship with Katherine and Lizzie respectively.

WRA didn’t have any in-band dating going on– at least, not now, but anything could happen in the future– much unlike Cod Alliance. They were in a big string of polyamorous relationships, only further complicated by Fwhip’s bandmates crushing on some of them as well. Fwhip had to admit that he and Jimmy also had a bit of a thing going on at one point, but that had since ended.

Fwhip wasn’t necessarily against being in a polyamorous or open relationship, but he did tend to learn more towards monogamy himself. Part of it was probably due to their grayromantism, making it so they didn’t experience romantic attraction for others very frequently. When it did hit them, though, it usually came at them like a freight train, hard and fast. They still had a hard time identifying it when it came, unfortunately.

Sausage, Gem, and Pearl (they dragged her in at some point) continued to bicker, as they often did, while they put away their instruments. Fwhip shook his head fondly, but he didn’t engage. He would normally love to join in, but he wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. He finished packing up his guitar before them, so he put in his wireless earbuds and pulled out his phone to scroll through his socials. 

Fwhip followed a lot of music related tags, especially ones specific to their area. When browsing through a series of photos and videos, he must have lingered too long on one because one of the videos started to automatically play. The video opened with a melancholic solo guitar, a much more moody style of country music than Fwhip typically listened to, but he found himself drawn in. The allure only increased when the artist began to sing, his voice enchantingly beautiful.

Intrigued, Fwhip clicked open his profile. Their jaw dropped at the follower count for just a second, before they quickly recovered, playing it cool before anyone could ask what he was looking at. He had several thousand more followers than WRA did! Looking a bit deeper, that was no surprise. The account was filled with aesthetic pictures and videos, usually including music and some sort of pretty imagery. WRA’s was more to share information about their gigs than anything else.

The profile belonged to someone named Scott Smajor. Fwhip left the app to search the name on Mezalea Music, the current top music streaming app. Unsurprisingly at this point in his search, Scott was there with a fairly impressive following for an independent artist. Fwhip pressed the shuffle button and they were instantly greeted by Scott’s pretty singing voice. His voice seemed to scratch Fwhip’s brain in all the right places, making them want to melt into it.

They switched back to their social app to put a face to the name and voice. It wasn’t hard to find for there were several recurring photos of who Fwhip assumed was all Scott. The music paused when the video started, showing the singer strumming on an acoustic guitar covered with custom decals. When the singer opened his mouth, Fwhip could instantly tell it was him.

Scott was as stunning as his voice would suggest. He had fair skin that was partly flushed red from exposure to the sun-- almost like he had done it on purpose with blush. His eyes were an icy blue, though his features were soft and sad, not cold. Fwhip wasn’t sure how, but he pulled it off. Scott’s dyed cyan blue hair was wavy and reached down to his shoulders. Fwhip could get lost staring at him forever.

The end of one of Gem’s arm crutches poked Fwhip’s side, startling them out of their trance. They turned off their phone and removed one of their earbuds, looking up at their sister, though music still played in the other ear. “Yes?”

“We’re ready to leave.” Gem jutted her head in Sausage and Pearl’s direction, who were chatting by the door. “I don’t know about you, but I would like to get home and off my feet. You can get distracted by your phone in the car.”

Fwhip opened his mouth to respond when Joey burst through the backstage door. 

“Don’t worry,” Fwhip told him, “we were just leaving.” “You’re running slow,” Joey huffed briefly with a shake of his head, “but no matter! Your tardiness benefits me this time. I wanted to be the first to inform you of the competition I’m putting on."

“Competition?” Gem parroted, furrowing her eyebrows. “What competition?”

“A coin flipping competition, duh,” Joey responded before rolling his eyes. “No, dumbass, a music competition. I’m a music gay talking to other musical queers. What else would it be? It’s in three months, but sign-ups are open now. Just got confirmation that we’re good to go, which is why I’m telling you all now.”

“Is there a prize?” Pearl inquired. Pearl had always enjoyed some friendly competition… maybe a little too much. Gem ended up keeping a running tally of stupid bets the band still had active on her phone, twelve and counting, and most of them were Pearl’s fault.

“What kind of competition would it be without a prize?” Joey puffed out his chest, looking extremely pleased with himself. “An old friend of mine is looking for some new talent for his record label, so I told him I have tabs on multiple other bands in the area, especially the ones working at my club. One thing led to another and we’re hosting a competition together. We will have a panel of judges, ticket sales, just everything! It will be absolutely gorgeous and bring in more business for me. It’s a win-win! So, you’ll sign up, yeah?” The four of them glanced between each other, looking for signs of protest, before Sausage spoke up. “Oh, yes, we would love to.”

“Okay, wonderful!” Joey grinned ear to ear. “The sign up form is on Empires’ socials, which I’m sure all of you follow. I expect to see your submission soon or I will have to talk to you again after your shift tomorrow!” “We’ll get right on that,” Fwhip promised. He took one look at Gem and realized by the way she was shuffling on her arm crutches that her fatigue levels were at their limit. It was clear to him that they needed to get a move on. She'd said it was a good day this morning, but rehearsing always took it out of her, and Fwhip could read that off her face easily– especially considering they still lived together. She couldn't hide it from him even if she tried. 

“Perfect, now shoo!” Joey flicked his hands out towards them twice. “I’m trying to run a bar here.”

Not wanting to get on his bad side, they did as they were told, scurrying out to Sausage’s car. The four of them chatted about the competition the entire car ride to Fwhip and Gem’s apartment, and Fwhip participated, but he still had Scott Smajor’s music playing in his ear.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Yelling was, unfortunately, something Scott Smajor was quite familiar with. For as long as he could remember, it had been part of his life. He'd always tried to avoid raised voices as best he could, hoping he'd stay under their radar and that they would forget about him just enough to help him stay out of needing the therapy he likely still should sign up for. His “golden child” avoidance strategy only semi-worked because Xornoth, his older brother, took most of the heat.

Xornoth protected him from a lot. Scott hadn’t always realized it, especially back when their father, Exor, and their uncle, Aeor, got into his head. They each wanted to mold Scott and Xornoth into their own image, absolutely stuck in their own ways. They'd hate to be compared, but they both had a god complex a mile wide and their egos were far too easy to inflate. It was... not easy to live with. 

Scott could recall several times (usually when the yelling far escalated beyond simply yelling) where Xornoth would promise that, once he was old enough, he would get them out of there. The yelling in Scott’s life had reduced significantly when Xornoth turned eighteen. He kept true to his promise, taking Scott with him when he left the small farm they lived at for most of their childhoods. They couldn’t afford to move very far (they moved closer to town than the more rural-esque area they resided in their youth) so “home sweet home” wasn’t too far away, but Exor and Aeor tended to stay out of their lives… for the most part, anyway.

“How many times do I need to tell you ‘no’, old man?” Xornoth snapped, his face contorting with fury. He tugged at his long, dyed purple hair, trying to ground himself. Scott noticed a few strands snapped by the action, but he didn’t say anything. He’d had the habit for years; Scott knew it would be hard to shake. “You may have been able to drag me into that shit when I still lived with you, but I’m not facing jail time because you need someone to take the fall.”

Scott quietly picked out a little musical line on his guitar, seeing if he liked how it sounded, before jotting it down in his songwriting notebook. Phrases and half finished phrases hummed from his lips as he thought out loud to himself. It was all a part of his process. Xornoth’s conversation with Exor was merely background noise; Scott was used to finding focus in their chaos.

“‘I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.’ Oh, you have other guys for that?” Xornoth mocked before scoffing. “Like I believe that, asshole. You know I’ve already been in juvie, I can’t risk– Exor, I swear I will– What kind of father gets their eleven year old to deal drugs? Or brings their thirteen year old along to a fucking armed robbery for ‘experience’? Go bother someone else and stop calling me. I’m tired of blocking your numbers and ignoring your calls.”

Xornoth hung up the phone and tossed it down on the couch. It bounced off of the cushions and landed on the floor, though it didn’t appear damaged in any way. He groaned loudly, practically stomping over to the alcohol cabinet and swinging the door open. Xornoth considered his options for a moment before pulling out some whiskey. He turned toward Scott and held up the bottle. “Do you want any?” “Nope, go for it.” Scott wasn’t in the mood for alcohol, especially not whiskey. His preferred choice of drink was vodka with some sort of fruity mixer in it. Maybe some sort of cocktail, if he was in the mood.

“More for me,” Xornoth murmured, twisting off the cap most of the way before flicking it off. He brought the bottle’s rim up to his lips and shot some back with a sort of gurgling noise Scott recognized as Xornoth’s response to the cheap whiskey’s burning sensation.

“What did he want this time?” Scott inquired, passively strumming a few more chords. Neither Scott nor Xornoth referred to their father as ‘dad’ for he didn’t deserve that title. Exor was strictly referred to with he/him pronouns or by his first name. Well, they occasionally threw in she/her pronouns if they caught him being transphobic. That method managed to kick that “nasty habit” out of him real quick.

“Someone to do his dirty work.” Xornoth plopped down heavily on one of the arm chairs. He took another swig of the whiskey before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Tempted to block his new number too, but I don't want him coming over here again. I already had to change the locks this year and I don’t want to do it again.”

Nothing Scott could say would be new information, so he let silence fall between them besides the music coming from his guitar and the sound of pencil against paper.

“I like that tune so far,” Xornoth complimented after a moment, noticeably calmer than before. Either the whiskey had kicked in already or their time sitting peacefully allowed him to blow off enough steam. “Sounds good.” The ends of Scott’s lips twitched up at the praise, a warmth sparking in his chest. He knew his style of music wasn’t exactly Xornoth’s typical taste, so it felt extra pleasant to know Xornoth supported him and his dream of pursuing music. He always had, even when Scott was first starting out. “Thank you. One of the last songs I released got fairly popular, so I want to capitalize on its success and try to get something else out as well. I’ve been trying to fine tune some half-finished songs I’ve been messing around with for a while.”

Xornoth straightened up, his eyes brightening as Scott reminded him of something. He quickly got up to grab something before returning to hand Scott a flier. “There was a guy handing these out when I went to Empires Nightclub the other day.” “I thought you didn’t like that place?” Scott raised an eyebrow, partly amused as he took the flier from Xornoth. “Something about the nightclub’s owner coming on too strong? Or have you changed your mind?”

“Joey’s not that bad. I was just pissed off about something else that night and wasn’t in the mood.” Xornoth scrunched his nose. “I may have over exaggerated, but it’s whatever. Either way, nothing has happened or will ever happen between Joey and I, so don’t even think about it. They just have good drinks for a half decent price, and the music’s pretty alright as well.”

Scott turned his attention toward the flier. It was promoting a band competition with the prize being a record label. Scott would have to look into the fine print, of course, but the initial impression was fairly positive. They seemed to be looking for bands, which didn’t include Scott for he ran solo. Still, checking it out was an excuse to get himself to leave the apartment. 

“I’ll check it out,” Scott promised, setting the flier in his guitar case for safekeeping. “Thank you.” “No problem.” Xornoth appeared pleased with himself as he turned to grab the whiskey he had set aside before leaving the living room. He headed toward his bedroom, leaving Scott alone to work on his music in peace.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip knew they would never get over what it's like to play for a crowd. There was a special type of adrenaline that would pump through their veins that they couldn’t get quite the same doing anything else. Messing around with Gem, Pearl, and Sausage during practice was one thing, but these live gigs were something else entirely.

They were booked for three hours that night: three sets and got a ten minute break in between each. Reaching their first break, Fwhip wiped the sweat from their brow before chugging down a cold bottle of water Joey provided.

His eyes wandered over the crowd, not really paying attention to anything in particular until he caught a flash of cyan sitting in the corner. Fwhip squinted, attempting to focus on the figure and confirm his suspicion.

“Who are you looking at?” Gem asked, hitting the side of her arm crutches against his leg like she often did. Those things helped her walk, yes, but she enjoyed using them as assault weapons. Fwhip must have grown calves of steel at this point because it barely hurt anymore.

“I think the guy sitting over there is Scott Smajor.” Fwhip nodded in Scott’s direction– or they were fairly sure it was Scott, anyway. He had the same blue hair and fair skin. They tried to discern other details, but he was too far away and the lighting didn’t do them any favors. 

“That musician guy you’ve been obsessed with?” Gem gave him a knowing smirk before nudging his shoulder. “You should go talk to him.” “What? No!” Fwhip shook his head, waving his hands frantically in front of him. Scott looked busy writing down something in his notebook. Besides, they didn’t have too long before they had to start the next set.

“If you don’t go talk to him, I will,” Gem threatened with a gleam of mischief in her green eyes, and Fwhip couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. “I will tell him all about how you’ve developed a little celebrity crush on him–” “I have not!” Fwhip denied, wrinkling their nose. They stared at each other for a long moment before Fwhip groaned. He took another sip of water before pushing himself to his feet. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Just, don’t do that.” “Yay!” Gem cheered as Fwhip weaved his way through the crowd to get to Scott, very pleased with herself for her insignificant triumph.

Fwhip chose to ignore her, adjusting his signature red scarf. He paused for a moment, sniffing the scarf to make sure he didn’t smell too bad. The closer they got to the cyan haired man, the more they were sure it was him.

Before he had a chance to speak and introduce himself, Scott glanced up and noticed him. He gave them a polite smile before speaking in the very accent Fwhip had grown used to hearing from the speakers of their phone. “Hey, you’re Fwhip, right?” Fwhip blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah, I am. How did you know?” “I looked up who was going to be performing tonight before showing up,” Scott explained nonchalantly. “I’m impressed by your fingerpicking technique. Some of those songs moved very quickly, yet your fingers hit every note perfectly. I don’t think I saw or heard you stumble even once. You know, I wonder if that skill transfers to anything else.” Fwhip was caught off guard by the flirting tacked on at the end. He coughed to try and cover up his shock enough to respond. He didn’t wish to become a mess, at least not that quickly. “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with it so I’m glad it’s paying off. That’s some high praise, especially coming from another guitarist.”

Now it was Scott’s turn to blink in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Your fingertips are calloused, so I would assume you play some sort of string instrument,” Fwhip explained, “but I also found your music recently. I love finding indie artists, so when you stumbled upon my feed, I had to check you out. Your style isn’t what I typically go for, but I'm always open to expanding my horizons.” “Well, I appreciate it.” Scott swirled his drink as a small, pleased smile grew on his face. “Fortunately for you and your band, I enjoy a diverse amount of music, including folklore rock. I don’t typically come out to these sorts of things, though, but I told my brother I would check it out. He gave me a flier about the competition Empires Nightclub is hosting, which I assume you know about already.”

“Yeah, we’re going to take a shot at it.” Fwhip nodded in the direction of the stage. “The possibility of a record deal is too big to pass up.”

“That’s why my brother told me about it.” Scott sipped his drink, mildly dyeing his lips red from the fruity drink. Fwhip wondered (though he wouldn’t admit it) what it would taste like to kiss him, the phantom taste of sweet cherries, strawberries, and raspberries on his tongue. “I don’t think I will compete though. I’m doing fairly well on my own without a company backing me up.”

“Has no one offered you one yet?” Considering Scott’s follower count and musical talent, Fwhip was sure producers would have approached him. In this modern age, music labels loved snatching up people who already had a devoted online audience to build off of.

“They have, but I haven’t found one that didn’t want to trap me into an awful contract.” Scott shrugged, unconcerned. “I read the fineprint for this one, and the deal is actually a good one, so I’m rooting for you and the rest of the WRA. I thought about going for it, but they seem to be looking more for bands, not solo musicians.”

“Nah, c’mon! You could and should totally compete. You would have a good shot at winning!” Fwhip was confident in that, but he wasn’t going to push someone who he was still getting to know too hard. “If you’re adamant about that, you could try just playing here. It’s a good, regular gig to land; we play here often. Have you talked to Joey yet? The club owner?”

Scott hummed softly, considering the prospect as he surveyed the crowd, before giving his attention back to Fwhip. “I haven’t, but I wouldn’t be opposed. I’ve heard things.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Fwhip promised. “Or, I’ll at least tell Joey ‘bout you. If you give me your number, I can share it with Joey.”

“Smooth.” Even Scott’s laugh was musical and practically addicting to hear. Fwhip grinned, proud that he made Scott laugh. He wished to do it again several times over. “I don’t normally hand out my number, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I put in an extra special word in with Joey.” Fwhip teased as he pulled out his phone.

“Is it working?” Scott fluttered his eyelashes, a playful smirk on his lips.

Scott’s icy blue eyes sparkled warmly at their back and forth– like moonlight through stained glass– and Fwhip wanted nothing more than to stare into them. His previous enchantment by the man standing in front of him didn’t feel as silly now that they were face to face.

“Maybe.” Fwhip passed his phone over to Scott, already open to the correct screen. As Scott typed in his information, Fwhip glanced back toward the stage. He knew he was pushing it on time already, but he did want to keep talking to Scott.

They made eye contact with Pearl, who tapped her finger against her wrist before mouthing “hurry up!”

They wrinkled their nose briefly before turning back to Scott, who promptly gave their phone back. “Are you planning to stick around?” Scott clicked his tongue in consideration, eyes shifting from Fwhip to the stage and back again. “I’ll be here when you finish your next set.”

“Awesome! See you then.” Fwhip grinned widely, suddenly feeling more energized than before. He headed back towards the stage, prepared to pour his heart and soul into his music as he often does, but even more excited to go back to talk to a certain blue haired guy.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Scott hadn’t expected to stay at Empires too long that night, but he did, hours past what he had anticipated. He allowed himself to fall under the Wither Rose Alliance’s trance, making him unable to focus on his own lyrical writing. Scott didn’t find himself minding, contently under their spell. Besides, if he were to give an excuse, he would claim that tucking his notebook away allowed him to take note of how they played to properly compliment Fwhip in even more detail.

After WRA’s last set, Scott and Fwhip managed to chat a bit more before the violinist (he soon deduced her name was Pearl) dragged Fwhip off to go home. She shot a few teasing jabs at Fwhip, which amused Scott, but he had also been subject to a few looks himself.

Needless to say, Scott headed back to his and Xornoth’s apartment with a bigger smile than he could remember wearing in a long time. Xornoth even commented on it, gloating a bit about being right about Scott enjoying himself. Scott couldn’t even deny it. It’d only been a few weeks since they met, but Scott felt like he had known Fwhip for years. It was a strange sensation, yes, but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone a lot.” Xornoth clicked his tongue, reminding Scott of his presence. “Tell me, have you developed a little crush on that red-headed guitarist?”

Scott scrunched his nose, glancing back at Xornoth as he opened the tab on his soda can. “How do you even know that’s who I’m texting? I could be texting literally anyone else.”

“Because I know you, little brother.” Xornoth came up behind Scott and ruffled his hair with his free hand. “You’re too much of a workaholic to text people back. At least, you were until you met them-”

Scott swatted their hand away before combing their fingers through the blue locks to try and fix the damage inflicted on it. “He’s just a friend and a fellow guitarist. Plus, he got me a well-paying gig at the nightclub you liked so much.”

“Yeah, and I’m the protagonist of a preteen, slow burn, baby’s first monsterfucker fantasty romance.” Xornoth fake-gagged, plopping down on the couch nearby. “But, sure, don’t tell me. Just make sure to use protection.”

Scott tried his best to bite back his blush as he tossed a throw pillow at Xornoth. A surge of pride washed over him when the pillow hit Xornoth exactly where he had aimed for. Before Xornoth could protest more than a “Hey!”, Scott fled to his room, out of Xornoth’s pillow projectile range, muffling his giggles all the while. 

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip wasn’t a songwriter and they were okay with that. It wasn’t their passion nor their strength, and that was fine. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy messing around with chords and lyrics to try and create a song from time to time, even if it wouldn’t be something he could perform with his band.

They often stayed away from such a thing, but Scott’s encouragements were so genuine and inspiring (probably because they came from Scott Smajor, someone known for his sound and meaningful lyrics) that Fwhip couldn’t imagine abandoning any project they mentioned to Scott.

“It just isn’t flowing and I don’t get it,” Fwhip complained loudly. He was laying on his bed with his phone by his head and Scott on speaker. “It’s meant to be a duet, but the two parts aren’t complimenting each other like I intended. I’m honestly sick of hearing my own voice recording.”

“You? Sick of your own voice? I never would have guessed,” Scott teased lightheartedly with a laugh. Fwhip simply huffed in response, but he wasn’t upset at Scott’s words. “You’re at home, right? How about you go grab your guitar and we can fiddle around with it.”

Fwhip hesitated for a brief moment before propping himself up to go retrieve his instrument. “You’re lucky Gem is out on a date right now. I never would play something so rough around her. She would never let me hear the end of it!”

It was an over exaggeration, sure, but it wasn’t that unlikely. Poking fun at one another was just a thing they did. Gem wasn’t much help with his music because the stringed instruments Fwhip played had different techniques than the keyed instruments Gem specialized in. This just left them to vaguely pointing out things that sounded off and hoping for the best.

“Her date with Katherine, correct?” Scott asked to confirm, which Fwhip appreciated. He was slowly becoming a part of Fwhip’s friend group, yes, but even before that, Scott was making an attempt to keep mental notes on the people Fwhip mentioned. Scott actually did a good job at it, especially considering half of Fwhip’s friend group was in a sort of web composed of various polyamorous (both romantic and queerplatonic), platonic, and familial relationships. Even Fwhip struggled to know who was with who some days (especially with Sausage and Jimmy… doing their thing) and he’s known them all forever!

“Yeah, you got it!” Fwhip nodded as he settled back down on his bed and propped up his phone to video call with Scott. “Gem has been crushing on her for awhile, but chickened out on telling her several times despite me telling her to just do it already! Katherine clearly has a lot of love to give, considering she’s already dating Lizzie and Jimmy and is so affectionate with her friends. Katherine is also one of my closest friends out of the lot of ‘em, so, believe me, I would know.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Scott replied before sending the request through to Fwhip for them to switch to video. Fwhip leaned forward to accept it and waited for their phones to switch over. When it did, Scott was revealed to be sitting with his custom guitar already sitting on his lap. “Okay, show me what you got.”

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Scott wasn’t sure when the switch flipped from not really having friends to suddenly being accepted into a gigantic friend group. It was sometime after meeting Fwhip�� a good few weeks, that was for sure– but the line of them being Fwhip’s friends to being his friends was too blurred to pinpoint.

Seemingly without Fwhip’s knowledge, several of them DMed him and they got to talking outside of their relations with Fwhip. Not to mention that he’s gotten to know several of them face-to-face at Empires between gigs and simply being invited out. Scott hasn’t taken any of them up on that, though. He’s been keeping his distance, feeling as if he were intruding, but they weren’t ready to just accept Scott’s reluctance just like that.

That was proven by Joey insisting time and time again that Scott should go out on the town with him, which Scott always wormed his way out of. That was, he had succeeded until Joey showed up at his apartment one evening. 

“I can’t have my performers living like hermits!” Joey always had a sense for the dramatics, but Scott could tell he genuinely cared about those who worked for him even if he didn’t always show it like a normal person would. “You need friends and to have fun every once in a while.” “I have friends,” Scott insisted, though he knew that most of his friendships were still fairly surface-level. The deepest he’s gotten with anyone was Fwhip and, even then, there were still some walls up. 

Joey gave him a pointed look before pushing past Scott to slip into his apartment. “I know your whole thing is ‘gay moody country boy’, but the mood doesn’t have to be depressing all of the time!”

“Joey, you can’t just barge into my place!” Scott exclaimed, following Joey as he beelined to Scott’s room. His door was decorated, making it well-labeled. “How did you even know where I live?”

“I have connections,” Joey replied nonchalantly as he swung open Scott’s closet doors. He started to sift through Scott’s outfits with precision and skill. “Besides, if I don’t drag you out, you’ll never have fun!” “I have fun!” Scott insisted defensively. Still though, he switched out his piercings for something a tad more dolled up in preparation of being dragged out against his will.

“Mhm,” Joey hummed, doubtful. “Sure you do. Now have you agreed to come or am I going to have to get Sausage to throw you over his shoulder?”

“Sausage?” Scott echoed, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why Sausage? He’s not even here.”

“Void knows I won’t be doing it!” Joey huffed, amused. He gestured at himself, already dressed for going out clubbing. Granted, he was always dressed up like that. Scott didn’t know if Joey knew what a casual, comfort-over-style outfit was. “This body wasn’t made for manual labor. Now how about this one?”

Scott eyed the blouse Joey selected, considering it for a moment. “Yeah, okay, hand it over.” “Perfect!” Joey practically jumped for joy as he handed the blouse to Scott. “The pants you’re wearing now are fine, so just get some shoes on. We’re supposed to meet up with Sausage and Gem soon.”

Scott turned so his back was to Joey to secure himself that minimal amount of privacy before stripping himself of his top and pulling the blouse on. “They’re coming too?” “Yeah, Sausage and I are besties, so we go out frequently, but we wanted to switch it up a tad. Add some new faces, you know.” Joey whistled at Scott when he turned around, eyes wandering down Scott’s body. “Okay, damn! Hey there, sexy.”

“You say that like I don’t always dress well.” Scott rolled his eyes, not really offended. Joey was the type to comment on other’s outfits like that so he knew it was intended to be a genuine compliment over anything else. “We can go now. Just let me tell my brother I’m leaving so he knows I’m not home.”

“Xornoth, right? Hot goth guy with purple hair?” Joey straightened up at the mention. “Is he here?” Scott sucked in his lips briefly before deciding to avoid the question. “I’ll meet you outside, Joey.”

Joey was on his phone outside the apartment complex when Scott approached him, and, when Joey noticed Scott’s presence, he grinned widely. “Perfect timing! Sausage just pulled in.”

He grabbed Scott’s hand and dragged him along to Sausage’s sedan. Joey called shotgun and left Scott to sit in the back next to a ginger who reminded him a lot of Fwhip.

“Oh!” Scott put a few pieces together with the recognition of the woman sitting beside him. “Gem! Fwhip’s sister, right? The keyboardist of WRA?”

“Yeah, you got it,” Gem confirmed. She was wearing a green dress with purple crystal accessories and her hair was tied into a long braid. “And you’re Scott. My brother hasn’t stopped talking about you.” Scott ignored the heat he felt on his cheeks at that. “He hasn’t?”

“Nope.” Gem popped the P before lowering the register of her voice, leaning in toward Scott. “Hurt him and I hurt you. Understood?”

Scott blinked at her rapidly, caught a bit off guard. Her threat was clear, and Scott didn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever that ended up being. Besides, considering how his relationship was going with Fwhip, he didn’t want to piss off their sister. “Understood.” “Good.” Gem brightened up before glancing at the two chatting away in the front seat. “Now do you know where they’re taking us?”

Scott had not known any specifics, leaving Gem and Scott left to the wills of their captors. He had learned that Sausage also dragged Gem out of her apartment to go out with them. They were both in this together, and it gave Gem and Scott a chance to get to know one another better.

They must’ve gotten to know each other a bit too well, because they woke up to birds chirping and the rising sun on their faces. Scott groaned, sitting up from the tree he was leaning against with a hand pressed against his head. It took a second to register, but he was near positive he was hungover and he was not enjoying the feeling.

Gem stirred beside him, muttering nonsense that Scott couldn’t understand. He poked her side and she woke up with a start. “What happened? Where are we?” “Shhh, not so loud.” Scott shushed her, his head pounding aggressively. He squinted at his surroundings. “Where are-?”

Before he could finish his question, Scott realized someone had spotted them. He squinted at them too, as the person approached, trying to place them in his foggy memory.

"There you two are!" the person called, their voice so very familiar.

Gem rubbed the sleep from her eyes before asking, "...Jimmy?"

“Yeah, yeah, I found them,” Jimmy spoke to someone who wasn’t one of them. That is when Scott realized she was holding a phone to her ear. “Here, I’ll put you on speaker while I check they aren’t hurt.”

The person on the other end spoke something to Jimmy before he placed them on speaker and set down his phone. The Caller I.D. read off Pearl’s name, but another voice came over the line that wasn’t Pearl’s, if Scott’s memory was serving correctly. It should be, but his mind was still hazy from inadequate sleep and alcohol.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jimmy snapped at the person on the phone, causing Scott to wince. She muttered an apology to Scott before going back to her conversation with no-longer-Pearl and checking for wounds on Gem. “Sausage, you and Joey lost two drunk people and we couldn’t find them for hours.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor!” Sausage pleaded over the call. “Next time I see you, I’ll kiss it better.” “I don’t want to talk to you,” Jimmy grumbled, sounding totally over him. “Either put Pearl back on the phone or I’m hanging up on you.” “But, Jimmy-” Before Sausage could finish speaking, Jimmy hung up. Not acknowledging it, he turned his attention from Gem to Scott. “Okay, you both look fine. Can you walk?” “I can probably stand, but I don’t see my arm crutches….” Gem used the tree to try and push herself to her feet, though she was fairly unstable. “Ugh, I need some water. And a nap. Another one. Preferably in a bed this time.” “Me too,” Scott agreed, his body aching from sleeping on the ground.

“My apartment is nearby. I’ll just let Lizzie and Joel know that I’m bringing you, and you can nap the hangover off there,” Jimmy offered, moving Gem’s arm over his shoulders to help her walk.

Gem leaned into Jimmy’s support, leaving Scott to walk on his own. Luckily, he’s had his fair share of hangovers and was otherwise able bodied so he was stable enough to walk on his own. He was passively concerned where Gem’s arm crutches ended up though…  “Thanks, Jimmy.”

Scott was fairly sure Jimmy replied with “You’re welcome” or something along those lines, but he honestly wasn’t sure. That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up again, snuggled under the covers within an ocean themed bedroom. Scott didn’t dwell on it, keeping his eyes closed and relishing in the bed’s comfort. He would deal with the repercussions of whatever was waiting for him later.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip felt like they were on the top of the world. It may be a little silly to feel that way for winning a competition, but that competition was a big deal for his band! WRA was moving up in the world and it only filled him with determination, motivation, and energy. Cultivating that energy, Fwhip sat down to polish the song he had been working on for a while now.

Scott helped him out with some parts, and now, thanks to him, the chords flowed perfectly and the lyrics matched. The chords flowed perfectly and the lyrics matched. The song was a duet, and he’s heard both parts played together by recording himself and then layering them, but it wasn’t the same. Fwhip wanted to hear the song as intended, and he could only think of one person that would fit the part perfectly.

That led to Fwhip asking Scott to meet him at Empires during the day. He got permission from Joey, as long as Fwhip got the keys back in a timely manner. After all the continuous daydreaming of Scott, his singing voice, and his guitar playing skills, Fwhip finally worked up the courage to ask him and it was starting to pay off.

“Do you like it?” Fwhip asked shyly as Scott looked over the sheet music.

“Like it?” Scott parroted with a laugh. “Fwhip, I love it. This is amazing! It has the folk rock elements you’re used to, but there’s also inspiration from my style of music. Theoretically, it blends together perfectly.”

“Oh,” Fwhip blinked, before leaning forward to look down at his own handwriting again. “What would make it no longer theoretical?” If Scott had notes on how to improve it, Fwhip would absolutely take them into consideration.

“Playing it and seeing how it sounds together.” Scott grinned as retrieved his guitar, threw the strap over his head, and set the guitar in his lap. 

They didn’t waste anymore time to start playing. The spirit of the music overtook them, bliss swelling within them and being poured onto every stroke of the strings. Fwhip didn’t consider himself a good singer, but Scott had a way of complimenting Fwhip’s voice and making him sound even better than he actually was.

Fwhip knew the lyrics and chords by heart, so he didn’t need to rely on reading the sheet music to help guide him. This meant that they stared at Scott, all their focus on the beautiful man across from him. When the song ended, Scott turned his attention to Fwhip, catching them staring at him.

“You’re incredible,” Fwhip admitted with a breathless whisper.

Scott laughed an airy, baffled laugh, his cheeks flushing a light pink. “Me? Fwhip, this was all you. Sure, I helped a little, but this is still your song. I’m just honored you picked me to play it with you.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Fwhip asked, blushing dark red. Before he could overthink it, he took his shot. “It is about you, after all. About… us.”

The song was about new relationships and getting to know someone that they previously admired. It contained lots of subtle praises and compliments that Fwhip knew Scott was smart enough to pick up on. He just wouldn’t have known that Fwhip meant those things genuinely about Scott.

Fwhip wasn't sure when they had drifted so close to each other, closing the distance, but... here they were, only a few inches apart. His eyes flicked to Scott's lips, then back up to Scott's icy blue eyes. Icy yet glittering with such beautiful warmth.

“Can I kiss you?” “I thought you would never ask,” Scott murmured in return, leaning down to lock their lips together. As the kiss deepened, Scott climbed onto Fwhip’s lap with his legs around Fwhip’s waist and Fwhip’s hands supporting Scott’s back. A three-legged metal stool was probably not the best place for two people to make out, but Fwhip couldn’t care less right now. All he knew was that he felt happy. Everything was looking up for him and he couldn’t wait to see where everything led to next. The future held many opportunities and experiences to be had, and Fwhip was more than ready to brave the unknown with Scott by his side.

[sucantslay]

Meiyuu Deshi Kairou analysis. I'm losing my sanity...

Hello @hypn0sssss, just wanna let you know, I've been working off my ass to research this song like...more than 30 minutes but then in turn into a whole week long.

It was fun though ( I really need a rest but my brain said just do it! )

BUT, ANYWAY, here are some important information you should know before getting into this song analysis.

If you don't know, this is an event song, it connects with an event story about a VR game, yes, a VR game. It was introduced to Mika by Makoto and Sora. And later on, became the inspiration for Mika's song.

This is related to Mika's character, so if you know nothing about him, you can learn more from some sources out there or have a quick check at my post

3 . I'll mostly put the lyrics in word form. I really want to put all the translation pictures here but since Tumblr stop me from having more than 10 pics in a post...I can only put some.

4 . Most of this is my personal analysis. Pls tell me or put on the sources if you want to put it somewhere. Also, since it is a PERSONAL thing, the lyrics might not mean like that to you, but it is to me. You are free to have your own idea of this song however you like.

Alright! Let's get started!!!

For the theme of the song, Mika is using the VR game as his base, so it understandable that some words might be a little lead into the mechanical aspect.

The story for this song is about a mechanical god who ends the story/ the world abruptly. It very interesting when the song did not only successfully portray the theme of mechanical but also the theme and story of Valkyrie itself.

Oh my dear Mika, you are really something of an artist, aren't ya?! It the time when Mika finally step up and going his own art more then waiting for Shu order!

The name of the song "Meikyuu Deshi Kairou" which means "Labyrinth Electronic Corridor"

With some lines mention classic songs

(this line got repeated 2 times)

"Ode to Joy" or in other words "An die Freude"

You must have known it as Beethoven's most significant work, Symphony No.9, a choral symphony.

Since the name isn't being written in another name until you start digging deeper, you'll find something eles, lies in these words they had chosen.

It was origin from a poem written by a German named Friedrich Schiller and was used by Beethoven in his Ninth Symphony.

But the version that Beethoven used is the revision of the poem. Yet Friedrich himself didn't like that version at all, he viewed it as a failure.

Why? Because Friedrich made that poem for his dear beloved ( longtime friend and partner ) Christian Gottfried Körner, who inspired him to write the poem.

He stayed "of value maybe for us two, but not for the world, nor for the art of poetry"

I SWEAR TO GOD, WHEN I READED THOUGH WORD, NO THING APPEAR IN MY MIND AS FAST AS MIKA AND SHU DID.

His performance and his dear partner in art. Did I mention that Friedrich made a whole verse for Christian on his birthday.

( uhm, ok, that's enough! Let's move to the next one for now before I can't keep this mouth shut. )

Some lines in the poem go like this:

"Rescue from the chains of tyrants, Magnanimity to the villain too, Hope on the deathbed, Mercy in the high (law) court, Even the dead shall live! Brothers, drink and agree (with me) That all sinners shall be forgiven And hell shall be no more."

The "Ode to Joy" old name was "Ode to Freedom" / "An die Freiheit"

Then there came "Libera me" ( "Deliver me" )

Which also has an interesting background related to the Catholic Church. "Libera me" originated from a song named "Office of the Dead" which had been sung as a service prayer for the death.

The text asks God to have mercy upon the deceased person at the Last Judgment.

And it fits the theme of the song well! Because as I said before, the song is about a god who wants to destroy the world in sudden.

So "Ode to Joy", "Libera me" can be seen as the voices of humans who denying the god choice, the choice to turn the world back to dust.

( Note: The line in the song is not being sung by Mika or Shu, but by voices in the background. It becomes more noticeable when considering the fact that none other Valkyrie songs have these "background voices" at all )

The next two lines both sing an indirectly about the old Valkyrie.

"Ah, the melody sinks into overwritten myths"

The old Valkyrie had been sunk down to the deep by the play of Fine.

"Come, it is the time to open the floating corridor that full of electrons"

But it was the story from a long time ago, now, we taking a different path, to the new corridor, a new path to the future yet we're still unable to predict. Accidentally we lead ourselves to the door of destruction. ( It can also be seen as the god in this play had opened the door of doom, ending the world in sudden )

Ah, yes, once again this song mentions the use of the classic poem.

This "Song of the Bell" had nothing to do with song or symphony, which gives us more clues and confirms the truth about "Ode to Joy".

Surprisingly, "Song of the Bell" is also been written by Friedrich Schiller.

"Ode to Joy" was written in 1785, while "Song of the Bell" was written in 1798.

The poem talks about the bell, how was the bell made, by what, and with what tools and techniques they used to make it.

I have a belief that the "love and punishment" part of the song lyrics has other means than taking from the "Song of the Bell". Yes, the poem did mention "love" as a part of the story where a couple has known each other since they were kid.

Wedding bell and allocation of roles is the part when the bell acts as a wedding bell.

To later on, mention death: Death knell upon the decease of the woman where the bell has an earnest purpose and tolls in accompaniment to a funeral

But there is no mention of crime or punishment.

So go back to the lyrics where they sing: "Reflect the song"

Reflect...which means there is a connection but not really is about the poem. It was more about Valkyris, the love had turned its back on them. Their art, their joy, their peaceful life as 3 small people in an unpopular Unit was now a punishment, pulling them down to the ground.

Nazuna left, Valkyrie broke, Shu is no longer himself.

To Mika, if not a punishment then what could this horrifying scene had been?

We can also see this in the human's eyes. If "Ode to Joy", "Libera me" was all human ( in the theme ) talking about, then this line is the begging for the god to rethink his decision:

"Please, don't you see, this beautiful planet is our everything. Is our beginning and our ending. We may suffer, but we are happy, and that makes living a meaningful thing."

noticed how Mika uses "Each other" not just "Other" which points to both Shu and Mika.

In their era of being a "not so happy" unit since the war ended.

They have gone so far and now look back at themself. Such action of shame, the days when we are still nothing but a nameless Valkyrie.

You can also look at it in the MV theme way: ''I wish this world would disappear.'' As the god of mechanical no longer feels the need of humans exiting.

As the next lyrics go:

"Behind this veil of anonymity" (Shu line)

"The ghosts of the dead-" (Mika line)

"Are dancing in the underground till the end of the trial" (Shu line)

There are two things I need to point out in detail here:

Firstly: The meaning of these lines seems to me as if they're talking about their trauma. Behind this veil is the old time, the old ghosts, look, they are all here, never left until we start open up with them. Until we learn how to heal ourselves from the brutal injury of war did we be able to make them leave

Secondly: Mika once again mentions death. It was Mika's own thing, if you don't know, death kinda became a thing that fond with Mika's style. Lots of times, we can see Mika associated with death ( mostly in the old song. )

In his 'In the Shadow' outfit, which had a deep connection with butterflies.

Butterflies are a symbol of the representative soul of a deceased person. In that outfit, Mika is represented by a blue butterfly, what was the meaning of that symbol?

A symbol of the soul who passed is nearby!

So, by now you would be questioning: "Why are there so many signs about death from Mika?" Well, glad you asked.

This all came down to the fact that Mika was being a doll in Valkyrie. Nazuna was also a doll himself, but he break free and Mika didn't.

Mika is dying from the inside, becoming the soulless, as he loses what support to belong to him. He sells it away, sacrifice it for the wish of making Valkyrie great again.

"Surrounded by faceless choirs, there's stand the lonely soloist So, let's sing out loud to those who have no place to go, here's the truth."

Sung by both Mika and Shu.

In my belief, these lines are dedicated to them, the Valkyrie that got injured after the war. They got no hope, not thing to relied on.

Shu got a bad representation, lost his mind.

Mika also had to suffer from the event but he's trying his very best not to become a burden to Shu after Nazuna left.

That was the moment when Mika became more doll-like than how he was before.

We stood together, yet loneliness filled inside our souls. Becoming the "soloist" singer without notice.

"Sing to those who have no place"

They're telling themself, their pitiful past self that the daunting world is now no more.

We now have a place to stay, a home to be in, we've got our back.

Ok, ok, here it comes, MY FAVORITE LINE!

LIKE, THERE ARE SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT, I CAN'TTTTT

Ok, I can actually do that now ( since this analysis is already long as hell )

This line makes a connection to another line, which is:

"Here's the truth" - "Audience, please come"

"To the New World"

Isn't simply just about the god and the humans, it carries two meanings.

One is the literal, a sore thumb that sticks out the most to me: IT ABOUT THE VALKYRIE NEW ERAAAAA.

They maybe not yet healed, not yet prepared themself for the world outside, but they're now more happy than ever.

Shu is trying his best to understand Mika.

Mika is trying his best to become something of his own, escape from the realm of a soulless doll.

"Dancing with full bloom"

Like, uhm *raises eyebrows*, full bloom, full bloom you said?

The last time ( the first time Shu appeared in the game main story ), Shu said: "I am counting the days until we bring our blossoms together to make "Valkyrie" the most beautiful bouquet in the world."

And now ya said that you're FULL BLOOM? That can only mean one thing, they have finally found their meaning of art.

They may not "bloom" to the world but "bloom" to themself. Becoming different. They changing, they learning, and they are growing.

"where 0 and 1 dancing"

Yeh, you already know what I'm going to say. 0 and 1 are binary code or we usually call it "computer language" / bits.

0 and 1, is what this theme song is about. The mechanical god, the new world of mechanics. "0 and 1 dancing" is "The god is speaking".

Like, 0 1 then 1 0, 0 1 then 1 0, where 0 and 1 will change their place to make a byte, a string of bits, representing the god language.

And, it is just me or do I get the feeling that this goddess who wants to destroy a world in rust has his reason, he has a feeling that leaving the world like this, isn't a good idea.

Even if the humans are begging him to stop, he did not listen.

Because, in some of the next lines, we got this:

"A play that crueler than dream" (Shu line)

"With everyone's prayers" (Mika line)

"Everyone will remember it" (Shu line).

"Above the Surface world that full of selfishness and egoism" (Mika line)

The god see human as this selfish and only care for what they want most then how others feel.

"This lost child of the era, is confused by the fragile waves" (Mika line)

"So let's come and come into a new world trapped in 0 and 1" (Shu & Mika line)

Is about Valkyrie, IT ABOUT VALKYRIE. *Gone crazy at this point*

If you didn't know, Valkyris wasn't that used to the new system after the war. The DreamFes system made by Eichi, yeah, that one.

They skip school and most of the time do their show outside of school until Eichi himself steps in and threatens them to rejoin the school and accept the DreamFess system.

They were lost. Lost of the modern world, and still stay in the old era. Shu never wants to go back and join the DreamFes for once because how much he hated Eichi, and how much the war hurted him, yet, they return, make a change that not even Eichi can imagine of.

"Lost in their own tears, and still..." (Shu line)

"Falling away..." (Mika line)

They did, however, losing against Fine, and still...this was not the end.

THIS WAS A MARK FOR THE NEW BEGINNING.

That they're now known to DreamFes, open their mind and continue their journey.

That why the next line of the song came with a stronger beat. Bam! We are now reborn, we are now continue to blooming up on this world of hidden beauty. We'll find it and make art out of it!

"Scrutinize, lament, and let your own foolish schemes drive you crazy" (Shu line, it kinda fit Shu too)

"And now, ask yourself here and now." (Mika line)

"Is there an omnipotent being to be ruled?" (Both)

"And do you believe it?" (Shu line)

"Do you believe it?" (Mika line)

"Do you believe it?" (Both)

I think these lines are pointing to Shu and how he've been since the end of the war.

Scrutinize mean: examine or inspect closely and thoroughly.

While lament mean: a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.

After the war, Shu was cave for perfection even more than he was before, he wish to not made all that mistake again or else he might lose Mika too.

He drive himself crazy, then look back what happened, he started to ask questions.

He was so into perfection, he loses the meaning of art it self. He put himself into a jail, said that, this was all for the work of art, but it wasn't.

People are being harm for his actions, Mika wasn't getting any better if he keeps acting like this. Reckless and madness drive him away from the actual beauty in art that the old Shu was fond of.

So, he ask himself. If art is freedom, why so gaol...

"Is there an omnipotent being to be ruled?"

And realizing that, will he continue to be like this. Do you believe in such form of art that not bring happiness and joy?

For the bloom of Valkyrie, must we sacrifice our little life for the victory Shu wanted.

Also important element needed to be mention: Last Lament.

Meiyuu Deshi Kairou was released in 2023, and Last Lament which is also a Valkyrie song was released in 2017.

And in the song, there was this line: "It fine if we reach the brink of our dreams and rot forgotten."

"We'll use the flames of passion on us, to show them that we can melt even despair."

But, but! In their newest song ( from the Trip albums)

Shukufuku no Library

We can see, Shu is now accepting the future and wish for joy to Valkyrie then only to successfully reach their dream as soon as possible:

"Is it only success stories that are now illuminated by the love that shines down from the heavens?"

"No! An unfinished adventure stories is also a foolish memoir that's also precious."

"Come on, let's play the lovely poems of our lives and gently store them in the library of blessings."

Return, return, let's us get to the next line:

Ok, Ok, I love that they put both Friedrich Schiller work into one line!

"A play that's crueler than a dream" (Mika line)

"Everyone inside this veil wishing for something" (Shu line)

The god talk about everyone wishes, seeing their foolish little small wishes yet never to be turn into reality because the god already had their own plan for them.

It also Shu, talking to himself that even if life is cruel, everyone has their little dream.

"In the face of the myth of the Perfect world" (Shu line)

But Shu dream was too far from reality, can that Perfection he wished for really have a way to get?

From here on, the line repeat itself:

"confused by the fragile waves" (Shu line)

"This lost child of the era" (Mika line)

"So let's come and come into a new world trapped in 0 and 1" (Shu & Mika line)

But this time, Shu has become different, Valkyrie has changed! The lost child had found their way out of that jail!

"The labyrinth corridor, love is a Perfect world" (The back choir?)

And yes, he did be able to found out, love is the best way to a world he's wish for, no more madness from now on, only love and joy.

And maybe, just maybe, the goddess in this song also did.

Thank you for your time! Reading this.

It late now, and my ears...oh god...it had been listen to Meiyuu Deshi Kairou non-stop ( I remember like 8/10 of the goddam lyrics *cry and laughed at the same time* )

Also, one last thing...

In the 3D MV, noticed how Mika move, yes, he still keep that flexibility of him, but that not just a represent for a doll, Mika now turning it in to his own style of dance.

While Shu do art in a perfect and nicely organizing way.

Mika go for a chaos way that both resemble the old him and use it to make the new him.

In the last moment of the MV, Mika...I don't know if he forget or that is simply how the MV plays out, but there was a moment like this:

Mika when: Look at my Oshi-san!!!

Shu: Mika! Back up! You're supposed to be standing next to me.

Mika: Can i?

Shu: Yes. Yes you can. You're no longer a doll, but a human, a partner who place is staying next to me and performing art together.

Mika: Oh...I'm not fulling understand that, but ok! I'll try to stay next to you from now on!

( this is me, writing that out of thin air, the conversation may not be real, but the meaning are. Mika may be a little confused for suddenly got set free from being a soulless doll, he need his little time )

Thank...for reading...my dear ValkyrieP... I need a rest and a cup of coffee I guess *die*

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 21, 2024

My posts

Initially I wrote, “I ran my mouth about the Watcher streaming/paywall situation because I make bad decisions,” but I think the post has actually gone over well? In short, I want to see them succeed but I am also deeply fuckin’ baffled. I so desperately want the tea about what was really going on behind all this, and how the guys are reacting to it now, and I really hope they can turn this around somehow. 

Side note, Friday was CHAOTIC. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are escalating in round four. We got to a point where I posted propaganda for Ava Gardner AND Dorothy Dandridge in their matchup. Probably the biggest scandal of round three was Vivien Leigh getting knocked out, but she’s now High Chancellor of the Shadow Realm. The most contentious matchup this time seems to be Judy Garland vs Natalie Wood, which is nearly 50/50 as of this writing. But keep your eye on Hedy Lamarr, who may have Mifune Sweep energy. 

(I think I love these brackets for the same reason I love Dracula Daily: it’s delightful that thousands of people on Tumblr actually have deeply-held opinions about things from many decades ago, and if they didn’t before, they do now.)

(“I’m Katharine Hepburn, and this is Jackass!”)

--

Happy Bread Day (Observed)!

Hozier Watch 2024: “Why Would You Be Loved” has arrived on the Wasteland, Baby! special edition. I like this post about how that song is in conversation with “No Plan,” one of my favorites. (I wrote about “Movement” a while ago, but I could have fully inflicted an essay on you about how “No Plan” pulled me out of my six years of hiding from the internet. Anyway, it’s a great album from a few years ago, check it out if you haven’t.) 

Generally I keep my mouth shut about Taylor Swift, but the new songs sure have some lyrics. I love Florence Welch, but I’m scared.

You’ve heard of spoon theory, now check out spell slot theory

“You’re either frolicking in this field with me, or...” is funny, but then you get to the reblog.

What if we lay in this field together and held feet

A deep breach of etiquette with a little dog named Gucio

A story about statue vandalism with a delightful twist

You gotta fight mint with mint (like I can bring in my lemon balm, but at what cost?) 

I saw this post about feeding wild skeletons on Pinterest and I loved it so much that I tracked down the original. 

Once again, Holy Shit, Two Cakes theory

Remember the haunted house I grew up in? Yeah, it had a carpeted bathroom like this.

“gonna start formatting my posts like fics on ff.net circa 2008” will do you exactly the psychic damage you’re imagining 

The Round Table attempts to use Zoom

Video

Lil Nas X covers “Jolene,” Dolly Parton loves it, and @oscar-wet-and-wilde has further Black Country recs

A big loud steppy

“He’s retrieving”

Crispy meows

Watching this angel of a Doberman get a full spa treatment is also self care

AND YOU DARE SAY NO MORE TREATS??!?

The sacred texts

I don’t like thing, now with artist credit 

Personal tags of the week

I love when I can use a really niche, specific tag, and this week, it’s mouth perfect size for meme, with a little shaped on the side.

[bazzybelle]

Don't You Look Good In Red

TITLE: Don't You Look Good In Red

RATING: Mature

WORD COUNT: 80K

SUMMARY: 

Hob Gadling is a broken man. He’s been a broken man since the head of an up-and-coming mob family murdered his wife in cold blood and left him for dead. For the last five years, he’s been away from the city, training and planning to bring that man’s empire down piece by piece. Hoping to do whatever it takes to allow his wife to finally rest in peace. But when he meets a shy, sweet, and fascinating man at the local pub, he begins to re-evaluate his thirst for vengeance. Maybe he can go back to who he used to be. Maybe he can allow love back into his life. Maybe he can find a way to be whole again. Or die trying.

Special thank you to my INCREDIBLE artist, @kitsune2022-artish for creating the BEAUTIFUL artwork you see linked below. They have perfectly captured the vibes of the fic within their suspense-filled movie poster creation. It was an honour working with you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Here is the link to their AMAZING ART!!

More notes and thank yous tagged below!

NOTES: After changing my idea right as signups closed and then writing 80k words in like 3 months, I am excited to FINALLY share my fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang.

I am SO proud of this fic. It's been one of my favourite fics to write, and I hope you all enjoy it. For the friends in the Sadman server who were all screaming about "Reacher", you guys do not know how difficult it was for me to keep my mouth shut as you were all begging for more Badass Hob, more Fighter Hob, more Snarky Fucker Hob.

I hope this fic scratches that itch for you.

All the thanks and love for the Mods involved with CHBB! You guys have all worked your butts off to make sure this event ran as smoothly as possible. You were all so supportive and kind and encouraging. Thank you to my assigned Mod, @spockandthings for being so kind and reassuring and willing to lend a helping hand.

Thank you to my amazing Alpha-readers, @ginjones and @purplesauris, as well as my Beta-reader, @garnetcapricorn.

Finally, thank you to my friends over at The Sadman server, for all of your love and support and for welcoming me into the community. Thank you to the Shaxberd Sprint group for fighting against lack of motivation and stress with me. We did it, friends!!

The title of this fic, as well as the titles of the chapters were taken from the lyrics of the song Good in Red by The Midnight. I HIGHLY suggest looking them up on Spotify, because they are amazing!

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 42: Nobody

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Are angels big or are they small?

Author's Note: Please note that the first section of this chapter has slightly sexual discussions. The song for this chapter is Nobody by Mitski.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

My God, I'm so lonely

So I open the window

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Deidara exhales through his nose as steam slowly flushes his face and cleans his poor, clay-grubby pores. He’s sitting on a smooth, flat rock beside a clear hot spring, a knee to his chest and a towel over his loins. And though he’s released breath already, he audibly sighs. So calm...so relaxing…

So insufferably boring.

“I have a question…” he drawls, and Kisame immediately feels his brow twitch in annoyance. “Is she...? Oh, how do I put this…?” A few seconds of silence, a rub of his chin, for nothing but the drama. “...Do you think Takara-chan’s ever...been with someone...un?”

Hoshigaki Kisame has not had a vacation in five years. Five. He has counted them. And leaving the land of water hardly even counts towards that. There is one and only one, that is singular, reason leaving the girl alone was fine to do and that is that he can have a good soak, a strong drink, and momentarily have a mere semblance of peace. He is going to continue to keep his eyes shut, arms stretched on either side to line the edge of the spring he’s emerged in, and he is going to ignore what has just been said.

But Deidara, to everyone’s regret, is nearly as clever at being impossible to ignore as Tobi is.

“Hmm...?” he hums, looking between the three men sharing the bathhouse with him. All of them have their lids pulled down; perhaps they all happened to fall asleep right at the same time? But no. One of them is wavering. The artist says his name and eggs him on.

“Kisame. You’ve been with her longer than I.” And the shark’s mouth can’t help but stretch, edges of teeth peeking past frowning lips. “You have to agree with me here...she’s just a bit too innocent. Right?”

…

Despite his better judgment, the swordsman cracks open his eyes. A twinge of purple dusts his pale blue cheeks, and not just because he’s in a hot bath.

“...I don’t see why wondering is any of your business,” Kisame retorts.

“It’s not,” Deidara admits with a shrug, lowering his knee and resting his palms on the stone. “But it is a curiosity. So? What do you think?”

“I think it’s about as apt to ask you if you’ve ever had sex.”

“Hey!” It’s not an exclamation, but rather a plea to ask Kisame to chill— a subtle implication it’s not Deidara that’s acting rash here but the kiri-nin. “Firstly, I never specified sex! Secondly…” he shrugs again. “...Sure, much as the next guy...but I have no pretenses. How do I put this…?” A finger taps his chin and Kisame couldn't narrow his eyes any more without outright closing them again. “She strikes me as...someone who wouldn’t even know what it is, perhaps. Think about it…”

And despite himself, Kisame is.

“...Spending all this time with a bunch of rugged, lonely, male criminals..." the blonde continues, "Choosing to sleep in the open, in front of everyone… I don’t...personally find her alluring,” he lies, “But I can’t help but think if it was intentional, well...the exact intent is obvious. Un.”

Feeling a tightness in his chest, Kisame rolls his shoulders and leans his head further back, broad neck facing the wood board ceiling. How does one defend her...tactfully? It feels past the point of return; silence would not disengage, certainly it has failed up to this point.

“I think…” he mutters, feeling steam further heat the high points of his cheekbones. “...She has no intent such as that,” he answers honestly. The exact details, however, of the day he wondered a variation of Deidara's question himself will be kept to himself. “We’re all she has. It makes sense that she wants us nearby. You know that, don’t you?” And he cocks his head up, lopsided, challenging grimace growing on the left side of his face as a thought crosses his mind. “Aren’t you the one who insists on sleeping in that chair across her?”

“For her protection,” the younger man responds, brushing away a drop of water that was irritating the sewn lips above his heart. Regardless of whether or not his coolness is a facade, a reaction such as this is irritating as hell to Kisame. The older one snorts.

“You look more like a lost puppy sleeping by her feet!”

“Oh please…!”

The condensation, by this point, at least somewhat obscures the only man in the room who has the real answer. Kakuzu sits in the corner, hair down and stitches out, basically only here out of stubbornness when everyone else walked in after he and made themselves home. He should have left while he had a chance. However…

His brow furrows over green, wary eyes.

Perhaps it is best he sticks around for a conversation like this, however rude and uncomfortable it may be. Keep a gauge on what sort of— ironically— “intent” these other men may have. She’s a smart girl, but in some ways...he’s really her only defense in this world. The truth...is somehow both yes and no. Yes that she’s innocent. No that...well...

...You know.

“Maybe she’s interested in others...more like her?” Deidara suggests next, playfulness dripping from his voice, enjoying so very much how he can make the big mean giant squirm , however slightly. “Maybe she just prefers women.”

“And?” the shark asks back. “Why would you care?”

“Why do you care?” the iwa-nin counters with a sly smirk. Kisame isn’t playing that game.

“You’re no better than a five year old…” he mutters, and without another word to add, wrings out a towel and puts it over his eyes, saying ‘fuck you’ in all but literal speech.

Relief quietly eases Kakuzu’s heavy lungs. Less they go on about this, the better. At least the loudmouth isn’t here to fall for the blonde’s trap—

“Hey, Hidan!”

Kakuzu’s eyes pop wide as hell and look to the bath entrance. A towel over his shoulder, the devil has walked in and has a long, drawn out questioning hum on the back of his tongue. Deidara’s smirk widens.

Shit.

“We’re trying to figure out…” the artist begins, and Kakuzu can only pray Hidan can feel his eyes holding him by the neck and threatening death. “You think the lady’s ever fucked?”

Kisame sits straight up, covering flying off his face and splashing into the water. “That is NOT what you asked me, you pesky little—!”

“Kisame thinks no,” Deidara answers for him, ignoring the bared teeth. “I’m sort of in the middle...can see it either way. So? You got a vote, un?”

Hidan—!

The reaper blinks his magenta eyes. All of Kakuzu’s hearts sink as he...begins...to smirk. “I don’t know…” You motherfucking bitch and bastard— “Does eating out her pussy count?”

Absolute dead silence. The ragdoll feels his skin crawl, so much so he flashes a glance down to confirm it is literally, throwing one hand onto the other’s wrist to keep the threads inside him instead of throwing fists in rage. And then—

A tsk.

Deidara has rolled his eyes...and Kisame’s expression is closer to annoyed than carrying seething, knightly fury. Kakuzu doesn’t believe in a higher power but he abruptly feels a rush of gratitude for the idea of luck. They don’t believe him…! He...— Hidan is simply so crass and shoots off his mouth so goddamn much that they...can’t tell he’s being serious...!

It doesn’t last. Kakuzu can see the blonde’s lips begin to part, readying his next statement. Who knows what he could say, get this asshole to talk himself into a corner without realizing? Shit...does he even know? Know what trouble he’s about to make for her?!

One thing is clear: this could get off the rails fast. The old man has to say something, anything, to keep everyone in their place and leave the bullshit behind...lest a good woman is left ashamed and embarrassed:

“I suppose if someone were to know, it’d be him,” Kakuzu grumbles with as much casual humor as he can from his corner. “He’ll put his mouth on anything. Just ask him how it tasted to put my dick into his throat.”

One truth offsets another, and just like that, both are nothing more than lies. Kisame sputters a deep, hearty laugh as the reaper gets his comeuppance, and Hidan gets red in the face.

“KAKUZU!!!”

Well...that went as well as he expected. Amusement had, Deidara shifts his attention to the last one in the room, black ponytail undone and mouth just barely above the water.

“And?” he prods the Uchiha, a bit more sharpness in his tone than he had for the others. “What do you think?”

One, single eye opens. It is bright red. “No.”

“No as in...no she hasn’t...or...no as in you’re not answering?”

…

The eye slowly shuts. Deidara exhales. He at least gets to wear a satisfied smirk now, feeling the humidity on his skin as Hidan babbles on and on in the background like running water. Not too quiet now.

“I would not, DO NOT, put my mouth on 'ANYTHING!' What do you mean by that?! I thought we were COOL! I’ll put my mouth on your NECK you fucking—”

Yes...Deidara meditates, closing his own eyes, too. He can finally, really relax...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

To hear sounds of people

To hear sounds of people

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Are you sure about this?" Konan asks.

"Yes," he answers, voice light and weak from travel. An emaciated hand, skin so thin you can see blue veins underneath, drifts away from her touch, put overtop of the blanket that covers his fragile body. He can see it in her eyes, though. She is not convinced.

"I know…” he rasps, “This is a risk." He tells her this, before he can be scolded with it. "I'm willing to take it. Now please..."

Her brow curls and eyes soften. The lit candle on the back wall drifts a circular aura, and she tilts towards him in such a way that this glow centers behind her lowered head.

"Let me rest..." his voice fades.

The worried guardian takes an inhale through her nose. To doubt his judgment now isn't even a choice. To abide isn't a matter of if but how. She rises from his bedside and he sees her look to her right. Pain and her stare at one another tor a long moment. He doesn't quite know why, as they have the same eyes, same heart, same mind...and she knows it. He has a guess, though.

She blinks and nods to the corpse of her friend as if it is alive, as if it is a separate soul rather than a vessel of God's will. Ever so patient and kind...the body nods back. One more second of her stern glance and the woman shuts the door on her way out.

The body looks down to the soul, rings centered on a ghostly pale shape upon his bed. Pain kneels by his own side and begins his work.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Venus, planet of love

Was destroyed by global warming

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pain gets up from his chair. There is no pardoning of himself— there is no one above him to grant such a thing. He simply picks up his bowl after staring at it with his big, ringed eyes...and leaves. Despite the fact that it was common some time ago in this house to just take your meal away as soon as it was ready… Well… She doesn’t know. It feels different now, is all.

Maybe it’s because it leaves her alone with someone who’s not said a single word.

Her gaze that followed the leader all the way to the dining room entry now lingers its path backwards, falling upon another woman with a rather serious expression. She looks so small across the table, seated down and arms by her sides. Eye contact is inevitably made. The performer notices the eyeshadow that matches the angel’s hair and hopes that it’s a hint of some form of humanity. She flashes a smile, one that flinches back as quickly as it came. With a single blink, orange eyes break away and look down at her still untouched food.

And the host blinks a few times herself, lashes fluttering away awkward feelings.

“I...hope,” she says quietly, unwilling to ask so much as her name. They said it, she thinks, but hasn't quite remembered. “That I’m a good host.”

And she watches the first mate’s gaze flicker back up, just enough to acknowledge. Blue strands drift past her forehead as the head they're upon dips politely. Lips stay sealed well after Konan picks her own bowl up and follows the suit of her captain. Soon as she's out of sight, the performer exhales, nice and loud, not knowing what to feel or do.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Did its people want too much, too?

Did its people want too much?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rest of the day goes as gawkily as you'd expect. The intended effect was likely...meditative, and it some ways it was. ...But at some point quiet fades out of thought and into heightened, uncomfortable awareness...and then back into thought...then back into awareness.

A tide, in-out, in-out.

She’s kind of used to it by this point, that sort of pattern haunting the narrative.

She had a dream last night she doesn't remember, not very well. Something about what makes up his piercings, something about orange and red. Hands, of course— always with the hands. God above— the traveler asks, glancing wearily up to the ceiling— who does not exist, cannot hear her...are you the progenitor of these visions? And are they real or is she just crazy?

More importantly, however...is there a fucking difference?

The perspective leadership takes, however, is that he is backing off just enough so she can feel his presence, but not so much it becomes a demand. Passing entries...him past her, her past him... She pulls a book off the shelf and in the second it obscures her vision of him, he is leaving, already half hidden by the doorway. Is she being toyed with? A cat batting a scared mouse? She likes cats but this is a bit ridiculous.

It isn't until the sun starts to set that they have a full conversation again. Two Akatsuki face her, a coffee table and a good helping of tension in between.

"Where do you sleep on this level?" Pain asks more pointedly than he did last night. There’s no reason, not ever, for him to doubt his herald and what she saw, but confirmation comes anyway: the mousy girl squirms a bit in her seat.

Her mouth tightens its lips together...but does not open.

“Well?” a poke, a bat of the paw. She holds her hands on her lap as she sits on the living room couch, fingers fidgeting and trying so very hard not to tear at the cuticles, as she is wont to do under duress she otherwise can hide.

The traveler makes the decision, once again and a day later, that to lie by omission is not truly lying. “Here.”

And hopefully that’s all he needs to know.

…

Seconds pass, enough that the book in the other woman’s painted hands gets her attention once again, orange eyes glancing back down once she’s finished furrowing her brow at Pain. Maybe he doesn’t want to press any more, Konan observes— surely, the girl doesn’t want him to.

…

“Hmph.”

The closest thing Pain does to laughing.

“I can handle a sense of humor…” he nearly purrs, somehow both so serious yet so casual; really says a lot for how in control he always seems to be, of himself, the situation, and all others. “But I do intend to have an answer.”

Konan sees the girl flinch, fingertips raising to brush her throat, just above a rosy broach. You can visibly see her swallow, the lining of the cape moving as she does. The musician calculates that she must finally say what they already know:

"Here as in...in the living room," she admits, the last words so quiet out of some sort of shame. And that’s right. On the very couch she sits, bare branches in the window behind her head that match the ones at the bottom of her dress. Day and night, no matter, this is where she dwells. The fingertips rub a bit more, and there’s again fluttering of the lashes to blink away nerves as she waits for his response.

It should be an obvious one, really.

"I propose you find a bedroom to stay in."

And yet she cannot abide. Not without explaining herself. "...But— but I like the living room." This, of course, prompts equally obvious question:

"Why?"

That’s just the heart of the matter, really. One traveler facing two gods across the coffee table, still tactlessly littered with her few possessions, it stares her in the face. Gold evening light streams down as if to highlight them, the bits of pink on her bag now a shade of red-brown as the color of wood and sunset refracts and dyes stray dust motes. Fire...it reminds her of...the fire from her dream. And the color of fire reminds her of hands.

Her father sat her in church one day and she noticed the way stained glass set the room ablaze, just with no smoke nor heat. A marble idol stretched his arms side to side, as if he was the harbinger of what she had seen, this holy and cleansing light that made it hard to see anything else. “Pray with me,” her father said. And she did, only noticing an angel in the corner of the mosaic once her eyes were almost shut.

The memory fades and she's at least somewhat back to real life. Shoulders go up...shoulders go down. "So I can feel...watched,” she answers, like in confession, her eyes stuck above the two beings instead of straight towards, lest her eyes burn. “Protected. I'm afraid of being left alone again."

Again.

Again.

Again.

The word repeats each time she, somehow and some way, knows what she looked like on that beach, waiting to die. Again, again, again...steps further, and further, and further away, staring at her own back and the ocean only bound by the line of the horizon. The sky was as red that evening as it was when she woke up her last real morning.

There’s a deep, unending well of sympathy in this man she sits beside, Konan knows. She can see it now in his holy eyes, with the slightest twitch of his lip— wouldn’t even know it was there if not for the piercings underneath, ever so minutely bumped as he allows self control to slip. It’s the most beautiful thing about him.

He’d never agree, but it is.

"Then I'm going propose something more...specific,” Pain says, and his deep voice is so, so saturated with his merciful love. It’s contradiction to what he says next makes it all the more shocking. “Konan shall stay with you."

Two gasps, from one woman and shortly after...the other. "Konan"...the performer feels on the back of her tongue. That's her name...Konan. On the other side of the room, orange widens, focused askance to her partner. They had talked about her situation since last night, yes...but they didn't talk about this. The leader is absolutely and utterly unfazed, even if he recognizes the doubt in his loyal angel’s eyes. "Another of the same gender. That's more suitable a living arrangement, isn't it?"

And perhaps it is, if you look at it from a certain angle. Now that so many people are here, the rooms with doors, pair by pair, have become scarce. To keep her dignity...if the performer must have a room...it makes the most sense that the only two women of this base occupy the same space. However...—

"I. I don't." She doesn't even know her…! In a wild fashion her stare bounces back and forth between the lord of the manor and her proposed, mysterious roommate. There’s at least an idea of what baggage the others carry: Deidara could set off a bomb, Itachi could put you to sleep, Hidan could talk your ear off…

But this lady?!

The performer can feel her eyes shake in her sockets.

...This lady could be anyone or anything. Surely it isn’t by accident she’s said not a single word. Even now...even now…!

But the woman’s answer must not come off so unkindly, lest she bite the hand that feeds. "I don't mind...the others."

Perhaps even this was a mistake, as the resulting action the other woman takes— how few there have been— is so very abrupt. Her bangs whip so sharply, the urgency that turns her head, and it’s an emotion shared by the expression she wears. Let me. Please…!

A long, long stare— one cold and calm and one fiery and passionate—...and Pain nods. Konan is allowed to speak her mind. With that, she turns her countenance back to the civilian, a furrow in her brow and a frown between her lips. "...I think you should," the angel advises.

It had been so long since the performer heard her voice...literal seasons ago, more than half a rotation of the Earth around the Sun if this place works the same way as her old home. An ear so attuned, so practiced at this point as a means of survival, cannot help but notice how...nicely it sounds. That is...alongside his. She looks at them both as they look at her. It’s like they switched color pallets; orange hair above cool-toned eyes, and periwinkle hair above irises that are warm. Two voices so deep and soothing and unearthly in their own rights, so regal, so...— yes...the lady’s voice, too, is commanding! More subtly so, but even back then, her sitting in front of the performer in the bar…

Even then, the angel commanded her attention and got exactly what she wanted.

And now she and the Akatsuki leader look at the musician, both at once, and ask her to be more concerned. The hypocrisy is hard to ignore: If she should be more worried about the people she surrounds herself with...then why was she forced to live with the likes them? The performer doesn’t find a way, not fast enough, to put this so politely that it’s not like she’s laying her neck down on a butcher’s block. As such, the decision is made in the absence of her own spoken opinions.

"I'll make it bearable," Konan promises. And even though it wasn’t the way she intended...— "It was... my idea to ask you to." Just not yet. Full lips upon a gorgeous face pull up by the corners, and again without her own choice, the performer’s expression shifts too. It even sticks around once Konan goes back to her typical, neutral visage. "At least...consider my space yours,” the cloaked woman offers. “For your things. For a place to be away. I can't assume you never want to be alone… You can use it for that."

But there’s one thing that baffles the traveler. It bugs her and bothers even though if it were her on that side of the room instead, she’d offer the same thing. "But...what about you?" The answer is simple, so as to be undeniable. "I'll be fine."

Does that mean Konan won't be there when the performer is, or that she might as well not exist?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And I don't want your pity

I just want somebody near me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She's running again, like she did when she ran away from the Akatsuki. Hands reaching, chasing from behind, always catching up and brushing her skin, and her own hands are hot and sticky. A sharp pain in her leg and she falls down.

The sky is red in her dream. Maybe it's not even the sky. Blood is shed and it melts upward from an empty eyesocket, her mouth gaped in horror as she looks to watch her flesh melt away. Feet stand around, and she is circled and entrapped.

Her breath chokes as she abruptly wakes up. Quickly glances side to side, finding no one is there right next to her as she had imagined... Dear god. Shit...! Desperate fingers drip her own shoulders as she gasps for air, trying to calm herself down. She has to recompose. But the threat of what will happen if she can't therefore, ironically, makes it an even steeper hill to climb.

Her grimace flinches, pressing her cheeks…once…twice…three times…

Exact seconds unknown, but enough time has passed for her to know, with certainty, that she needs to not be alone, no matter the cost.

The lost, vulnerable stranger hears the sound of a door closing right around when she gets halfway up the stairs, and it nearly makes her jump. Someone is up at this hour…? She isn't sure whether to be grateful or feel cursed. A moment of purposeful hesitation, lest she alert of her presence before she is ready, and the woman finishes her ascent. The halls are woven through and she arrives, just in time, to see a brightness underneath the righthand door flicker away. The lady, then... That's the one who was just up. Ironic, maybe, given the earlier invitation.

Konan sees the shadow of her feet under the slim slit of the bedroom door, even before she knocks. A hand with a white ring lowers from the back of her head, having not yet unwound the bun in her hair. A few seconds later, she opens the entry just a sliver, just enough to get a peek, and it makes her eye widen.

“I…” the girl stammers in front of Konan. “I...!” 

It's quite a sight, despite it being a possibility for her to come tonight. The performer’s eyes are hidden, a hand clasped to her chest, teeth gritting. A nightgown pale as the moon falls from her shoulders. Ever so slightly, you can see her breath as fog.

Unfortunately, Konan’s stare is just a second too long. As soon as she starts to open the door wider, the performer feels a strike of panic race her heart. It is abruptly decided that merely seeing another person was enough, if even needed at all. Shame overtakes, and every muscle freezes. Guilt overpowers purpose the more she is seen.

“I'm sorry.”

And inexplicably, as she turns to leave—

“Wait.”

Step, step…stop. Hunched shoulders abide by the command, though she still faces her direction of escape. Konan herself…feels vulnerable. She is here, nearly alone but not quite, a stranger in a strange land with an unfamiliar view out the window and a foreign taste in the air. Konan is unsettled…but she’s used to being unsettled. At least…more than this one is. 

What has not been spoken is how suspicious the angel of the front row is, has been since the day she drew the performer in to face Pain's scrutiny. Who is she? What is she doing here? What is her intent and purpose? That’s a big part of why Konan had planned to keep the woman close. As a guardian, standing at the gates between the rest of the world and her god, the spear of judgment has rested easily between her gripping palms. And yet…

And yet.

In a factual way…it cannot be denied. This person in contrast, entirely alone. Konan remembers her songs, her yearning for something…better. To escape the terrors that had become even worse for being mundane. The musician had failed her mission, when they first met; her job was to give the audience something no one else could ever comprehend. Like a code or a poem…the exact turns of phrase were replaceable. What it meant…was something the angel could grasp. So a sliver of what she feels for the performer really is, sincerely, a kind of mercy. 

“Come here.” Unlike how Pain talks, it feels less like a demand and more like advice. The woman looks over her shoulder to evaluate this response.

A glance up…a glance down…and the performer decides it is in her best interest to take it. She steps in as Konan steps back, and glancing side to side, the girl in a nightgown finds her place to hide.

Konan pretends to sleep tonight, as the mouse insists to curl up in the corner so as to not take too much space. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The owner of this house whispers it, over and over, until it is clear that Konan expects no prayer, no indulgence to pay her way into this room. If she were really sorry, she’d leave. And so her presence is a reply in itself. Perhaps it's worth forgiving, no comment needed to absolve her of sin.

Konan pretends to be asleep, as she lays on a bed so cold and unfamiliar, because she is not used to being small. Not for anyone else but her lord. What could make someone simultaneously want to be in her presence so, so desperately...yet instill that they are unworthy. She is not privy to a conversation from long, long ago, another planet away:

“Why don't we pray to the angels, too?” the woman someone named Takara once asked her dad, skipping a step to catch up to much larger feet uncaring to slow down. Too-loose maryjanes nearly trip as they hop off the curb of the sidewalk. Her father does not look at her.

“The angels…” he answers casually, as all dads know everything, “Are sent down by God. Only he commands them. We don’t get to do that.”

“B-but..." a small, earnest child pressed, "We ask God to do things, and then the angels do things for him—”

“I don’t want you to question it anymore. You’ll get it when you’re older.”

And she never did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Guess I'm a coward

I just want to feel alright

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[rocketnottheraccon]

A ShinBaku one shot I wrote bc this random ass crack ship happens to give me life

Art by: Horikoshi

Let’s get one thing straight.

Hitoshi Shinsou was not.

But he also adored Mitsuki.

So, you can probably imagine his favorite song to listen to when his life went to shit.

“Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart~” He mindlessly sang, spinning around in Aizawa’s office chair at… say… 4:30 in the morning?

He was currently running on 16 cans of Monster energy, 17 now, 3 bowls of cereal, and this week's dose of testosterone. He could take on the world- better yet: end the world!

“YES!” He shouted to himself, still spinning aimlessly. He would take over the world! Reinstate quirk management laws, maybe just get rid of heroes all together! That way he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit-show known as the hero course.

On second thought, that seems like way too much work.

Yeah, way too much work.

“Queen!” He exclaimed as the next song came on. He jumped from his seat, sliding into the common room to sing. No one was watching him, and with the amount of caffeine in his veins right now, he wouldn’t care if there was.

Actually, he didn’t want to sing.

Yeah, no thank you.

He collapsed onto the couch, still holding a can of Monster. I’m definitely addicted. He thought.

Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He was healthy enough to be a hero. Degrading that ever so slightly wouldn’t hurt anything but his mental health, but come now.

Were any of them really ever good in that department?

No, he didn’t think so.

“I’d like you and I to romancing~” He mumbled, taking a sip. His brain was currently going 150 miles per hour, as well as three miles per hour.

Is this what it’s like to be high? He questioned, thinking about how Aizawa would act when he came back from the After-PTA-Parties. Now, his dad was no light weight. He’s seen the man chug an entire bottle of beer and merely walk out and go to school like it was his morning coffee, which was also usually spiked. Now, imagine how much Aizawa had to drink to end up slurring, throwing up, and almost blackout drunk.

Yeah, that's how Hitoshi felt right now.

Thank god today's Saturday.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, as Harry Styles was the next artist to start playing. “You're a wizard, Harry!”

Was he high? If he wasn’t, he had to be pretty goddamn close to it.

“Oi?” He hears very distantly.

Hitoshi looks up and around for the source, until he’s met with his blond Pomeranian. “My love!” He says, slinging himself over the others shoulders.

Katsuki raised a brow. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Who cares? Kiss me!” Hitoshi showered the others neck in kisses, and Katsuki shoved him off promptly after.

“Your fucking high,” He deadpanned.

“No I’m not!” Hitoshi said, “I’m underage, that’d be illegal!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, somehow managing to lift the other taller boy's body weight like he was a baby. “I’m taking you to bed, you fucking dumbass.”

“You’ll go with me?” Hitoshi asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Never do that again,” Commanded Katsuki, and Hitoshi's mouth was promptly shut.

“You need to stop doing this Toshi.” He started, making their way to the elevator, “I didn’t sign up for fucking baby sitting.”

“Love you too!” Hitoshi said, kissing the others neck.

“You're six foot!” Katsuki exclaimed, “I hate to admit it, but I should not be the one carrying you!”

“You admit I’m taller than you?”

“Fucking- How could I not?!? You’re like a fucking skyscraper, Hitoshi!”

“Aww.”

Katsuki scowls as they make it to their hallway. “You interrupted my morning workout routine.”

“Eww, you work out?” Hitoshi drawled, pursuing his lips.

“I’m in the hero course- and so are you for that matter! You cannot keep pulling caffeine induced all-nighters and expect to be a famous hero-“

“Who said I wanted to be famous?” Hitoshi interrupted.

“Right, right. Daddy’s boy,” Katsuki sighed, opening Hitoshis door with his foot.

“Goddamn!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “Hella flexibly!”

“Mhm,” Katsuki replied tiredly. He nudged open the door. “Stand up.”

“You were doing such a good job though!” Hitoshi whined.

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I will count to five-“

“Fine, fine,” Hitoshi rolled his eyes stepping down from around Katsuki, yet still being miles above him. “Hehe.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki said, “Good night. And I swear to God, Hitoshi, if I see you downstairs before 1:30-“

“I know!” Hitoshi said, rolling into bed. “I love you, Kat.”

“Fuck off!” He yelled, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, Hitoshi received a text.

BoomBastic: Love you too dumbass

[abromelon34105]

Here’s a snippet from Chapter 7 of my ADA!Chūya AU, For the Tainted Human! This scene is one of Chūya’s memories, and this chapter gets pretty emotional. Chūya has a story to tell and maybe now is the best time~

“What is this?” Dazai asked as he lifted his head and turned towards my phone. I gripped him tighter, pulling him back towards me so he couldn't change the song. “Does that matter? I want to listen to it.”

“It just sounds…sad. Not like you,” he said as he turned back around and wrapped his arms around the back of my neck again. I shrugged and snuggled deeper into him, keeping our legs entwined under the sheets. “So? I’m allowed to like sad songs too.”

“I never said that, Chibi~ I was just saying that it’s the first time I’ve heard you listen to it, that’s all.”

“...It’s called Gavi’s Song.”

“Gavi’s Song?”

“Yeah. The artist released it after her best friend died. She’d been working on it with him, but he didn’t make it through to the end, so she released it as a homage to him or something. I think it’s really beautiful. Call me sappy, I don’t care.”

“Why would I do that?” Dazai placed his finger under my chin and lifted my head, meeting my gaze with a soft smile. “If Chibi thinks it’s beautiful, that means is must be beautiful~ Since Chibi is the most beautiful thing in the world~”

“S-Shut up…” I muttered as I moved my head and hid my face again, getting a chuckle out of him. We were still new to our actual relationship, so the softer flirting embarrassed me. It also sometimes reminded me of that place, though I never told him. He didn’t know about that place, and I wanted it to stay that way.

“You really like this artist, huh?” Dazai asked after a moment and I slowly nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered without moving my head. “She’s good. The music’s complicated and loud enough to keep me focused but it also helps keep me from singing along.”

“Does she tour?”

“Dazai, you are not taking me to go see her in concert. I don’t even know when she’s coming to Japan next.”

“Alright, fine. But I’ll keep an eye out, don’t worry.” He pressed another light kiss to my forehead and my cheeks flushed a little more as I tried burying myself deeper into him. He snorted and ran a hand over my head, letting his fingers get tangled in my hair and gently working the knots that had developed overnight out. “Your hair’s getting long.”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna cut it?”

“Probably not this time. I want to try having it long.”

“I think long hair will suit you.”

“You just want something to grab when I’m being a brat.”

“That is a benefit, I will admit~ But it’ll look so good with Chibi’s dresses~”

“What is with you and those damn dresses?”

“Chibi looks go pretty in them~ Like a god sent into my life~”

“...Osamu, you’re a dork.”

“What did you call me?”

“I called you mackerel, stupid mackerel.”

“No you didn’t. That doesn’t even sound like what you said! I think you said my name! Chibi called me by my name!”

“Wha- No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t you stupid-” He shut me up with a well-timed kiss as he pushed me down onto the bed, rolling us over so that I was on my back and he was above me. I gave in easily, kissing back as I moved to grip his hair, letting him have full access to my mouth as he wanted. We were still working out how to be gentle with each other, since we both knew just how rough we could go and were used to being, but I didn’t mind. The gentler times gave us a chance to figure out my “subspace” or whatever it was called so that we knew how to deal with it during our rougher nights.

I just wished I remembered more after I slipped that night.

[colormepurplex2]

Kaleidoscope | Purple

↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, smut ⤜ WC: 893 ⚠️ Crass language, secret personal pining, intimate personal thoughts about a stranger, kissing, flirting, v. sex, imagery of body worship, imagery of carnal indulgence (the smut is really soft; it’s more about the feeling and acceptance than the act) ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

It’s only been a few precious moments since you left Namjoon’s apartment. You’re washing the gouache on your hand off in the sink when you hear a knock at your door. It’s late, nearly midnight. There’s really only one person you can think of who would be knocking on your door this late, and the prospect has your heart picking up its pace. He seems to be doing that to you a lot lately, making you feel things you haven’t in a long time. It’s nice.

With hope simmering below your surface, you dry your hands and go to the door. A glance through the peephole has you smiling and patting at your dress to smooth out invisible wrinkles—just in case.

“Namjoo—“ You swing open the door, and he wraps you up in an embrace, lips fusing to yours, cutting off his name.

The taste of the sweet wine lingers in his mouth as he welcomes your tongue in to slide against his. “Stay with me tonight,” he pleads between fervent presses of his lips to yours.

“Yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as he grips the backs of your thighs and picks you up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, dress sliding up to bunch around your hips.

You almost begged him to let you stay earlier, not wanting the night to end. But, you mustered up some self-control and wanted to let the night end on a good note with the promise of more to come tomorrow. Though, you can’t possibly say no to this turn of events.

You lose track of his steps until your back hits a soft surface, making your eyes pop open in surprise to take in your surroundings—Namjoon’s bedroom. You only got a brief glimpse of it earlier, but it was too dark to discern much. Now, it’s illuminated with soft indigo strip lights. Up this close, you can see his sheets are plum-colored satin, shining like glittering amethyst.

It’s the perfect atmosphere to learn more about the man you knew only as Apartment A just a few weeks ago. The more you uncover—the more colors you add to your palette—the more you want to keep peeling back the layers and soaking up what he has to offer.

Your cocktail dress becomes a dark puddle on the floor, splashed with accents of blue as your panties and bra join it. Namjoon looks at you, sprawled out on his bed, like you are a gift he can’t wait to sink his teeth into. The plain white t-shirt and khaki pants, lacking color like the canvas that once was blank and waiting in your living room across the hall, slide from his lean frame like poured paint to pool around his feet.

The bright pop of his white boxer briefs stands out against his deep, golden skin that’s made even darker by the purple lights. He’s standing before you like a conquering god. You reach for him, silently begging for him to lay claim to you.

An ache sparks between your thighs as he slowly, teasingly, hooks his thumbs into the band of his boxers and pushes them down to reveal a strength you’d willingly worship. His cock is long, thick, and already weeping.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers as he crawls onto the bed and gathers you into his arms, one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other settling for leverage on your hip. “You’ve been driving me crazy. All my songs lately have been about you. You’re in my head…in my soul.” The last word is punctuated with the press of his erection against your aching center.

You can’t help but think about your own obsession and how you’ve been consumed by this man, too. To hear it’s been a mutual affair has your body eager to satiate the other thoughts that have crossed your mind regarding Namjoon.

“I’ve painted you,” you confess softly, letting the words sink into the heady atmosphere between your bodies. He smirks, nipping playfully at your bottom lip before deepening it into a toe-curling kiss—your body throbs in anticipation and supplication. You need him. “My muse,” you breathe against his lips.

The feel of his cock slowly sliding into your body brands itself in your mind. It will forever be a representation of pure, carnal gratification. A halo of purple incandescence surrounds Namjoon. The glow wreaths him as you meet his wanton gaze. It’s bliss—art—how he plies your body with pleasures.

The other colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue—pale in comparison to how Namjoon paints your soul with the rich lilac that’s bleeding through your senses until all you can focus on is him. Your orgasm is sweet, a shared ecstasy filled with panting breaths and succulent moans.

Namjoon holds you close, murmuring soft words of affirmation and praise as you both get lost in the bliss of one another. These moments fill your night, sharp inhales and thready exhales as you indulge in each other again and again.

You’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what color represents Namjoon’s soul the best. The red apple, the orange duck, the yellow paint, the green notebook, and the blue wine bottle are all precious pages, layers of this extraordinary man…but purple, purple is the pinnacle of the myriad that is Namjoon—the kaleidoscope of your life.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List   ©️ 2023-09-12 ColorMePurplex2

[whatharrysang]

Harry Styles & your

Harry Styles 

Meet Me In The Hallway - I just left your bedroom

Sign Of The Times - Just stop your crying

Sign Of The Times - Hope you're wearing your best clothes

Sign Of The Times - You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

Sign Of The Times - Your bullets, the bullets?

Sign Of The Times - Have the time of your life

Sign Of The Times - Stop your crying

Sign Of The Times - Stop your crying, baby

Two Ghosts - Moon dances over your good side

Only Angel - Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see

Only Angel - Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door

Kiwi - Oh, I think she said, "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business

Kiwi - I'm having your baby, it's none of your business (it's none of your, it's none of your)

Kiwi - I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your business

Kiwi - I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your, it's none of your"

Kiwi - Oh, I think she said, "I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your business

Kiwi - I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your business (it's none of your, it's none of your)

Kiwi - It's none of your, it's none of your

Kiwi - "I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your business"

Kiwi - "I'm having your baby (hey), it's none of your business" (it's none of your, it's none of your)

Kiwi - "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" (it's none of your, it's none of your)

Ever Since New York - Choose your words 'cause there's no antidote

Woman - While he's touching your skin

From the Dining Table - Even my phone misses your call, by the way

From the Dining Table - I saw your friend that you know from work

From the Dining Table - I almost said your name

From the Dining Table - Even my phone misses your call

Fine Line

Watermelon Sugar - I want your belly and that summer feelin'

Adore You - Walk in your rainbow paradise (paradise)

Adore You - I get so lost inside your eyes

Adore You - Your wonder under summer skies (summer skies)

Cherry - I can tell that you are at your best

Cherry - I just miss your accent and your friends

To be so lonely - You got your reasons

To be so lonely - 'Cause I miss the shape of your lips

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Keep it sweet in your memory

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - I've got your face

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Your flowers just died

Harry's House

Music for a Sushi Restaurant - Blue bubblegum twisted 'round your tongue

Late Night Talking - You stub your toe or break your camera

As It Was - I want you to hold out the palm of your hand

As It Was - Your daddy lives by himself

Daylight - You're in your airplane seat

Daylight - Readin' your horoscope

Little Freak - But your gift is wasted on me

Little Freak - Your delicate point of view

Little Freak - I spilled beer on your friend, I'm not sorry

Matilda - You were ridin' your bike to the sound of 'It's No Big Deal'

Matilda - So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal

Matilda - And not invite your family 'cause they never showed you love

Matilda - You don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own

Matilda - You're just in time, make your tea and your toast

Matilda - You framed all your posters and dyed your clothes, ooh

Matilda - I don't believe that time will change your mind

Cinema - If you're getting yourself wet for me

Cinema - I dig your cinema

Cinema - I dig your cinema (cinema)

Daydreaming - So give me all of your love, give me something to dream about

Daydreaming - When you give me all of your love, give me something to dream about

Daydreaming - (All of your love, give me something to dream about)

Daydreaming - Give me all of your love, give me something to dream about

Daydreaming - Give me all of your love

Daydreaming - Give me something to dream about (give me all of your love, ooh-ooh)

Boyfriends - You love a fool who knows just how to get under your skin

Love of My Life - To get to know your creases and your ends

Songs Harry wrote for other artists

I love you��- Sometimes when I hear your name, a smile creeps on my face

I love you - You ran your finger down my back and you spelled out your name

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart - Just a little bit of your heart

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart - Just a little bit of your heart is all I want

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart - I know I'm not your only

Alfie's Song (Not So Typical Love Song) - Left your taste in my mouth

Alfie's Song (Not So Typical Love Song) - Your strange voice in my head

Alfie's Song (Not So Typical Love Song) - All your words in my head

Someday - Darling, I'm forever only yours

Someday - 'Cause I'm forever only yours (in love once more, once more, once more)

Someday - I'm forever only yours (hey, yeah)

Someday - Someday maybe I'll be yours (woah, baby)

Someday - Someday maybe I'll be yours (someday maybe I'll be yours)

Someday - 'Cause I'm forever only yours (someday I'll be yours)

Someday - I'm forever only yours (someday maybe...)

Someday - I'm forever only yours (only yours)

Someday - I'm forever only yours...

One Direction Songs Harry wrote on

Taken - I slept on your doorstep

Taken - But I wouldn't bet your heart on it

Everything About You - You know I've always got your back, girl

Everything About You - Yes, I like the way you smile with your eyes

Everything About You - There's something about your laugh that it makes me wanna have to

Back for You - Your smile is on every face now

Summer Love - Can't believe you're packing your bags

Summer Love - Don't say the word that's on your lips

Still the One - Yeah, now I'm back at your door

Still the One - Now I'm back at your door

Irresistible - It makes your lips so kissable

Irresistible - And your kiss unmissable

Irresistible - Your fingertips so touchable

Irresistible - And your eyes irresistible.

Irresistible - I find your lips so kissable

Irresistible - And your eyes irresistible

Irresistible - It's in your lips and in your kiss

Irresistible - It's in your touch and your fingertips

Irresistible - That make you who you are and your eyes irresistible.

Irresistible - And your eyes, your eyes, your eyes,

Irresistible - Your eyes, your eyes, your eyes

Happily - I wonder if he knows that I touched your skin.

Happily - And if he feels my traces in your hair

Something Great - One day I'll come into your world and get it right

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - To the look on your face when I let you go

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - Every corner calling out your name

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - Yeah, the taste of your lips on the tip of my tongue

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - Are you sleeping, baby by yourself?

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself?

Fool's Gold - I get lost in your beauty and I can't see two feet in front of me

Fool's Gold - Yeah I know your love's not real

Stockholm Syndrome - Who's this man that's holding your hand

Stockholm Syndrome - And talking 'bout your eyes?

Stockholm Syndrome - But my Stockholm syndrome is in your room

Change Your Ticket - Change Your Ticket

Change Your Ticket - Take that bag off your shoulder

Change Your Ticket - Come on let me change your ticket woooh

Perfect - I might never be your knight in shining armor

Perfect - I might never be the hand you put your heart in

Perfect - And if you're looking for someone to write your breakup songs about

If I Could Fly - For your eyes only, I show you my heart

If I Could Fly - Now you know me, for your eyes only

If I Could Fly - For your eyes only

If I Could Fly - I can feel your heart inside of mine

Olivia - And all of your friends were saying I'd be leaving you

Olivia - I've been idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia

Olivia - All belong to your creation

Walking In The Wind - I'll see your face again

Walking In The Wind - Just close your eyes and see

Walking In The Wind - I'll be by your side

A.M. - You know I'm always gonna look for your face

Unreleased Songs

5280 Miles - Sky outside my window is black and yours is blue

Already Home - I see your face and

Already Home - We know it’s not right, your car is outside with a cold seat and

Already Home - In alleyways, and fire escapes, corridors, I see your face

Baby Honey - Well I think I wrote a song that all your friends are gonna like

Baby Honey - It'll only take a minute, take a listen maybe change your mind

Baby Honey - Oh, I know he's got the money, baby honey, does he make your night?

By Your Side - I'll be by your side

Coco - (My blood is yours)

Coco - (Follow your heart)

Complicated Freak - I guess I love crazy, out of your mind

Complicated Freak - You lost your head, so I'll give you mine

Endlessly - Will you me fall asleep inside your dreams

Half the World Away - And I'm always gonna hear your name

High Tides - Now you're scared in your hometown

Him - It was me that you had on your mind

Him - Is it me running into your mind?

Hunger - Your stuff don’t taste the same

I'm Not Happy - Near your favorite part of town

I'm Not Happy - But I'd hate to see a tear upon your face

Jesus Christ, Happy New Year - You’ve been having the time of your life

Medicine - And up to your mouth, I'm feelin' it out

Oh Anna - I don't want your sympathy

Oh Anna - Every time I see your face

Oh Anna - There's smoke in your perfume

One And Only - I'll be your only lonely

Part of Me - I guess you still can’t hold your red wine

Part of Me - Is yours to keep

Part of Me - Part of me is yours

Part of Me - Part of me is yours only

Part of Me - That part of me is yours

Pop Tart - With your gold sunglasses and a big old fur

Pop Tart - All the boys are eatin' out the palm of your hand

Pop Tart - (All you needs a little) Good conversation and a drink in your hand

Pop Tart - All the boys are eating' out the palm of your hand

Pop Tart - Good conversation and a drink in your handDid you miscommunicate or did I misunderstand?

Pop Tart - (Did you know a little) Good conversation and a drink in your hand

Spanish Girl - Mysteries, I might not see your face,

Spanish Girl - Oh and I see your name If the world would turn, i

Spanish Girl - Take your time, hurry up, falling, falling in love, 

Too Much Sauce - Can't keep your head out your dreams

Too Much Sauce - Can't keep your tongue in your teeth

Trouble - Looking in your eyes

Trouble - Looking in your eyes when I see that smile there’s trouble

Trouble - Looking in your eyes when I see that smile (See that smile)

Without You - The part of your skin