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jadeshifting · 1 month ago

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i want to shift tonight but i literally haven’t legitimately tried in years. honestly i just want the freaking accomplishment of TRYING at least

if you could give me the most simple mundane steps to even get close to like a relaxation state or feel any symptoms, that would be literally perfect because im a train wreck and i can’t handle complicated instructions

with love,

aves

MY LOVEEE AVES sorry i didn’t get to this until right now, i’m not sure if our time zones are different but i wish i could’ve helped you last night, when you sent this ask i was drunk and eating a gyro on a sidewalk 😔

i completely understand where you’re coming from !! i feel like i have my nighttime routine pretty down, so i’d be happy to give u my lil routine, BUT a couple disclaimers first:

— you don’t need any routine to shift !! sources like early shifttok kept trying to brainrot everyone into thinking they had to do their skincare, clean their room, do their homework, drink a gallon of water, etc etc etc before bed in order to shift. that’s dumb, ignore everyone who said that

— i totally get what you mean when you say you haven’t legitimately tried in years. i fall victim constantly to the “don’t try at all to avoid the disappointment of ‘failure’”, like if i make no attempt at all, then i didn’t fail at anything when i wake up in my CR in the morning

the way i got past this was by “attempting” every night. and i don’t mean laying there and trying to force myself to stay awake while i counted backwards from 100 or anything like that. i mean deep breathing, loosely (BIG emphasis on loosely) visualizing where i’ll be waking up, and telling myself ‘i’m in my DR.’

the first step to the mindset shift is that ‘attempts’ don’t really exist, only whether or not you’ve fully and truly decided you are in your DR

there’s plenty more i could say on this topic, which is farrrr more important than the night routine itself, but i’ll get into what you actually asked for now:

— DRIFT & SHIFT ( a teensy little night routine for the girlies who have a hard time chilling out )

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

( your night routine won’t determine whether or not you shift, but it certainly helps if you’re relaxed, and that’s what this routine is for )

DAYTIME PREP .　　. 　 ˚　. throughout your day, do robotic affirmations. it’s a great thing to get in the habit of doing in general—murmuring to yourself, humming, or just silently repeating them to yourself in your head. “I am shifting every second.” “I am a master shifter.” “I am aware of my desired reality.” “Shifting is less than effortless.” feed your subconscious the important stuff all day, not just at night

1 .　　. 　 ˚　. PHONE ON SILENT — the moment you decide to start winding down and focusing on relaxation. i mean it. not even vibrate. SILENT.

2 .　　. 　 ˚　. HOT SHOWER — i always feel my most relaxed when i crawl into bed after taking a burning hot shower. the sigh you let out when you’re squeaky clean and wrapping yourself in your comforter means you’ve reached an entirely new plane of relaxation

3 .　　. 　 ˚　. STRETCHING — you don’t even need a yoga mat, you can do it once you’re already laying down. alternatively, you don’t even have to stretch, just systematically go through each of your body parts and make a point to relax them. regardless of which you do, the objective is to release any physical tension from the day. sink into your bed like you’re being pulled down into a cloud

4 .　　. 　 ˚　. SOUNDTRACK — put on something in the background, it truly doesn’t matter what—whatever feels right. it could be positive frequencies, a subliminal for shifting, ambient sound that connects you to your DR (hogwarts common room ambiance, forest or ocean sounds, etc. i’ve found some real gems on youtube before), or just soft music playing. quiet enough so it doesn’t distract you, and you can sink into it

5 .　　. 　 ˚　. SCENTTRACK — my reasoning for spraying various perfumes, lavender blend sleep sprays, or body mists before i go to sleep isn’t just for relaxation, it’s also for distraction. in my experience, if something in my environment is different when i’m laying down to sleep (a different smell than i’m used to, for example) makes it much easier to convince myself that i’m aware of another reality—which is the name of the game, really: believing it

6 .　　. 　 ˚　. DEEP BREATHS — my favorite part, and the most important part. nothing in the whole world will get you more relaxed than laser-focusing in on your breathing—in, out, in, out. you’re already in your DR

let go of the pressure and let yourself float into that in-between state where dreams and reality start to blur

goodnight, shifter. sweet dreams and even sweeter DRs :^)

.　　. 　 ˚　. this guide is for anyone, but this DISCLAIMER IS FOR AVERY MY DEAR SPECIFICALLY — you get in your head about this sort of thing and overthink it. no tip or trick or routine is the “secret” to shifting. your mindset and your affirmations are the key, here. i hope this guide helps you relax for bed before shifting, but what you should be focusing on is tending to your precious subconscious and its tightly held beliefs. you’ve already shifted 🫶

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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gilbertscurls · 3 months ago

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Sucker (pt. 2) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt, your biggest fan, finally scores a date with you.

Matt sat in his car outside your place, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. His heart was pounding in his chest, his palms were already sweaty, and he hadn’t even knocked on your door yet. He glanced at the dashboard clock—7:28. Two minutes early. That was good, right? Not too eager, but not late either.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hands on his jeans, gave himself one last look in the rearview mirror, and tried to calm his nerves. It’s just a date, he kept repeating in his head. Just a date. Except it wasn’t just a date. This was you, the girl he’d admired for what felt like forever. The girl whose songs had been the soundtrack to his life for the past few years, whose interviews he’d watched and whose laugh he couldn’t get out of his head. And now, here he was, about to take you on a date.

He finally forced himself to get out of the car, each step feeling heavier than the last as he approached your front door. His heart felt like it was lodged somewhere in his throat, and he could feel a nervous tingle in his fingertips. Before he could think too much about it, he knocked.

A moment later, the door swung open, and there you were, standing in front of him with that warm smile that made his knees feel weak. You looked absolutely stunning, more so than usual, and Matt had to remind himself to breathe.

“Hey, Matt,” you said, your voice light and easy, like this was no big deal.

But it was everything to him.

“H-hey,” he stammered, trying to keep it together, but already feeling like he was on the verge of losing it. “You look… I mean, you always look good, but tonight, you’re just… wow.”

You giggled softly, your cheeks flushing a little at his compliment. “Thank you. You look great, too.”

Matt felt his face heat up, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Thanks,” he muttered, desperately trying to think of something cool to say but coming up blank. “Uh, should we… get going?”

You nodded, grabbing your bag and stepping out, closing the door behind you. Matt opened the car door for you, feeling like it was the least he could do to prove he wasn’t a complete nervous wreck.

As you slid into the passenger seat, he shut the door, took a deep breath, and walked around to the driver’s side, trying to convince himself to relax. It’s fine. You’re fine. She likes you. But as soon as he sat down next to you, the nerves came flooding back.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with small talk—about your week, his latest video shoot, the traffic. But no matter how hard Matt tried to focus, all he could think about was you sitting next to him, just inches away. His heart was racing, and every time you laughed or smiled at something he said, it only made things worse.

“Are you okay?” you asked at one point, glancing at him with a curious smile.

Matt’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Oh no, she can tell I’m freaking out. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m great,” he blurted, his voice way too high-pitched. He cringed at himself. “I mean, I’m good. Just, you know… excited.”

You chuckled softly, clearly amused by his nerves. “I’m glad. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. She’s been looking forward to this. That thought both calmed him and sent a fresh wave of panic through his system. He focused on the road, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Matt hurried out of the car to open your door again, grateful to have something to do with his hands. You smiled as you stepped out, and he could’ve sworn his heart skipped another beat.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly as you walked inside together.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the lighting soft and warm. As you sat down across from each other, Matt felt the nervous tension in his body slowly start to ease. You were here, you were smiling, and you seemed happy to be with him. He could do this.

Once the food came, the conversation flowed more naturally. You talked about everything—your favorite concerts, funny behind-the-scenes moments in your videos, the ridiculous amount of times Matt had played your songs in the car. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt a little less like he was going to combust from nervousness.

But even as things got easier, there were still moments when his nerves came rushing back—like when your hand brushed against his across the table, or when your eyes lingered on him a little longer than usual. His heart would race, his palms would start sweating again, and he’d feel like he was right back to square one.

“So,” you said, leaning in slightly, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How many times have your brothers teased you about this date?”

Matt chuckled nervously, his face heating up. “Oh, you have no idea. They’ve been giving me a hard time all week. I’m pretty sure Nick was still laughing when I left to pick you up.”

You giggled, and Matt’s heart flipped. “That sounds about right. Well, I’m honored to be their favorite topic.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t blame them. They know how much I like you. And… well, I’ve talked about you a lot.” His voice trailed off, suddenly realizing how much he was admitting. God, could I sound any more uncool?

But you just smiled, your eyes softening. “I think it’s sweet. You’ve talked about me, huh?”

Matt’s face flushed again, and he quickly nodded. “Uh, yeah. Maybe a little too much.”

You laughed, and the sound made every nerve in his body calm down, even if just for a moment. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve watched your videos, too. You and your brothers are hilarious. And your fans are adorable when they tease you about me.”

Matt blinked, his heart skipping another beat. “You’ve watched our videos?”

You nodded, looking completely casual about it. “Yeah, of course. I love how genuine you are. It’s refreshing.”

Matt stared at you, completely stunned. You had watched his videos? And you thought he was genuine? He felt like he was floating.

After dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk in a nearby park. The night air was cool, and the stars overhead twinkled against the dark sky. You walked side by side, the sound of your laughter filling the quiet night. Every now and then, your arm would brush against his, and Matt’s heart would skip a beat all over again.

After what felt like an eternity of debating with himself, Matt finally reached for your hand. His pulse was racing, his mind filled with doubts—What if she pulls away? What if it’s too soon? But then your fingers intertwined with his, and he let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

You glanced over at him with a smile. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Matt whispered, his heart racing as he held your hand. “It is.”

When he finally drove you back to your place, the nervous energy returned full force. What if she didn’t have as good a time as I thought? What if she was just being nice? His mind was racing as he walked you to your door, struggling to keep his cool.

But when you turned to face him, your smile was soft and warm, and all of his doubts melted away. “Thank you for tonight, Matt,” you said softly, your voice sweet. “I had an amazing time.”

Before he could respond, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire body.

Matt stood there, frozen, his mind completely blank as you stepped back with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“G-goodnight,” he stammered, still too stunned to move as you disappeared inside.

As he finally turned and walked back to his car, Matt’s hand touched his cheek where you had kissed him, a huge grin spreading across his face. His nerves were gone now, replaced by pure happiness.

He had done it. The date had gone perfectly—better than he could’ve ever imagined. And as he drove home, all he could think about was when he’d see you again.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @wh0remikasas

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londonfog-chan · 23 days ago

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Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs

A/N: The little lad dances once again.

I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.

I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.

I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.

Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.

Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?

Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements

Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.

Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.

The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.

Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.

He was beautiful.

So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.

Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.

Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.

“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”

While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.

The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.

“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”

“She is only a child…”

“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”

Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…

For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.

You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.

You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.

This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.

There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.

You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…

The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.

You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.

When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.

When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.

Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.

The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.

What in the name of the gods was that?!

Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.

The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.

You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.

Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.

“Caught you!” You sing-songed.

He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.

“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.

“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.

“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.

“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”

You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.

“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”

“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.

Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.

“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.

The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.

“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.

Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.

“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.

“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”

“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”

“General Acacius is my father.”

The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.

“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”

“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.

Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.

She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.

“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”

The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.

“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”

“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”

A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.

“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”

Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.

“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.

Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.

“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.

“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”

“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.

“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”

“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”

“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”

You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.

“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.

A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.

“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”

“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”

“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”

He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.

“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”

“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.

“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”

It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.

You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.

“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.

The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.

“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.

With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…

But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.

“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”

Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated

“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.

Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.

“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”

“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.

“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.

“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”

“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.

“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”

“THE EMPERORS?!”

“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”

Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.

All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.

Luxury…

Wine…

Sexual pleasure…

Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.

In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.

“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”

The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.

“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.

“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.

“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”

“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”

“There are!” Caracalla argued.

“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.

“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.

“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.

“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”

“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”

“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”

“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.

“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.

“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”

Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.

“And how much would you ask for her?”

“Two million denarii!”

“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”

“Only one hundred thousand?!”

“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”

“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.

“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”

When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.

“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”

#gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #emperor Caracalla x reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #general acacius #lucilla

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creativeashproductions · 2 years ago

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Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

“This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

“I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?”

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong.

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest.

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head.

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.”

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house.

“Ava!”

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister.

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died.

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement.

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again.

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face.

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

#wally clark x reader #wally clark imagines #school spirits imagines #milo manheim #school spirits 2023 #caitsy and ash productions

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dreamingkitsunewrites · 1 month ago

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┍━━ ☽【ஓ๑♡Queen of the Night - 0. Prologue ♡๑ஓ】☾━━┑

Chapter 0- Prologue "Queen of the night". | AO3 link here

Synopsis: a beginning in medias res

TW: angst, swearing, suggestive language.

♫♬♪─•────ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ

Chapter Soundtrack: "Queen of the Night by Hey Violet

Y/N pov

11.32pm

Less than 30 minutes remain in my shift. The bar is unusually quiet tonight—definitely more so than a typical Wednesday. Just a handful of patrons linger at tables tucked away in the corners of the dance floor. The small stage is empty; with no live music on weeknights, I’m left to rely on the soft background tunes spilling from the speakers to stave off the boredom. I trust this random playlist on repeat to keep me company until I can finally escape this place.

As one song fades, the hauntingly familiar notes of a piano melody begin to play…

I've bandaged your bruises, you've held back my hair

Who'd've known when this started that we'd end up here, here?

Choso. Why do I never see it coming? The emotion, the pain, him… and now this song, hitting me out of nowhere like a slap in the face. These lyrics strike me harder than a thousand knives, reopening wounds I’m still trying to stitch. My grip tightens around the lipstick-stained glass in my hand as memories I wish I could erase come flooding back. Will I ever forget? Do I even want to?

Choso and I never needed many words to understand each other. Being there for one another during our lowest moments was more than enough: cold, pale skin… rough, calloused hands. Him. Bruised knuckles, wounded pride, clenched teeth. I remember sitting across from him in my bathroom, carefully wrapping his sore knuckles in white bandages after he pushed himself too hard yet again. “I need to get stronger… this time I- fuck.” Choso winced in pain as my fingers brushed against his injured skin. “Sorry, my hand slipped….” Our eyes met, his battered soul looking deep into mine.

A subtle tremor coursed through him and into me, a silent electricity igniting our senses. I resumed my ministrations, both our hands trembling now: I still can't tell it was out of fear or if it was simply the dawning intimacy we were creating.

Choso’s the only one who saw me at my lowest… that night he rescued me from the bar. Delusion and self-pity drowning alongside the alcohol in my veins. Intrusive thoughts clouded my mind as I leaned against his tall, solid frame for support. How do I always let my guard down? What if my ex is right? What if I’m worthless? What if… Choso’s cold hands gently wrapped around my ankles, grounding me in reality. He brought me home safely tha night, helping me remove my heels, and kneeling beside me on the cold bathroom floor. I don’t remember every detail of those first moments of intimacy, but I will never forget how he quietly cared for me, holding back my hair as I threw up, cradling me like a child as I cried uncontrollably.

Who’d known when we started that we’d end up in so deep?

But you reach out and touch me, say my name like a prayer

All my friends say you're dangerous, but I don't fucking care

Time passed by and we couldn't see how close we had grown… until the moment my name slipped from his lips like a prayer, barely audible over the torrential rain outside my window.

All my friends warned me against getting involved with him, especially after that incident… but never, not even for tiny second, I’ve feared his superhuman strength "It’s too dangerous to be so close to him; you’ll end up being hurt one day,” they said… but I never listened; I never cared about their opinions. They never understood what we had, how could they?

'Cause there's something about it that brings me to life

Yeah, I know all the consequences, I don't mind

This holy redemption tears us in two

But I can't turn my back to you

Being with Choso makes me feel alive in ways I never thought possible. I crave the thrill only he can provide, the way my heart raced as we danced in the rain, the butterflies in my stomach whenever he touched me… I still cherish the astonishment in discovering his half-cursed nature, the excitement of the unknown unfolding day after day in front of my eyes… I never thought twice around him. I felt fearless by his side; his comforting presence was enough to make me feel stronger and freer than I ever had.

We had our issues, it’s true… I tried to heal the scars still etched on his soul with everything I had. But the road to redemption isn’t easy, and insecurity chipped away at us day by day. Yet, even after the hurtful words he spoke, I still hold onto hope that he will return to me, safe and sound, and that we’ll start anew… because no matter how many times he tells me to walk away, to change my path and leave it all behind….I just can’t turn my back to him.

When the night goes quiet and we're up in your room

And you're kissing my fingers, and I kiss your tattoo

I could play in bed with you and talk shit forever-ever

If this is all a dream, wake me up never, never, never

Swear to God, cross my heart, no one does it better, better

I long to feel that sensation again—the intimacy of lying naked beside him in the stillness of the night, the soft sound of rain enveloping us. I crave to become the object of the adoring look in those amber eyes once again,right as he brings my hand to his lips to kiss each one of my fingertips with sacred deliberateness. My fingers still itch to trace the marks adorning his delicate features of his face once more.

I miss those lazy days spent together in bed, talking for hours about nothing, wrapped up between the sheets and his strong arms. Choso would frown and hold my waist as I tried to get up to go the bathroom, keeping me from leaving the bed with a frown. Those lazy moments of playfulness between us were the best...No one will ever compare to him.

Boy I love ya, always gonna

The glass I’m holding slips from my fingers, shattering on the ground and snapping me out of my reverie. I stand frozen in the middle of the bar, too numb to move.

“YN, are you okay? Did you cut yourself?” My colleague rushes over, kneeling to clean up the mess I’ve made. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“I’m sorry… I… I just need a moment.” I hurry to the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, I stare at my reflection… 'Boy, I love ya, always gonna'… No, this can’t be the end. We will find our way back to each other, even if it takes months, even years… 'just come home to me safe and sound, Cho… I promise we’ll find a way to fix this and finally be together again.'

Thanks for reading this far! Comments and Reblogs are appreciated 💜

Fic Navigation Materialist | next chapter (coming soon)

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savagewildnerness · 8 months ago

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The Score of S2E5/E12 Don't be afraid, just start the tape.

OK, Someone was asking about the repeated piano notes that recur in S2E5 so I thought I’d have a quick go through the episode.

Please bear in mind that I have not listened to the soundtrack for season 2. In S2E1 I was so profoundly moved by the exquisite violin music in the first 15 minutes that I was totally overwhelmed and I had to watch the first part of the episode several times to take it all in and be composed enough to continue watching.

The way the music impacted me there, hearing it for the first time alongside the drama, as intended, made me realise I absolutely do not want to listen to the score before watching the whole of S2 and so not feel the emotion from it as intended, alongside the drama the first time I watch the show!

I’ll spoil myself by analysing every trailer to the millisecond and reading your analyses… but the music: NO. I even regretted knowing the Come to Me reprise before it was in the show.

And even the S1 score… I know it well, but I listen to it on CD in the car, so I’m not familiar with the track titles as I’ve never really looked at most of them…. So, that said - this will not be referencing tracks on the score. Perhaps I’ll return to this in more depth - analysing the music more thoroughly and with reference to the score after the series is over, but for now…

Piano pedal:

The piano pedal and theme recurs 5 times in the episode, and looking at when, I realised it is all related to Louis uncovering his suicide attempt as it culminates (on the fourth occurrence) in the full theme…

I transcribed just the first bit of slow notes, which isn’t very interesting, but here it is:

Musically the theme is just 5, slow pedal C’s the first and last occurrence - bookmarking the delve into the uncovering of memory.

The second occurrence adds an Eb, suggesting it has somewhere it is starting to head towards… but is still just 5 slow pedal notes.

The third occurrence starts the theme for a fair amount the theme and the fourth occurrence is the full theme.

1 - 5 slow pedal C’s. This occurs in Dubai at this point:

Daniel: How often has Armand spared a life?

Louis: Armand could see I was partial to you

I.e. When Daniel first opens up the concept of exploring his and Louis’ memories of San Francisco, we first hear the pedal C’s

2 - 3 C’s, an Eb and a C - 5 slow notes. This occurs in Dubai

Daniel: I want to know, for me, what happened between us

So, the first two occurrences are Daniel opening Louis up to the idea of exploring what really happened at the first interview in San Francisco.

3 - Slow pedal C’s and Eb’s into the start of a longer piano theme. This occurs in San Francisco

This is when Louis is talking about Claudia leaving on the train and him staying behind with Lestat and then…

Daniel: And then what?

The theme starts as Louis talks about this first contemplation of suicide and continues through Daniel’s plea to be made a vampire

4 - Full theme in San Francisco

This begins after Louis and Armand’s argument; after:

Louis: I loved her (Claudia)

Armand: But she didn’t love you. Not like he did. Not like I have.

Louis: I know

I don’t know if this is on the season 2 soundtrack, but I’ll presume it is, and it’ll be this, full version that continues now in its full form, through Louis going into the sun.

5 - 5 slow pedal C’s in Dubai, as at the start

This occurs when Armand returns, at the end of the episode

Armand: I could see you were partial to him. I preserve your happiness even when you don’t or can’t.

Louis and Armand: I had a hunch

Armand: Daniel might prove fruitful in later times

The other, creepy soundscape with distorted horror/electronic sounds (YUM!) happens for the first time after Louis’ suicide attempt when Daniel is mentioned and it scores all the horror elements with Daniel and Armand, where Armand is basically torturing Daniel, trying to find out what makes Daniel fascinating to Louis and Daniel is terrified he is going to die.

The first occurrence:

Louis: He’s alive?

Armand: The boy? The fascinating boy. He’s fine. He’s just fine. Oh, he’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.

It continues as Daniel recounts what he can remember - the corpse, etc. and develops as Armand seeks what makes Daniel fascinating

I didn’t really delve into this part, but - violins/strings and a more familiar to most episodes, though sparser, predominantly piano and violin score with lots of high and thinner notes than usual return when Lestat is mentioned between Louis and Armand and Armand talks about listening to the tapes and why Louis did the interview. It’s very pared back, but the “The drum was my heart” theme (Ahh… is that the origin track for the theme? Anyway - you know the theme dooo doooooo, do doooo dooooooo one!) is there with high pedal strings as Lestat speaks to Louis and it suddenly drops away as Lestat vanishes…

Armand’s “easeful death” talk with Daniel as he eases him to his death also has a more musically full (and beautiful) theme. It reminds me a bit of Moonlight sonata and has Armand-romance-theme vibes in its gentleness - beautiful, delicate and simple. Then a violin comes in and it becomes increasingly poignant and emotional and eventually (I feel) it has a romance to it too, especially from when Armand says “It’s the comfort we all long for” - it sort of resolves to a musical home.

Again, there is more resolved piano & strings music at the end with Daniel and Louis.

OK, so only a little analysis. I just watched the episode once and made a few notes. I basically did it to work out if those repeated piano pedal notes had a specific connection. And they do - it is specifically tied into (at least as I understood it, from my listening) the uncovering of Louis’ suicide attempt.

Let me know if you’d like me to look at the music ever in the future. I dunno… part of me feels like killing a fairy to analyse stuff like this rather than just experience the magic, but also I find it very interesting. This is only a first little touch on stuff. I could analyse and actually think about it…

Gosh, I adore Daniel Hart’s score! And I love how unusual and differently this episode was scored compared to other episodes…

Let me know if this was daft of me or if you’d ever like me to look into the music at all.

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #amc interview with the vampire #don't be afraid just start the tape #Daniel hart #louis de pointe du lac #Daniel molloy #interview with the vampire score #armand le russe #amc iwtv #iwtv amc

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plutoccult · 11 months ago

Text

BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

description: a beautiful stranger shakes up your once boring and repetitive morning commute on the train.

word count: 3.4k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: hello! i’m no stranger to writing, but i’m definitely a stranger when it comes to writing for idols. this is the first time i’ve ever done so, and who better to write for than my ultimate bias hyunjin? stray kids is my favorite group, so i’d like to write more content for them in the future. thank you to my pookie wookie lills (YES, we unironically call each other pookie, it’s our thing) for beta reading, and i hope you enjoy <3

soundtrack: beautiful stranger, enchanted

tags: @solefleurs @heavenfilm @5sos-wdw @todorokiskitten @rylea08 @br3anna-nels0n @hyunjinloverrrr

taglist form here

you always found an array of characters during your morning commute on the paris metro. there’d always be locals, some on their way to work or home just like you. amongst the locals were tourists decked out in overpriced souvenirs specifically curated for suckers like them. at night, there were drunks who thankfully were smart enough not to drive. the reek of alcohol on them wasn’t that amusing, you must admit.

despite the variety of people you could see passing by on your commutes, it grew boring. always the same thing every single day. not even the music playing in your headphones or the book you brought with you that day could make time go faster. it’s not like it would be any better once you got off the train either. your life was incredibly dull and repetitive. if only something could serve as a change of pace.

to think that your life had become boring in a place like paris of all places. it’s the city of love, is it not? even if you were created out of love and born in a city all about that concept, you had none of it. maybe that’s why you felt this way. no matter how many times you pass the same streets or enter the same train station, you had yet to find the one thing everyone seemed to look for so easily here.

you had basically given up at this point, committed to living an empty life where all you did was work, eat, sleep, then repeat. it’s what most people do in other countries anyway, might as well join the party. the second you had fully lost all hope, however, was when you saw the most beautiful stranger on the train. you almost wanted to slap yourself for being so pessimistic before.

you walked onto the train with the expectation of just sitting around until you got to your stop. as you walked to your usual seat, that’s where you found your beautiful stranger, sitting in the seat right across from the one you sat in every single day without fail.

you knew you had never seen him before. you take this train almost every damn day, so who was he? had he just moved here? was he a tourist? where’s the “i love paris” shirt and the eiffel tower keychain made of shitty plastic? instead, he was dressed like someone meant to be on billboards and magazines. surely had the face to fit the bill too. he was undoubtedly breathtaking, and he ultimately captivated you upon first sight.

it was pathetic how you hesitated to sit down. he didn’t seem to waver, looking down at his phone. from the reflection of his sunglasses—yes, you were that curious—he seemed to be swiping through photos. you assumed they were ones he had taken around the city. paris was definitely filled with photo opportunities, so you couldn’t blame him for that one. it’ll look good on anyone’s instagram feed.

you try your best to make yourself look occupied. shuffling through your bag to find a book, the rummaging sounds catch the attention of your beautiful stranger. your eyes meet for a brief moment when you turn your body to lean back in your seat with a book in hand. despite how quick the moment was, you swore your heart dropped the second you caught his gaze.

oh god, was this the excitement you had been waiting for? you couldn’t mistake it as anything else. leave it up to you to fall for a stranger upon first sight, but who cares? finally, finally, your life had begun to be painted in color. even if it was just for a moment, you’d savor this one train ride that actually seemed worthwhile for once in your life.

you steal glances at him every so often, praying he wouldn’t catch you and make you feel embarrassed for staring. you just couldn’t help yourself, he was like a walking renaissance painting. actually, you don’t even think da vinci would be capable of capturing the essence of someone who looked like a real-life prince.

the moment you knew you had reached your stop, you wished you could glue yourself to your seat so you had no choice but to stay on the train with your beautiful stranger a little longer. as much as you wanted to, you simply couldn’t, having no choice but to say goodbye without actually saying a word at all.

it was silly to think a stranger on the train could change your life in an instant. still, you were grateful for the temporary change of pace. if only you could thank him somehow, but alas, you knew you had no chance of seeing him again.

•••

the next day, you found your beautiful stranger again, this time sketching down something in a sketchbook. you caught him looking at everyone who walked onto the train, and when it was finally your turn to step on, he actually smiled once he laid eyes on you. it all felt like you were dreaming. if this was cloud nine, then you had finally reached it.

when you walked over to your seat across from his, you noticed he clutched the sketchbook close to his chest, almost like he didn’t want you to see what he was drawing. you were too shy to speak up and spark a conversation with him anyway, so it wasn’t like you would pry. still, you were curious to know what was on the page.

it pained you knowing you lacked any courage. you found you were better off acting like you were interested in your book, on a random page as you were too in your head to actually start from where you left off and completely ignored the folded page that indicated that. what would happen if you said hello? would he say hi back? ask if you’d like to see what he’s drawing or ask about what you’re reading? the possibilities seemed to be endless, but the possibilities seemed safer as thoughts in your head rather than facing reality if you were to take a chance.

you can’t help but watch intently as his face scrunched from focusing on his sketch, his only tool a wooden pencil. did he plan to color it later? you can imagine trying to avoid rattling colored pencils leaving his possession due to the bumpiness of the train. he was quite brave for trying to draw in a place like this, you thought.

unnoticed by you, your beautiful stranger’s cheeks flushed and ears burned red as he could feel you watching him draw. the subject of his drawing still remained a mystery to you, however. tempting to spark up a conversation, yet so debilitatingly scary at the same time.

it seemed rude to stare for so long, so you put a stop to it immediately and busied yourself with your phone, catching up with texts you had missed since getting up for work. your phone was always blown up with texts from your friends, today being no different. if you didn’t silence your phone at night, you would never get any sleep.

they had been informed about your current saga, and the update would certainly excite them. it was hard to resist a smile as you texted them about the latest scoop, especially as the subject of said scoop was only a few meters away from you. maybe this should wait until later, otherwise they’d trying forcing you out of your comfort zone by talking to who was still a total stranger at the end of the day.

who knows though? for all you know, he could be a murderer. a stinking gorgeous one too. as if you need to be on the evening news. even so, those were just silly thoughts, all just an excuse to stop yourself from taking a chance at something for once in your life out of fear.

the second you reached your stop, you instantly regretted being so silent. would it have killed you to try? it felt like it would’ve, but you figured this morning was the last chance you’d have. if only you weren’t such a scaredy cat.

•••

after your shift, an unexpected reunion occurred on the evening commute. the train was quite crowded at this time of day, majority of the aboard trying to get home after a long day’s work, including you. the surplus of people made it quite difficult to find seating, but luckily for you, your beautiful stranger had a seat occupied by his bag, perfect for you to sit.

this was the extra chance you craved the second you got off the train earlier, cursing yourself throughout the day for not even attempting to just say hello. you were so thankful to see him again, it was almost like the universe blessed you for this very purpose. you were such a wuss this morning, but you refused to allow that reputation to continue now.

once you took a deep breath, you walked to where your beautiful stranger sat, trying to keep your balance as the train moved at rapid speed. in the midst of your struggle, the sound of your footsteps thumping on the ground caught his attention. he looked up in surprise, not expecting to see you, but thrilled nonetheless.

“hi.” you miraculously manage to speak out, your accent making an appearance during your pathetic english. it was agonizing how your heart raced a mile a minute just by uttering one word, so you tried your very best to calm yourself down. “is this seat taken?”

“no, no…” he replied to your question, picking up his bag and moving it to the floor by his feet so you could sit. “here.”

“thank you.” you say before taking the seat next to him.

god, your heart was thumping like the loudest drum ever created. to sit across from his was one thing, but right next to each other, shoulders brushing due to the lack of room? if only you could put a stop to this rapid percussion inside you. at least the sounds of the train rumbling against the tracks could serve as buffer for the unspoken tension between you and your beautiful stranger.

his sketchbook rested unopened on his lap. you recognized it as the one he had earlier, previously held close to his chest as if he were hiding secrets. what could someone as dashing as him be hiding in there, you wonder?

almost as if he were reading your mind, he suddenly opened up the sketchbook, flipping the pages—which revealed beautiful drawings in the split second you saw them—until he landed on a page of a finished sketch, one that you swore looked like you sitting on the train yesterday.

you look up and catch his eye. “is that me?”

“mhm.” he nodded with a soft grin.

his art style was something to be proud of, meant to be showcased in somewhere exquisite like the louvre. could this guy be any more perfect? drop dead gorgeous and talented? to see yourself captured in such a bewitching way was truly the greatest compliment one could ever receive.

the sound of the page ripping away from the binding of the sketchbook startled you. what was he doing? it was so perfect! why mess it all up? you couldn’t help but say something about it.

“what are you—”

“you can have it.” he interrupted you, holding the page in his hands, waiting for you to take it.

“oh…” your cheeks flush as your fingers accidentally grazed over his upon grabbing the sketch. “thank you.”

you almost felt bad holding this in your hands, afraid of ruining it just by the touch of your hand. how could he just let you have this without hesitation? even if this was a drawing of you, it felt like you didn’t deserve to have it.

you examine the drawing down to the details of the clouds behind you. you look for some sort of signature, assuming every artist had one in hopes to find a name. in the bottom corner, you see the name “hyunjin” written in cursive. you had finally put a name to your beautiful stranger.

“hyunjin?” you attempt to pronounce his name. your accent did you no favors, but you tried your best regardless. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion until you pointed to where his signature was, then receiving a nod confirming that was his name.

“hwang hyunjin.” he said slowly. you repeat his name in full, speaking slower than him to make sure you were saying it correctly as you desperately didn’t want to screw it up. hyunjin, as you’ve now learned, gave you a nod of approval once you’ve won the battle with your accent.

“i’m y/n l/n.” you tell him. it would be awfully rude if he didn’t learn your name, after all. it seemed hyunjin didn’t seem to struggle at all when it came to pronouncing your name. his english was far better than yours, which wasn’t a shock as he seemed to be so insanely perfect in every aspect possible.

“are you an artist?” you ask, making an assumption based on the clues given to you the past two days. if he were anything else, you’d be surprised.

“i sing and dance.” hyunjin replied. you couldn’t believe his perfection could get any greater, but it just did. it would shock you if you learned your once beautiful stranger was a world famous one.

“well, your art is lovely.” you say.

“thank you.” he blushed shyly. to hyunjin, it felt so nice being treated like a normal person, appreciated for his art above all else. while there was no denying you found him to be the most breathtaking person you’d ever seen, there was more beneath the surface, and hyunjin was grateful to be seen for what he loves to do.

“is this your first time in paris?” you question, a chuckle escaping hyunjin’s lips over your pronunciation of your homeland. you were trying to get as much information out of him as possible before you were tortured with reaching your stop and leaving him once more. you had to take this chance while the universe let you have it.

“this is one of my favorite places to visit.” hyunjin said. truth be told, he always loved paris for its scenery and art, but yesterday he found one more reason to love it. is there any other place to love better than a city known all about that?

a visitor’s perspective was certainly different than the perspective of someone who’s lived here their whole life. there were so many reasons to love paris when you didn’t experience the greatest things about it everyday. to you, it was the same old thing. but to hyunjin, it was like a brand new experience each time in the rare event that he visited. but meeting each other allowed the both of you the ability to find something new to appreciate about this city.

“the eiffel tower gets old after a while.” you joke. hyunjin burst into a fit laughter, one more obnoxious than his calm chuckle from before. it infected you instantly, and you craved more of his laugh now that you’ve fully heard it.

hyunjin calmed himself down, letting out a sigh as he leaned his head back with his eyes closed and a grin on his face. he was truly the most beautiful person you had ever seen. “i hope i never get sick of this place.”

“i hope you never do.” you tell him, looking at his face as if he were a sculpture in a museum. “don’t wear it out.”

“i won’t.” he opened his eyes and responded to you, his smile not going away as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

you can’t help but stare at one another, almost like magnets pulling you together. was it normal to feel like this about someone you barely know? even so, it felt like you knew hyunjin before you ever met. such a thought would seem like insanity to someone else, but not to you, at least not in the moment.

your once unwavering stare was unfortunately interrupted by the sudden thrash of the train stopping. you look out the window and recognize it as your stop. if you were crazy enough, you’d stay on the train until they kicked you out, but you weren’t all that brave enough to try your luck. maybe you were better off savoring this moment for what it was; just a moment with a beautiful man who was once a stranger to you.

“ah, that’s my stop.” you say with a frown. hyunjin’s smile from before faded too. it was clear neither of you wanted this to end.

“oh, alright.” he replied. hyunjin watched as you quickly collected your things, not forgetting the drawing he gave you when you first sat next to him. you would cherish it as long as you could, and he could only hope that’s what you’ll do.

“maybe i’ll see you on the stage here someday, yeah?” you force a smile. you were actually sad to see this end, but if you keep a grin on your face, then maybe it’ll hurt a little less.

“yeah…” hyunjin nodded. “i hope you do.”

“bye, hyunjin.” you wave goodbye, hyunjin doing the same.

“thank you for making the train less boring for me.” you get those final words out before following the line of people exiting the train. hyunjin kept his eye on you for as long as he could, even staring out the window as you disappeared into the sea of people. if only he could have went with you.

“bye, y/n.” he said to himself, clutching the sketchbook that once held his masterpiece; a drawing of you, his beautiful stranger.

•••

on the third day, hyunjin was nowhere to be seen. you saw it coming, really. you knew last night was probably your final chance to ever see him again. still, a part of you hoped he’d magically appear on the train when you went to work the next morning.

the thrill you once had was no more. the spark lit aflame in your heart all gone. you weren’t sure if anyone would make you feel the same way hyunjin did. maybe meeting him was a lesson, something to teach you what the city of love was truly about, what you’ve failed at your entire life. at least now you were able to succeed, even if such a success was temporary.

you were thankful that your once black and white world finally had some saturation in it for once. if you were to meet hyunjin once again, no matter what the circumstance may be, the world would be in full bloom. you would look for him in everything you see, down to the bakeries you’ll eat at and sceneries you’d visit, for as long your thoughts echoed his name.

while your routine became repetitive once more, at least you had hyunjin’s image in your brain and his drawing in a picture frame on your shelf. if you were as talented as him, you’d try your hand at drawing him too, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to capture him like your eyes ever did. at least you have the memories.

hyunjin dreaded watching you leave, and he hated it even more when he left for the airport in the morning. he wondered if you thought about where he went, hoping you thought about him like he did now with you. you’d remain ingrained in his mind. whenever hyunjin thought about paris, a place he loved just as much as his hometown, he would think about you too.

he couldn’t explain this sadness inside him to anyone else. hyunjin couldn’t fathom anybody understanding the feeling of love at first sight like he did. a true romantic at heart, maybe you were the only one to be just as foolish as him when it came to romance. after all, you were instantly captivated by one another.

maybe, just maybe, hyunjin could write a song about this and sing it to the thousands of people he performed for like clockwork. but no matter what the days ahead held, hwang hyunjin, your beautiful stranger, was all that he would ever remain, and you would remain as his.

•••

(bonus)

@hynjinnnn: 파리에 있는 동안 기차에서 이 사람의 모습에 반해 그려보기로 결심했습니다. 나는 그들이 그것을 좋아했기를 바랍니다. 언젠가 다시 보고 싶습니다.

i was enthralled by this person on the train while in paris and decided to draw them. i hope they liked it. i'd love to see them again someday.

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #pluto writes 📝

104 notes · View notes

elisysd · 10 months ago

Text

8. Need you more than I want to

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack : Shameless - Camila Cabello

He was the last person you expected to be in front of your door, but here he was. Seeing him there, a little disheveled, his hair a mess, had the effect of sobering you up.

“What are you doing here?” you asked. “How did you get my room number?”

He didn’t answer, only arched an eyebrow and it made you sighed. You were annoyed, frustrated, in total disbelief. You couldn’t understand why he was there. You couldn’t find a justification that would be important enough for him to find you there.

“I have my ways to get what I want.”

“Of course… little prince of Monaco. It comes with perks. One of them being to disturb the privacy of people, I assume.” you bitterly commented.

“I want an explanation”

“You want an explanation?” you repeated.

“Your behavior, your questions! I don’t understand them! I don’t understand you! I thought we were friends, that we built something and you are still the annoying girl I’ve met the first time in Bahrain! What did I do? I deserve to know.”

“You deserve? Deserve? Who do you think you are? It’s not because we have a good relationship outside of the tracks that I have to change the ways I do my job. I’m not here to please you, I’m not here to praise you, I’m not here to pat you on the back. It’s not what is asked from me. If you don’t like it, that is your problem not mine. I’m staying professional out there.”

You were harsh, you knew it and saying you were enjoying drawing a line between your personal relationship with Charles and the one you had on the tracks, was a big fat lie.

“And where was your professionalism when you were dancing and flirting with Mick?” he asked, furious.

You took a step back, as if his bitter question had physically hurt you. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. You briefly closed them and proceeded to ignore him as you made your way to your door, not hesitating to push him a little. You wouldn’t make him the pleasure to see you hurt. You fumbled with your key until you managed to open your door and entered the room. You were not quick enough to prevent Charles from following you inside.

“Mick is my friend.”

“So you do make friends with some drivers, nice to know. Make you even more hypocrite than I thought.”

“Mick and I understand each other. Not that I should justify myself to you.”

“I understand you too! I try to! I’m trying here, can’t you see? But you prefer to push me away because you know what? You are scared. You are scared of the bond we could have. So you’re fleeing, like a coward.”

It made you snap.

“You have no right to stand here and judge me. When did I give you the permission to do so? We are friends. I let you in, despite everything I let you in. I told you about my brother, I let you see me be vulnerable, I’ve done more things with you than with any other drivers and here you are, asking for what? More? I give you enough, Charles! And maybe I could give you even more but I need time! I need to find the right balance between professional and personal and yeah, fine, maybe it was not right of me to be like that with you. But I’m trying! I will make mistakes but I don’t want you to throw them in my face every damn time. And if you can’t handle that, then maybe it’s best if you leave and if we stop being friends.”

You swore you had seen a flash in his eyes and before you even had time to register what was happening, you felt his hands around your waist and his lips on yours, kissing you like his life depended on it. Before you could even process it, you kissed him back as his teeth bit your lower lip. And that’s when you finally fully understood what was going on. You let go of him, took a step back and before you even knew it, you felt your hand moving on its own to slap his face, getting him out of the trance he was in.

“Y/N… I… I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know where that comes from, I…” he stuttered.

“Leave, Charles. I think it’s best.” you calmly answered, opening the door as you saw him rushing out, without a second glance to you.

You were a coward. He was right. Because if you had just an ounce of bravery you wouldn't seriously consider not attending Barcelona. How could you face him? How would you be able to do your job properly? Your thoughts were all over the place. You were thinking about his lips on yours, about his hands around your waist and how good it felt. He was even haunting you in your dreams. Very sweet dreams that were making you blush whenever you were thinking about them. As the race was approaching you were feeling more and more anxious to the point your work was starting to pay the price, something Marion ended up noticing. When she confronted you, you simply said that you were not feeling good lately.

“If you want to skip Barcelona, you can. I can cover for you. I know how tiring traveling can get. If you need to sit this one out, don’t worry, okay?” she reassured you and never you had felt so relieved.

“I want to come, I just don’t feel good enough for the interviews.”

“So you can be in the pitlane at the start, if it is more convenient for you.”

“I would like that.”

“Did something happen? You loved the interviews.” she asked.

“No!” you answered a little too fast for your liking. “It’s just the perspective of staying in a crowded place, with little space to move… And I want to experiment something new.”

“Then it is settled! The pitlane will be waiting for you.”

Hell on earth. That’s what Barcelona felt like to Charles. He was not happy at all about his performance, nor was he of the team’s. He was pissed off. About everything but as much as he was trying to convince himself otherwise, he knew the underlying issue. An issue that could be summed up in five letters. A kiss. A stupid kiss. It was a mistake and he couldn’t believe how stupid he could have been? His multiple texts, sent as apologies, had stayed unanswered. But he understood. He messed up, probably scared you off and he was the only one to blame.

“Charles, you have to leave the room, I don’t want an aggressive driver during our meetings.” Fred had firmly said when he had blown up in anger.

He couldn’t let his private life influence his driving and his relationship with the team. And he couldn’t keep lying to himself. He had to act on his feelings properly or he had to forget about you. There was no in between. But in any case, he had to talk to you and you had to listen. He knew you were around and he was determined to make you listen.

Y/N

Can we talk?

We have to.

We NEED to.

He saw his texts immediately opened and it gave him hope.

Please. It won’t be long.

When he noticed the three dots indicating you were typing he almost let out a sigh of relief.

You’re right. We have to.

You sent him your address and the time she would be there. An hour. It was a lot of time to think about what he was going to tell you and at the same time it was not enough. He felt like a high school teenager about to confess to his crush and he felt so stupid. It had never happened to him before. He usually was confident around women, he knew how good looking he was and how charming he could be. But with you, he was a mess. You were making him so nervous. A mix of good kind and bad kind. He didn’t know how you would react, if you would slap him again or kiss him until you both would be out of breath. He liked an option better than the other.

He had bought tulips on his way to your door. And when he was in front of it, he suddenly found the idea very stupid. It’s not like you would be able to keep them. But it was reassuring for him, maybe it would make you smile. The door finally opened, revealing you, still in your work clothes. You were so pretty. He had always noticed it but today you were pretty in a candid way. It made him gulp, especially since you were still very silent as you sat down on your bed looking at him, waiting for his next move. Move he had no idea what it would be. So he started pacing the room, hoping to find the right words, the flowers still in hands. He finally stopped, ran a hand in his hair and looked at you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. Especially because of the reasons that led me to kiss you. I admit, I was jealous of Mick. A real and fat feeling of jealousy like I’ve never experienced before. Seeing you laugh with him and be your carefree self with someone other than me made me feel things I didn’t expect to feel. It was stupid and selfish to hope that the side of you that you've shown me in New York would be for me only. You told me about your brother, you gave me access to your life in New York, the way you acted around me and then the friendly texts… I think I got confused. Maybe I misread the entire situation. For that I’m sorry. Bur gosh, I’m not sorry to have kissed you. It made me realize that my feelings were everything but friendly. I have a crush on you. I like you a whole lot. It’s stupid, I know. But it is there. It exists. And I can’t help it.” he said in one breath.

You sighed and stood up, moving next to him and taking his free hand in yours.

“I can’t reciprocate it, Charles. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t or you don’t, because these are two different things? he asked, slightly hurt but expecting your answer and when he saw you hesitating he knew not everything was lost. That he was right to hope.

“You’re nice and caring and you did it, you know. You showed me that there were not only assholes out there. Your presence in my life is a breath of fresh air and the companionship I didn't know I needed. I value our friendship. A lot more than what you can imagine. But I don’t want to sacrifice my career. It’s my dream and my little brother’s. He wanted to see me there and I won’t jeopardize it. I can’t. I would never forgive myself if I was messing it up. For Luc, I can’t do that.” you explained, tears in your eyes.

Charles slowly got closer, caressed your cheek and put two fingers under your chin in order to make you look at him. He could read the dilemma you were going through and it hurt him more than a rejection would have.

“I understand. But you don’t have to choose. You can have your career and you can have me.”

You shook your head.

“As much as I would like it, it doesn’t work like that, Charles. I don’t think it’s possible.”

“And I think you’re wrong. Let me show you that you can have the best of both worlds.”

You let out a small laugh. He would not give up.

And his promise started the next day as you were checking in at the airport.

“You’ve been upgraded to first class, Miss.”

“Wait, what?” you asked, as Marion and Jean let out an impressed sigh.

“Well, you’re registered as a first class passenger in our online base.”

“But how?” you insisted.

“I don’t know, miss, and it’s not really my problem now if you can move out of the way, you’re not the only passenger.”

You reluctantly moved to let Marion and Jean check in. As they were doing so, you took you phone out to find a text from Charles and suddenly, it was all clearer.

Would you be with me, that would become your daily life.

Those few words messed with your head during the whole flight and when you finally got back to your flat. You were exhausted. Your best friend was supposed to arrive soon and you hoped that she would be able to make you forget about Charles. You took a quick shower and soon the doorbell rang, telling you that she had arrived. She jumped into your arms, begging you to tell her everything.

“I don’t have much to tell. It was work, you know.” you avoided her look on you, preparing water to boil.

She sneaked next to you and moved her head to the side, her eyes staring at you, making you uncomfortable.

“There’s something you are not saying.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can never shut up about your job when I ask you questions and I find you very quiet right now. Spill.”

And you spilled. In details, from the moment you met Charles to Miami, to New York and the kiss in Monaco, ending your story to his confession in your hotel room. You were out of breath when you finished talking and you could feel your cheeks burning.

“Atta girl. You have an F1 driver at your feet and you don’t jump on the occasion? What is wrong with you? “

“Why can’t anyone understand that it might cause conflicts with my job? Like bias, conflicts of interests… I can’t!” you sighed, annoyed.

“Okay, fine, I get it. Now let me ask you something different. Imagine you’re not a journalist. In another world, you and Charles work a very tedious 9 to 5 job. You both end up in a bar, for an after work event. He sees you across the room, you do too and you think that damn, he is good looking. And he finds you pretty too. So he comes and buys you a drink that you accept, because who says no to free alcohol? Anyway, you have a chat and it lasts until the bar has to close. You were so deep into your conversation that you both didn’t notice the crowd leaving and the hour approaching the early hours of the next day. And then, he asks you out for a real date, because he finds in you everything he is searching for. What are you saying?”

You closed your eyes, imagined the scene and let a warm and comforting feeling settle in your chest. A smile escaped you. It felt nice. Peaceful. For the first time in a very long time, you felt excited about the perspective of something new, no matter how scary that could be.

“I would have said yes.” you replied, opening your eyes.

“Then maybe you should hold onto that and give the poor guy a chance. You never know what could happen.” she smiled.

And when she finally left your flat, after hours of talking, you took your phone and sent a text to Charles. A bold and thrilling feeling running through your body when you press send.

Do you still want to prove to me that I can have the best of both worlds?

Author's note: Happy Easter everyone! Here's a little gift from me to you to celebrate! I knew you were waiting for that kiss... hehe

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

If you wanna be part of the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @thirstylion @cmleitora @charizznorizz @sltwins @boherahpsody @herondalism @roseamongthorns13 @aundercover @snowflakesfluff @fictional-l0v3r

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lavellanart · 3 months ago

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VEILGUARD SPOILERS

read at your own risk

so now that i’ve sat with the ending for a while, there are some things that left me feeling a bit meh.

first of all, even though i loved that solavellan got their “happily” ever after, i still feel like they could’ve given us more. (also i’m very disappointed that the new “lost elf theme” is not on the soundtrack)

secondly, i really really hoped the end slides would be similar to those in inquisition/trespasser, where we learned more about the fate of our companions. it felt like the end was a bit more rushed and there wasn’t a proper conclusion for rook or any of their companions. perhaps there will be a dlc or something in the future that draws that conclusion, but for now it’s left me feeling empty. (although given me motivation to write some fics)

the graphics and gameplay itself was very enjoyable and i fell in love with the game midway though even though i was very sceptical of it at first. the soundtrack was definitely not as good as the one in inquisition, but i’ve had “the dread wolf” on repeat for the last two hours, so it might still grow on me.

overall, i’m happy that solavellan hell is over and i can now play another run without the dread of “what will happen next”.

10/10 will play again

thank u for coming to my ted talk

#no one asked for my opinion #you’re getting it anyway #dragon age #solas #solavellan #datv #datv spoilers #dragon age veilguard #veilguard

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the1975attheirverybest · 5 months ago

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Real Life — Chapter 3: That Night

A/N: posting this even though i said I wouldn’t.

Warnings: smut implied a bit.

“So,” matty started, his eyes darting around the busy restaurant. “what arbitrary social convention have you broken to incur the wrath of People Magazine?”

“What?” Most people open with what’s your favorite band. Or do you like to travel? on a first date. Why was he doing this. “Nothing! It’s none of your business!” Fuck. Her ex had clearly done a number on her. She’d forgotten how to talk to people.

“Right” he whispered. “Sorry. Was just trying to make polite conversa- never mind.”

Matty was painfully aware of her preoccupation with her phone. He counted the number of times she’d glanced at it since they sat down. Six. Six times. “So, you from around here then?” He tried a different line of questioning. There goes seven. “Right, I’m just gonna leave. Have a nice night.” He grabbed his coat off the chair and walked away.

Claire’s phone dinged again. It was Jazmyn.

You never thought to mention that your date is one of the most publicly hated people in the media??!! And you paraded him in front of PEOPLE MAG)?!!!!?

Her brows furrowed, she mouthed the contents of the text to herself. What was Jaz talking about?

A quick google search of “Matty Healy” gave her an idea. Fuck. What a hot mess.

She rushed over to him clutching him by the back of his coat “you’re not going anywhere. care to explain this???”

“Oh.” Matty began to panic. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Oh, fuckin hell. I— I’m so— fucking people Magazine. I am so sorry.”

They walked back to their table. Matty reached for his wine and gulped down, waving the waiter over for a refill.

“I genuinely am sorry.” He finally spoke again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I- saw that you were uncomfortable. I thought I owed it to you—“

“They hate you.” Claire stated emphatically.

“Yeah, erm, they- sort of think I’m… a Nazi.”

“Well, are you?”

“What? No! For fucks sakes.”

“Great. I’m publicly dating a Nazi.”

“I said I’m NOT a Nazi! Look, I’ll fix this.”

“How!”

“I’ll….i don’t know. Find someone to kiss in public. I’ll post something on-“

“Great; not only am I publicly dating a Nazi, I’m publicly being cheated on by-“

“If you say ‘Nazi’ one more time-“

“I have to go.”

Claire moved to stand from her seat. She felt Matty’s arm reach across the table to grab her hand.

“Please. Claire. Don’t go. Stay. Let— let me at least explain. Have dinner with me.”

***

The waiter cleared away their empty plates, offering them the dessert menu.

“So, what’re you doing now? Hiding out?” Claire asked, playing with the stem of her glass.

Matty shrugged. “Tour’s over. We’re on break. Figured it’s best to lay low.”

“You’re hiding out.” There was a hint of a smile in her voice. She unfolded the dessert menu, glancing at it to look away from him.

“I’m not! I’m still makin’ music. I’ve got a solo project. Might even do some soundtracks for a film or tv show. I’m just….not in the news as much. Well, I suppose after tonight….”

Claire smiled silently.

“I really am sorry.” He couldn’t help but repeat his apology over and over.

***

The restaurant was significantly emptier as they waited for their tiramisu and coffee.

Claire sipped on her drink. “It’s my dad, by the way.” She said. “People Magazine is interested in me because of my dad. He’s well known. Rich guy. He and I….we don’t have the best relationship.”

“Daddy issues. Hot.” Matty giggled. “Sorry, I really don’t know why I say these things.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, they want me to talk about him. I would much rather forget he exists.”

Matty nodded, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. Suddenly, Claire realized they were the only table left.

***

She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Well, this is it.” She nodded towards the front door. “Thats my place.” Her arms wrapped around her protectively. Slowly, she tore her eyes away from him. “Thanks for tonight. And for….”

She let her words trail off, turning her back to him. He stood there, in silence for a while.

"Claire?"

She fumbled with her keys, raising her free hand up to him. "No, listen. I- can't." She blushed. "you're very attractive, obviously. I mean, look at you...but it's a bad idea. You're a bad idea."

When she finally gathered the courage to look into his eyes again, she saw that he had a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"I was just going to ask for my jacket back." He watched the blood drain from her cheeks.

For the first time that night, she was speechless. She moved stiffly, eager to take off his jacket, but before she could shake off her embarrassment and restore her feigned, dignified indifference, she felt him get closer, his arms around her shoulders, helping her out of his leather jacket. The scent of his cologne had transferred over to her clothes. Even with her back towards him, she could also smell the cigarettes on his breath.

Am I really such a bad idea?" He said into her ear.

She turned her face towards him. The tip of her nose brushing against his. Their lips locked together, his body slamming hers into the door.

***

Claire awoke to the strong aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filling her nostrils. Even through the curtains, the sunlight pierced through her eyes. She blinked, once, twice, and three times before the blob in front of her took the shape of Matty, standing by the bed with two mugs of coffee in his hands. He’d clearly made himself quite at home in her kitchen.

“Morning.” He offered her one of the mugs.

“Wh- what time is it?” She was groggy.

“7:30.” Matty blew on his hot beverage a few times before taking a sip.

“What? Fuck! I’m late!” She jumped up, setting the coffee mug aside and rushing to her closer.

“Oh. I was going to ask if you wanted some breakfast but I suppose—“

“No, no. There’s no need for any of that.”

Matty tracked her with his eyes as she bounced from one corner of the room to the other, collecting discarded items of clothes from last night and rummaging through her drawers for a new outfit. He trailed after her to the bathroom as she hurried to brush her teeth.

“I understand that the timing isn’t ideal, but, since we’re…..time is off the essence. I— erm, when can I see you again?”

Claire swore she nearly chocked on her mouthful of toothpaste.

“Pardon?” She mumbled, spitting into the sink.

“I mean…could I at least get your phone number? We could make plans later if….”

“What?” She turned around. Matty noticed that her face was cross. “No.” She washed out her mouth.

“‘No’?”

“I mean….we don’t have to do all that pretend politeness. It’s all good.”

“I’m not pretending.” He stated simply.

When Claire took a moment to pause and look directly into his eyes, it dawned on her. “Oh. You’re….being serious?”

Matty blushed. “I— had fun last night. And,

I thought…maybe I thought wrong?”

She was beginning to feel unsure, so she resumed her nervous dashing about. “Look, Matty. Last night was fun and all— it’s just…it’s not you; it’s me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Really? What’re you gonna say next? That it’s just not the right time? You’re not looking for a relationship right now?”

“Well, im not.”

“You’re just focusing on your career at the moment?” He sneered.”

“I am! But it’s not like that.”

Claire sighed, grabbing his arm and rushing him towards the door. “Listen, I really am running late. Last night way great. But— I’m not dating right now. I don’t think we should see each other again. You have to go cuz I need to get out of here.”

Matty wasn’t exactly sure what happened next, but he found himself on the streets again, with his coffee in a to-go cup, feeling incredibly unlike himself.

#matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy angst #matty healy x oc #matty x claire #real life fic

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