#it was iver all a very confusing dream

[funzige-gedachten]

Tonight i dreamt joker out was the supporting act of ghost???????

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌‘𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄

summary: what kind of music the piercers/tattoo artists of my modern au would listen to

characters: piercer!/tattoo artist! xiao :: scara :: kazuha :: venti :: aether :: heizou

my modern au || genshin masterlist || the playlist

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

melancholic and wistful/dreamy

black over-ears

When he felt like nobody around him understood him, Xiao fell into the comforting embrace of music, listening to artists who sang about the sentiments he kept to himself. It has always helped him express himself with pencil and pen though, letting the graphite tip dance over the paper more smoothly and less hesitantly. To this day, Xiao uses music to block out the world when it all gets too much and familiar tunes help him calm down.

死ぬのがいいわ- fuji kaze, exile- taylor swift/ bon iver, young and beautiful- lana del rey, gales of song- belle, the moon will sing- the crane wives

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀

indie rock

grey over-ears

Scara has been heavily influenced by Venti whose music could always be heard throughout their shared flat. While it vexed him at first, soon he found himself nodding along to the melodies, something his roommate noticed and then offered to share a Spotify account until Scara decided to make his own. And, although he’d rather die than admit it, despite how much he loathes his upbringing, he can’t deny that some classic pieces sneaked in between his usual rotation.

shake it out- florence + the machine, allies or enemies- the crane wives, too close- sir chloe , bohemian rhapsody- queen, winter- vivaldi

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

indie, folklore

old school white wired earphones

Kazuha loves to let his spirit rest as he absorbs the feelings artists pour into their music. For him, it’s important that he can connect to the story that’s being told, either through the lyrics or the sentiment the music conveys. He opts for rather calm songs that invite you to relax even if there’s a deeper meaning to the lyrics. Music is a way for him to create his peace of mind when he can’t be out and surrounded by the sound of nature.

feather- sabrina carpenter, cardigan- taylor swift, saw you in a dream- the japanese house, to the mountains- lizzy mcalpine, let’s fall in love for the night- finneas

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

the definition of “listens to every genre” but has a soft spot for deep and tragic lyrics paired with a funky and upbeat sound

both over-ears and earbuds; also has a collection of old wired earphones tangled together (half of them are broken too)

Venti’s Spotify account is working overtime, that app is never closed. As a former band member, he knows how to play a variety of instruments and has tried a lot of styles himself, so he’s very open minded when it comes to new genres. He also absolutely kills it at karaoke nights, even if he’s already a few drinks in. Something might actually be wrong when he’s not nodding or singing along to the music playing in his head or tapping out the beat on whatever surface is closest. In general, handing Venti the aux is a fantastic idea because he can somehow always accurately gauge what music is the right mood for the given situation. He also judges films based on the soundtrack.

夜に駆ける- yoasobi, people watching- conan gray, kingdom dance- alan menken, u- belle/millennium parade, icarus- bastille

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

(80s) rock and metal or pop

rose-gold or white earbuds

For Aether, listening to music is the time he can let his (gorgeous) hair down. While he’s normally busy making sure everyone else is okay and is doing fine, he seldom takes the time to take care of himself. So when he can lean back and turn up the volume, it’s a very welcome breath of fresh air. The deep base and powerful voices help catalyse any feelings that might have built up over time, and, just maybe, the songs and lyrics are familiar from the time he was lost and confused about what his place in the world was. Yet, he can also appreciate the catchy tunes of popular pop songs that get stuck in his head.

killer queen- queen, master of puppets- metallica, one step closer- linkin park, valentine- måneskin, paradise- sophie and the giants/ purple disco machine

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

your local girl group stan

branded earbuds (ahem ahem airpods)

Heizou is a very energetic person and it shows in his music taste. Not only are his playlists full of upbeat kpop girl group bangers, he also knows just about all of the corresponding dances. More often than not, you can hear him humming and whistling along even when he doesn’t have his earbuds in. It’s also a great gateway to interacting with customers; you better believe Heizou is already halfway into a conversation when he catches a glimpse of a photocard.

fancy- twice, eta- newjeans, unforgiven- le sserrafim, queencard- (g)-idle, zimzalabim- red velvet

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit; do not copy into an ai

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Modern Au: @r0ttenhearts @bananasquash @hoshiwitch @franaby

[haneys]

I have new ocs btw lol and once again they came to me inna dream. breezy surferbro bleached blonde. roots showing five o'clock shadow on. flip flops on. Hawaiian shirt flaying open. corny top scars tatts. he really dgaf. trans biaro. he's just kinds letting the days go by chilling and being dope. no the sharpest tool in the shed but he emits chill vibes plus is a handyman so ppl vibe with him. big family. there's also this other guy who's kinda a rich fail son that's being very burned out by the whole yoire gonna take iver the company from ur dad so now ur basicislly being ceo junior and trying to learn how to not tank it. and there's also the dad. the dad was like the fucking vampire dad from hotel transylvania fucking help me. surfbro and failson met for a brief moment because the Richfam were doing some how about we all spend a day like Nirmal People I prommy were not detached from how normal people live trust me. and then they were having like the worst day in the beach the dad was really like well this fucking sucks while the mom (I want her so bad) was like meh but also thought it was funny to see the dad be mad as hell. failson before all that was like yeah I'm straight I'm just so busy with the whole ceo thing I don't have the time to date and think abt women👍 and then he ran into the surfbro amd he was like oh I am a homo. cool. this is not confusing at all and also I'm gonna behave so normal and natural rn. surely. and it was like the worst floppiest try at flirting ever. and I mean to be fair he kinda just had a personal revelation and also tried to date like probably once in his life but still it was really funny to see. surfbrobdidnt even register he was being hit on. he was like you're kinda weird lol let's hang out. failson had like heart eyes aura the entire time. the dad was like YOURE FUCKING KIDDING ME.???? he really didn't like that. not even the fact that turns out his son is gay he dgaf it was just the person he chose. like litersly super diving behind a McDonald's wpuld get someone better. he was seething and malding. the mom thought it was VERY VERY funny exactly because he was malding. but oh well the day comes to and end and thay all can move on surely right. 🤨 wrong. anyway to make it short failson gets surfbro to work for him, mostly secretary style, since he was looking for a more stable job than his odd jobs and repair work around the neighborhood. failson is having a great time. the mom really likes surfbro and thinks he's funny to have around. all the staff loves him. the dad tries to kill him. I mean no like litersly he's so mad 80% of the dream was dad teying to kill him looney tunes style he tried to drop a piano on him. he tried to flatten him with a mullet. the got surfbro escaping a big rolling stone. litersly cartoon saw traps. but surfbro has maxed out luck Stat he isn't even AVARE. failson is like hey I know my dad doesn't like u too much I hope he haven't been giving u any problems and surfbro is like nah it's ok 👍 unaware there's an angry lion waiting for him in the break room but becayse if bizzare chain if events he ends up safe and sound and the lion mauls the dad etc. it was so so so great. genuelly the dad surfbro stuff was better to me than the gay love winning thing. truly the dream of all time

[ccmryns]

a character study in the shades of change, intrapersonal resilience, and finding comfort in simplicity. 

full name: camryn lucille bewlay age + birthdate: thirty-three; december 8th, 1988 gender + pronouns: cis female, she/her zodiac: sagittarius sun, libra moon, gemini rising occupation: occupational therapist trust fund baby. sexuality: bisexual residence: the suburbs, merrock. top songs on spotify: i did something bad by taylor swift, blindsided by bon iver, girl is a gun by halsey, small talk by kid quill, my mother and i by lucy dacus, needed me by rihanna, nothing new by taylor swift & phoebe bridgers.

THE BASICS. 

born in boston, ma and grew up in scarsdale, new york — an affluent community just a short train ride outside of manhattan. her grandfather was something of a business powerhouse, having graduated from harvard with a degree in computer engineering where he’d go on to be the president of a multitude of companies in their financial divisions. her father followed in his footsteps, running start ups and helping companies merge into bigger ones once they were on the brink of financial collapse for 8 and 9 figures. she grew up very comfortably, despite her father prioritizing business and her mother prioritizing alcohol amidst her trophy wife lifestyle. astronomical mommy issues. typically left to her own devices growing up, had quite the taste for trouble in the back of her molars and was always talking her way out of something. wore the good girl mask, was definitely the bad girl. 

went to mit, majored in biomedical engineering. 

by age 25, she was engaged to a very wealthy & successful criminal defense attorney, working with a group to develop artificial internal organs / replacements for body parts. they were married in an elaborate wedding, adopted a dog together just to prove to themselves that they’d be good parents; her husband was out winning high profile cases and she was receiving recognition for her contribution in groundbreaking programs that helped the advancement of medicine. on top of the world, living The Dream

aaaand seemingly overnight, she’d woken up and her life had completely flipped on its head. her husband was now the criminal, having embezzled money from his high profile firm and involved with another woman, her dirty laundry suddenly the morning reading of all their friends-that-could-hardly-be-considered-such and strangers and patronizing family members. it was humiliating beyond all belief, seemingly stirring camryn from whatever sort of daydream she’d been living in and how her complacence had been confused with happiness. the truth was, she had reached a point in her life where she utterly hated the facade that played too enormous of a role ; she came to the conclusion she was, slowly but surely, devolving into her mother as she began drinking to numb her feelings throughout the day & engaging in a wildly lackluster affair to see if she was capable of feeling something, the person she probably loathed the most in this world despite attempting to love with everything she had

camryn went back to boston, attending boston university to get her master’s degree in physical & occupational therapy. she went to therapy of her own and wrote close to 100 letters to herself and all the people that had a hand in fucking up her life that she’d never send, she danced on bar tops and stopped talking to her family, she realized just how inconsequentially small she was, how liberating it could be to be so small that the universe and her demons began overlooking her. she came to terms with herself, like she was more than just a copied and pasted sentiment someone had had about her once

currently working with a company that allows her to complete outpatient “residences” in different spots throughout the country — this allows her to travel while working, which is how she made it to maine. she’s been in merrock for about a month now & is contracted for a full year ( but will obviously be staying for longer ! )

positives: discerning, sage, convival, audacious

negatives: pedantic, impassive, tumultuous, brittle

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

delaney dawson: frenemies from their yonder years that ultimately ended up falling out somehow. now that they’re both in the same small town, reconnecting almost feels inevitable.

olivia hartman: *thor voice* she’s a friend from work! one of the first people in town that camryn met, due to their occupations and sharing of patients, and typically camryn’s go to whenever she’s feeling every bit the New Girl in Town.  

.

vince matthews: .

jamie maridaga-evans: .

mandy hartman: .

thea waldrof: .

tbd.

DESIRED CONNECTIONS. 

sibling(s): am open to up to two of these, any gender identification.*

ex husband: i love angst, so let’s get messy! i headcanon him to be at minimum four years older than camryn, just for logistic’s sake.*

affairs of the past: camryn would have found this person in the midst of her divorce proceedings, choosing to pour her time and energy into this person when she wasn’t pouring liquor with a heavy hand. it never went far — i see it lasting maybe 4-6 months? — as camryn didn’t really “feel” anything for this person, and they would have fallen out of touch very shortly after ending things.*

friends / acquaintances: someone that camryn calls late at night mostly because she doesn’t want to be alone, coworkers or others in the medical field who have referred clients to her for their therapy, drinking buddies, someone that allows camryn to come sit on their couch and vent judgment-free (or vice versa), someone to show camryn around town, friends that are beginning to have feelings that are not so Friendly, people that bring out the Old Camryn & are up for doing not so civil shit, fellow regulars at X Y or Z, friends with benefits, someone in need of adventure that cam’s happy to indulge, one to three characters that become something like “foster” siblings for camryn due to their closeness, neighbors, will they won’t they?, someone that camryn knows from her time in new york / boston

angsty shit: someone that camryn has managed to push away in the month she’s been in town for reasons tbd, hookup that did not land in a good place, a plot based off of sofia by clairo, a plot based off of wrong by ally hills, “bad for me but i keep coming back around” connection (could be platonic or romantic), a plot based off come back be here by taylor swift except they actually came back and it’s like wtf do we do now, someone that camryn doesn’t get along with for reasons tbd, underlying spite or frustration between or muses

camryn’s been in town for a month so all of the above are simply ideas we can springboard off of, let’s do all the things :~)

if a connection has * next to it, i’d really love for you to reach out to me so we can talk specifics and flesh things out before putting it into play on the dash! ☺️

[honeyvettel]

nico — a playlist made by me

listen, every time I listen to any of these songs I keep thinking of nico and his relationship with lewis so bear with me and let me explain why👇🏻

1. Unfucktheworld, Angela Olsen

The whole situation with lewis tired nico relentlessly so he needed a break to take care of himself.

It’s not just me for you I have to look out too

I have to save my life

I need some peace of mind

2. We own the sky, M83

nico dreamed all his life to race in f1 with lewis, and as a child everything seemed possible.

Each shade of blue

Is kept in our eyes

Keep blowing and lightning

Because we own the sky

But then things started to fall apart between them and there was no chance to go backwards.

Can’t we change our minds?

We kill what we build

3. The wolves (act i and ii), Bon Iver

(God this song fits both of them so well. it goes better with lewis’ perspective but humour me for this time.)

nico felt betrayed by lewis’ attitude and he was resentful. He hopesone day lewis will understand how much he hurt him.

Someday my pain will mark you

And when he will, nicowill take comfort in that, so he suggests lewis to just go ahead and finish him.

Solace my game

It stars you

Swing wide your crane, swing wide your crane

And run me through

nico reflects in hindsight how many moments they could have had but now it’s all vanished and Lewis won’t hear from him anymore.

What might have been lost (don’t bother me)

4. The great escape, Patrick Watson

The situation exhausted nico to his limits so he needed to escape, even if he loves racing so much.

Puts on a smile and breathes it in

And breathes it out, he says

Bye bye, bye to all of the noise

5. Many ways, Bombat Bicycle Club

nico doesn’t know if he is doing the right choice and can’t sleep because of it.

She said you’re stirring

Tossing, turning

But Vivian reassures him and says he is doing the right thing.

I’m sure your choice is right

Nonetheless, nico thinks he is a coward from running away and thinks there are other possibilities to make up for it.

I’ve always been a coward

Been a coward this day

There are many ways this way

6. See you soon, Coldplay

Nico has lost trust in himself and he scolds himself because he shouldn’t have fallen in love in the first place.

So you lost your trust

And you never should have

He tries to go on. He protects himself (with the bulletproof vest) from hurting again.

In a bulletproof vest

With the windows all closed

I’ll be doing my best

he watches Lewis from afar “in a telescope lens” and hopes they'll be friends again very soon.

And when all you want is friends

I’ll see you soon

7. Old friend, Mitski

Nico understands how childish was to make an insignificant thing like racing divide them.

We nearly drowned

For such a silly thing

And now that they have both someone better to take care of them they can go back being what they were, even if it means only friendship.

I’ll take coffee and talk about nothing baby

At blue diner I’ll take anything you want to give me, baby

8. Ran away, Coldplay

Another song about nico avoiding the situation with lewis.

I ran away from you

That’s all I ever do

People said to him not to mess up things, not to leave, that is stupid and won’t solve anything and yet he did it.

Everyone I know

Says I’m a fools to mess with you

And everyone I know

Says it’s such a stupid thing to do

9. Atmosphere, Joy Division

They try to talk but it’s impossible to rebuild what they lost.

Endless talking

Life rebuilding

Don’t walk away

Nico pleads lewis to stay even if he knows it’s hopeless

Don’t turn away in silence

Your confusion

My illusion

Worn like a mask of self hate

10. The Bourne identity, The Last Shadow Puppets

(okay this is the most Nico song ever written so bear with me for just a little longer)

Nico understands that his insecurities are ruining his relationship with lewis. He always feels smaller compared to lewis’ grandness and he masks his doubts with confidence, like he usually does when he answers journalists question. He creates another new person, but now this facade is cracking and it’s revealing his true self and he hates it.

He’s kind of my enemy

Whenever I’m on to something good you see

He always wanted in to spoil it for me

That’s because the relationship with lewis makes him do this. He doesn’t need to hide with him, so he keeps cracking and cracking.

Glass bottomed ego

Still afloat but can’t you see the cracking appearing in the base?

He always scolds himself for this and for the mistakes he makes. He beats himself up so much that nothing will be left in the end.

Let’s just have a buzz because by the time I’m done fucking beating myself up there will nothing left love

So he leaves. He doesn’t want Lewis to see him like this.

Yeah I’ll be leaving now, I’m making tracks

And I doubt that I’ll be coming back.

If you made it this far thank you for your attention. Hope you enjoyed the songs and the explanations as much as I did🤍

[harleyfields]

Some Personal MFM Lore

Mid-Fight Masses has a lot of lore to it, so me being me I’ve made a bunch of personal lore to add to and go with it!

Might update this every so often since I love going wild with things like this and my brain is crammed full of this kinda stuff and I now realize this is more like headcannons rather than actual lore... eh w/e, who cares.

Enjoy what my minds come up with so far down below!

Ruv and Sarv aren't married, per say, but by all means are and tend to act like a married couple, thus making Selever able to leave the Nothing World and exist in their universe. Rasazy however was left behind as a safety measure. She still is able to keep in contact with everyone via her magic so things arent all that bad I suppose.

Selever is also aged up to 18 now, as opposed to his canon age of 15 and lives on a college campus (oddly the same one Boyfriend goes to and Ol' Mate Senny teaches at). He still is however a prick and a total spazz so nothings changed all that much, Aldryx still hates him.

Everyone knows Sarv isn't an actual nun, its the biggest open secret in the town. Sarv herself knows that but pays no attention to it, likely because she's just used to it by now.

Unless you're a good friend of his or his "wife", don't expect Ruv to be all that talkative. Even when he does talk though, good luck trying to understand it sometimes under his thick blanket of a Russian accent (that's somehow stronger than Tabi's if you can believe it). [Sidenote 1: Tabi is human in this universe (he always was, he's just now visible) and commonly gets mistaken for Senny due to his hair and overall figure.] [Sidenote 2: Ruv’s voice is quiet for the most part and only becomes the boomy, “room shaking” one everyone knows him for when he either starts yelling, screaming or getting angry so like Whitty, don’t piss him off.]

While he won't tell you this personally, Ruv is actually a really good singer, with a voice that sounds somewhere inbetween brakence, Bon Iver & the late Garrett Lockheart (aka i_o). His screams however sound very deep and guttural, almost primal and feral even. Sarv is also a really good singer aswell, with a voice that sounds like Kellin Quinn or Hayley Williams, but also powerful like Amy Lee or Zola Jesus, all depending on the song of course. [Sidenote: Ruv’s go-to song (most of the time anyways) is The Easy Way by Code Orange, Sarv’s go-to song is Gravity Of Love by Enigma, however on Ruv’s “bad days”, she sings You Know Where To Find Me by Imogen Heap instead, together their go-to is Annihilation by Lights and the aforementioned i_o.]

[18/06 Updates]

Ruv and Pico are really good friends due to having the same “anti-authority” ideals and while Sarv isn’t the biggest fan of Pico, she respects their friendship enough to the point where she doesn’t butt into their conversations or misadventures. [A/N: I find the fact I made Pico anti-authority somewhat ironic since I follow the fancannon of his dad being Tankman, who’s, ya’ know, a Sergeant.]

While he probably doesn’t need to as he’s plenty strong enough already, Ruv works out and tries to do it at least once to twice a day, he even taught Whitty his routine as he was curious about it (like he needs it too). [Sidenote: while Ruv's routine is mostly his, parts of it are from Aldryx, who at times doubles as his personal trainer.]

Consider his upbringing, it should come as no surprise that Ruv isn’t afraid of anything, not even death (which he’s even laughed in the face of a few times) or “Gospel” Sarv (which he’s nicknamed Luci just to annoy her), it fact does the opposite.

The two sleep in the same bed, no divider or barrier between them. Their individual dreams range all of the place and usually extremely vivid, to the point where some might even be nightmares in disguise.

Both know sign-language and use to communicate with each other, either when words fail or during mass. Ruv uses it more than Sarv, likely out of habit and since his English is somewhat lacking at times. He also tends to default to speaking Russian because of this, sometimes leaving Sarv a bit confused.

[hopelessly-shipper]

An Open Heart Fanfic

(Ethan x MC)

A/N: Sorry, this one is very long. I really tried to break it into at least two chapters, but…

Suggestion: You can read this chapter while listening to: Shrike, by Hozier; The Wolves, by Bon Iver; Poison and Wine, by The Civil Wars.

Part Six

Ethan Ramsey used to have some trouble with indifference and possessiveness in his romantic relationships. He used to be one of two things:

a) laid back, giving the person space and freedom to do whatever she wanted, which sometimes seemed like he was being indifferent. Occasionally, he was actually trying to be. But

b) he could also be protective, which some would consider as possessive or even jealous, but he refused to admit to that – what, he was just taking care of her!

Throughout the last year, he had tried to be indifferent to Casey Valentine. He averted his eyes every time he realized he was staring and convinced himself he was just watching, he put a lot of effort into trying not to think about her when he was at alone home, and so on. But some nights he would wake up from a dream about her, her kiss, her smell, her hair, his hands touching her like he longed to… He felt his heart clench in his chest watching her go home with Bryce Lahela countless times, laughing at his silly jokes. He clenched his jaw every time he saw her make dreamy eyes at Superman Aveiro.

At some point, from his steamy dreams to his racing heart when she smiled so sweetly, from the happiness he felt when she was with him to the discomfort he felt when he saw her with other men (who he knew wanted to flirt with her), from all the little things he observed and liked so much in her to all the things she made him feel… he knew he was falling in love for her. Hard.

But he also felt those things he didn’t like to feel. The protectiveness, the jealousy…

“How was the movie night with the scalpel jockey?”, he asked Casey as soon as she entered his office and sat down in front of him, on the opposite side of the desk.

“The movie night with my friends was just fine”, she answered readily.

“Hm”, he muttered.

“Did you just page me to ask that?”

“Of course not. Here, some paperwork about your interns.”, he answered with furrowed brows, handing ger the papers.

“Oh, okay”

“Dismissed”, he said coldly before she left.

…

Hours later, Casey was in the cafeteria eating some cookies when she felt hands on her waist. She turned and got a little bit disappointed when she saw Bryce.

“Hey!”

“Hey”

“I wanted to see you”, he said, his bright smile making her want to smile too.

“Why?”

“What about we grab some drinks after our shift?”

She was so tired she thought about saying no, but she also thought this would be a good thing to be seen going out with Bryce, that would dodge any possible commentaries about her and Ramsey.

“Yeah. Let’s go”

“Great”, the smile grew on his face and he leaned in quickly to kiss her cheek.

…

Ethan drank his scotch quietly as he watched people coming in and out Donahue’s. Some were already drunk, talking loudly, laughing more, and some were just like him, alone with a drink, or busy with their phones.

The door opened again and he regretted the moment he had the idea to go to that bar to relax, because that was probably not going to happen after he saw Bryce Lahela and Casey Valentine arrive together, smiling and talking. Bryce had his hand on Casey’s back, as he lead her further into the bar. They sat at a table far from where he was, her back was turned to him, but he could still see Lahela’s flirty smile, never leaving his face, even after five minutes of talk.

Don’t his cheeks hurt?, Ethan thought, downing his drink.

And he did that two more times in the next ten minutes before he decided to go there and greet them. As he got closer, he noticed Bryce had took Casey’s hand, touching it playfully, probably making some sort of stupid joke as an excuse to touch her.

So. Funny.

Casey laughed, as Bryce told her about his child’s play. Then Bryce looked up, the playful smile leaving his lips. She turned to see…

“Dr. Ramsey! I didn’t know you were here”, she said, as her heart began to race.

“Yeah. I saw you two coming in, I thought you might want some company.”, he said, his voice husky and a stern look on his face.

She smirked. He was probably being sarcastic. The Ethan she knew would hardly do that kind of thing. She looked back at Bryce, waiting for him to say something, invite the other doctor to sit, but he just looked unamused.

“So. What are you two talking about?”, Ethan asked, as he sat by her side.

“Bryce was just telling me about his child’s play…”

To her surprise, when Bryce finally spoke, he said:

“What about you, doctor Ramsey? What did you use to do as a kid? What games…”

“Sorry. I’m not going to talk about it.”, Ethan answered, she saw some hidden emotion she couldn’t understand in his eyes.

“Oh. My bad. Sorry”, Bryce sighed “I’ll go grab more drinks”.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Casey took advantage of it to ask:

“Okay, Ethan. What are you doing?”

“Huh?”, he looked at her, confused.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, she hissed.

“Talking to you?”

“Stop it, Ethan.”

He sighed, opening his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Ines and Zaid.

“Hi, Casey, doctor Ramsey!”, Ines greeted them, happily.

“Hi”, Zaid said.

“Come sit with us”, Ethan invited.

Casey widened her eyes at him.

“Oh, cool! Everybody together”, Ines said.

“Weren’t you on a date?”, Zaid asked expressionless.

Ethan choked on his drink.

“Of course not”

Casey laughed, playing along.

“Can you imagine…”

“Oh, I totally could!”, Ines answered, sincerely.

Ethan and Casey put down their drinks to stare at her. Ines blushed.

“Oh… you know… I think maybe it would be good to doctor Ramsey if he met someone like you…”

“Good how?” Ethan gulped. He knew, it was good.

“Um… Casey’s patient and so kind, I think someone like her could…”

“What are we talking about now?”, Bryce arrived with a tray of drinks.

And they never heard the end of Ines thoughts.

…

Almost two hours later, they had talked more than they had drunk, which was good, Casey thought. Bryce had had to pick another chair for him, which he placed by her side. Almost every time she looked at Ethan he was watching Bryce’s moves. Bryce, on the other hand, was careless, oblivious. He took her hand, played with it, throw his arm on the of her chair, basically hugging her, his face sometimes closer to share a thought, a joke.

If Ines and Zaid felt the tension, they didn’t show. Maybe it was a good thing Ethan was grumpy, because now nobody thought he was acting out of character.

She yawned, not able to hide her tiredness anymore.

“Guys. I’m leaving, I feel soooo tired…”

“I’ll go with you”, Bryce offered.

“No, I can take her home”, Ethan offered.

“Oh, are we carpooling, then?” Bryce asked, his wide smile on his face.

Was he really that oblivious? Was he actually teasing Ethan Ramsey?

“No”, Ethan answered sharply.

“You can come with us if you want, Lahela”, Zaid said. Maybe some few drinks had loosened him up a little.

“It’s fine, guys, I’ll go with doctor Ramsey”, Bryce said, throwing one of his arms over Ethan’s shoulders.

Ethan shrugged him off, seething. Casey looked at him pointedly, wishing he understood her message: let him.

He locked eyes with her, searching for her support in saying no to Bryce, but found her eyes pleading. He knew she was right, they shouldn’t leave alone together, especially after Ines and Zaid’s comments moments ago.

“Sure”, he conceded at last

…

“Where do you live, Lahela?”, Ethan asked, wanting to get rid of the other doctor as soon as possible.

“Oh, I’ll stay with Casey”, Bryce answered. Casey looked at him, but he couldn’t see her, since he had sat on the passenger’s seat. But she saw the look on Ethan’s face through the mirror, though. It was not good.

Silence fell and everyone was quiet until they arrived at her building.

“Thanks for the ride, doctor Ramsey”, she said, as she left the car.

“Thanks” Bryce said.

Ethan didn’t answer. When they left the car, he raced home. She watched him drive away suddenly aware that he had drunk.

“He shouldn’t be driving…”, she surprised herself as she spoke her thoughts. She knew she looked worried and Bryce would notice.

“Is anything going on between you and Ramsey?”, he didn’t waste a breath before asking.

“He’s an attending”, she answered automatically, still watching the cars, long after Ethan’s was out of sight.

“Well I know that.”, Bryce pointed out. She looked at him impatiently.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Casey. I’m just asking. He showed up at the bar all of a sudden and don’t think I didn’t notice how possessive of you he seemed to be.”

“Bryce, I’m sorry, I didn’t see it that way”

“Well, maybe because you don’t want to see it that way”, she noticed he was growing impatient now.

“Bryce…”

His questions had changed the mood and they felt the heaviness of it in the silence between.

Bryce sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to go out with you and it got messed up.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Are you?”

…

Ethan was concentrated on his laptop when he heard a soft knock on the door. He just looked up, waiting. The door opened slowly.

“Excuse me, doctor Ramsey. Can I come in?”

Casey Valentine.

“Yes”

She walked quietly to the chair opposite to his, but he noticed the tension on her shoulders.

“We need to talk”

“Any problems with the interns?”

She knew he would try to talk about something else. She almost smiled at being right, but quickly composed herself to answer.

“No. It’s about us”

“Rookie, this is not the time…” he started to say.

“I know”, she interrupted “Can we talk about it over dinner? This weekend?”

She was hopeful he would say yes, but she had not expected the surprised and disappointed (?) look on his face.

“No, not this weekend”, he shook his head, averting his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly, making him think about other possibilities for them to go out secretly any other day that week.

Instead of telling her that, he told her why he couldn’t go out in the weekend.

“It’s fine. I – today Harper invited me over to dinner on Sunday and I said yes.”

She raised her eyebrows, taken aback.

“Oh”, she managed to say, feeling her cheeks blush. At that moment she was torn between shame and frustration. Casey had seen Harper leaving his office sooner, when she went to talk to him. As soon as Casey saw her, she decided to talk to him later, so Harper wouldn’t see her. Sha had been curious, but she settled thinking it was probably a work thing. Was it?

“Are you… working together?”

By the look on Ethan’s face, she knew the answer before he said it.

“No”

Of course not.

“So it’s okay for you to have dinner with your ex-girlfriend, but I can’t go out with Bryce without you messing around?”, she asked, her voice low.

He saw the hurt on her face and wanted to take it all back.

“I was n-“

“You were so jealous you couldn’t even disguise it!”, she said, frustrated.

He knew she was the one being jealous now. He knew he would be too, if he were in her shoes. He just couldn’t say no to Harper for the same reason Casey had pleaded with her eyes the night before, trying to make him see reason and understand that a “no” at that moment would raise suspicions. She didn’t know Harper the way he did. He wanted to tell Casey that it would definitely not be a romantic date, since he didn’t feel any romantic feelings towards Harper anymore.

“Casey…”

“No, Ethan. It’s been a year of avoiding it. I can’t take it anymore. We have to talk about it, we have to talk about us and decide how to deal with this.” Her voice faltered, and it made him feel worse, hurt too. She looked away.

Silence. She was right. He wanted to make things clear too, tell her that he wanted her, that he wanted to be hers too, but…

She got up, turning to leave. He watched her as she stopped by the door with her hand on the knob.

She felt ashamed that she was almost crying because of him in front of him. It didn’t help that he seemed hurt too. But she felt broken. Was he really going on a date with Harper? After everything..?

“Oh. And since you’re allowed to be busy having dinner with your ex, don’t be surprised to know I’m busy with somebody else.” she said out of spite.

“Casey, what the…”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. She just shut the door and left him there, suddenly alone.

[nobodys-pearls]

For the fic prompts, adashi and 11. I read your fic "I hate space" and loved it and just want to see more drunk adashi because every time they get tipsy they get all lovey

Ahh I’m so happy that you enjoyed it I love that scene

(also if you read ‘i hate space’ this takes place during ch 13 after they save the day and all that jazz and are heading home)

11. things you said when you were drunk

“Woah, wait,” Shiro said, stopping in the middle of the hall and laughing to himself. His head felt all floaty and warm and nice and -

“Hurry up, Takashi. Lance gave us only five minutes,” Adam whined, tugging on Shiro’s sleeve and giggling when he lost his balance for a moment. Shiro pouted and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

“Right, we’ve - we’re going, but -” Shiro paused, scrunching up his nose in thought. “Where are we going again?” He opened his eyes to see Adam standing there with crossed arms, deep in thought.

“Shit, I forgot,” Adam said after a moment, but then he waved his hand. “Oh! We’re supposed to get Coran’s musta - you know, the thing on his - masta -” Adam furrowed his brow as he tried to come up with the word. “Coran’s gel and, uh, bring it back!” Shiro looked up and down the hall.

“So, what way?” Shiro asked, and Adam laughed, shaking his head.

“I have no idea.” Adam moved to lean against the wall, putting his hands on his knees and bending over. “My head is all -” Adam began to say, waving his hand as he tried to think.

“Floaty?” Shiro offered, and Adam pointed at him, his hair falling in his face.

“Yes, that.” He laughed again. “I don’t think that we’re gonna be able to do this dare.” Shiro joined him, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

“I can’t believe we even made it this far,” Shiro admitted, shaking his head, which currently felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  

“Are we lightweights now? Did we get old and now we can’t handle our alcohol?” Adam asked, leaning into Shiro’s side. He was warm. Shiro smiled.

“It’s the Nunvill, I think. Very strong.” Adam scoffed.

“If Iverson could see us now,” Adam said. Then Shiro watched as he quickly looked up and down the hall. “Oh shit, Iverson could see us now. He’s on the Atlas too!” Shiro’s eyes widened and then they both erupted into giggles, holding on to each other for support.

“I didn’t mean to get this drunk,” Shiro said, holding Adam’s hands and giving them a lazy squeeze. He felt himself leaning forward and Adam quickly shot a hand out to catch him.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been this drunk, not since -” Adam began, and then he started to blush. Shiro looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then the memory finally floated to the front of his brain. Adam’s hands on his chest, his tongue in his mouth, an empty bottle of wine between them. Shiro could feel his cheeks heat up as well, although they were already plenty warm. “Look at you,” Adam said, booping Shiro’s nose. “You have the Asian flush going on all over your face.” Shiro pouted.

“I do not.”

“Do too,” Adam teased, moving his face closer to Shiro’s and giving him a lazy smile. Shiro looked at him for a moment, admiring the way his skin glowed in the moonlight that was peeking through the window, and then he kissed him. It wasn’t one of their more graceful kisses, but Shiro felt himself being pressed against the wall, Adam’s arms caging him in on either side as he bit Shiro’s lip and asked for more. Shiro grabbed Adam’s belt loops and pulled him closer, causing a surprised gasp to escape Adam’s lips. Then Adam moved to kiss Shiro’s neck, biting and sucking until Shiro’s breathing became uneven and breathy. He wound his fingers through Adam’s hair and Adam started to go lower. Shiro laughed.

“We can’t do this in the hall, Adam. Knowing our luck Ives - Iverson will definitely catch us.”

“I don’t care,” Adam said simply, placing his hands on Shiro’s hips and sliding them up his shirt. Shiro let out another breathy gasp and he could almost feel his own pupils blow wide as he watched Adam with parted lips. “I’m so into you,” Adam said between kisses. “I don’t think you understand just how much I’m into you.” Shiro laughed again. Everything that Adam said sounded hilarious.

“I don’t think you understand how much I’m into you,” Shiro countered, his words sounding heavy and warm on his tongue. “I think the first time we kissed I almost sploded - exploded.”

“The first time we kissed I thought it was a dream,” Adam said easily, kneeling down to kiss Shiro’s hipbone.

“Adam -” Shiro gasped, his voice sounding a lot more uneven than he thought it would. Then he saw Adam looking up at him, his beautiful brown eyes half-lidded and soft.

“God I’m so in love with you, so in love that - that I -” Adam furrowed his brow in frustration. Then he laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m too drunk to form a sentence right now. I want to tell you just how much I love you but I just - the words -” Adam laughed again and Shiro put a hand on his cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything. I already know,” Shiro said, giving him a lazy smile. Adam grinned up at him, and then his expression became more mischievous.

“Since I can’t tell you how I feel with words,” Adam began, placing his fingertips on Shiro’s beltbuckle. “How about I show you?” Shiro swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry.

“But Iverson -”

“It’s past his bedtime,” Adam assured him, beginning to play with Shiro’s beltbuckle. Then something buzzed in Shiro’s pocket and they both jumped. Shiro looked down at the pocket of his pants in confusion and then his eyes lit up in realization, clumsily pulling his phone out. He looked at the screen and then showed it to Adam. The timer was at zero.

“Looks like we lost,” Shiro said.

“Whoops,” Adam said with a smirk. He moved to stand up, clumsily wiping the knees of his pants. “I guess we should tell Lance and Keith that we failed. Shiro laughed.

“We failed horribly.”

“What can I say? You’re distracting even when we’re not drunk,” Adam said, weaving his arm through Shiro’s and leaning against him. They began to walk down the hallway, but then Shiro stopped. “What?” Adam asked.

“We’re going the wrong way,” Shiro said, looking over his shoulder at the other end of the hall. They looked at each other for a moment and began to laugh, their shoulders shaking. “We’re hopeless,” Shiro said, shaking his head.

“Two halves of a whole idiot,” Adam said. “How were we ever able to function on our own?”

With some effort and an embarrassing amount of wrong turns they managed to get back to Lance’s room, ready to tell him and Keith about their failed mission. But when they got there they found Lance and Keith passed out on Lance’s bed, the empty bottle of Nunvill on the side table. Shiro smiled at the two of them, seeing how Keith’s arms were wrapped around Lance like he was something delicate, seeing the way Lance face was nuzzled into Keith’s chest.

“Oh I am so tempted to take a picture,” Adam whispered, picking up the empty bottle. Then he turned to look at Shiro.

“You know that they’re totally into each other right?” Shiro nodded his head.

“I don’t think Keith realizes how much he talks about Lance when we train together.” Adam let out an amused huff.

“Back at the Garrison Lance couldn’t deal with his crush on Keith so he tried to convince me to kick Keith out of the program.” Shiro let out a surprised laugh and then quickly covered his mouth with his hands, looking at Lance and Keith with wide eyes and then breathing a sigh of relief when they didn’t move. Then he heard a click and turned to see Adam taking a picture of them before putting his phone back in his pocket. “I’m saving it for the slide show at their wedding,” Adam explained, and Shiro smiled, wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist and pressing a kiss on the top of his head.

“I’m so in love with you too,” Shiro said, “just so you know,” and he could feel Adam nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“How about we let these two have their bonding moment,” Adam offered, and Shiro grinned, nodding his head in agreement. “And let’s finish having our own bonding moment,” Adam said, and Shiro’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Shiro whispered, hearing his voice crack a little. Adam chuckled softly and move to hold Shiro’s hand, leading him out of the room.

“Tomorrow let’s just tell them that we found it, and that we totally didn’t get lost on the ship we’ve been traveling in for almost a year.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro said, and together they made it to their own room, Adam still leading Shiro by the hand. By the time they made it back the effects of the Nunvill had pretty much worn off, and they ended up falling asleep on the couch the moment they got through the door. Shiro couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

[stretchjournalemerson]

Pain Management

By Maura Grace Cowan

For decades, I have been told, Mema’s fingers smelled of nicotine, trailing the scent of a pack a day and a love that ate away at my grandfather until it swallowed him whole just five months after I was born. After that, an already vicious candy habit became a lifelong method of staying cigarette-free. She said that it kept her mouth busy and her head on straight.

We were alike in that way– her weakness was See’s Candies butterscotch lollipops, and I favored peppermints to focus. It was not uncommon, during the five years that she lived in our home, to find us next to each other in the living room, teeth clacking on our respective hard candies until I finished my work or she tired of the barrage of bad news.

Her other method of oral fixation was toothpicks, little orange slivers that she dropped as she hobbled from room to room. Truthfully, that was about all she left behind– plastic wrappers and wood chips, breadcrumbs that led me back through the years after she was gone.

I was home for Christmas during my freshman year of college when she passed, as suddenly as one can pass after almost a century of life. It was California dreary out, with a blank sky and a bad attitude. She was three thousand miles away by then, but the West Coast was mourning. That night, I popped a coffee-flavored See’s lollipop in my mouth. It was the last thing I would bite into for days.

My wisdom teeth were never wise enough to grow in the correct direction, and with my already small jaw, their removal was an inevitability. We had made the appointment the previous summer, hoping to control the problem before it started. The timing could not have been predicted. But I would have signed away a world of hurt down the line if I could have absolved myself of surgery on the morning after my grandmother’s death.

My orthodontist was a genial Scottish man in his fifties. I had met him just once before, for our consultation. He charmed me immediately by recognizing my name and its correct pronunciation– “Gaelic, o’course,” he had said cheerfully. Mema would have been smitten. She always loved accents– anything about people, really, cultures and language and history. She told me once that she had lived so many stories that she couldn’t help wanting to hear everyone else’s. This was what I was thinking about when he began to rattle off the medications he would prescribe me for the weeks after the operation.

“Oh, I don’t need the strong stuff,” I interjected. “I’ll be just fine with the Ibuprofen, I’ve got a lot of grit.”

He chuckled, handing me a stack of forms.

“I don’t doubt it, Maura. Let’s just see how you’re feeling afterwards, eh?”

I was the last of my friends from high school to get their wisdom teeth out. I had stayed the night with Amelia right after the surgery, brought ice cream for Tyler every day for a week. I knew that there would be no conversation or ‘seeing how I felt.’

I am not taking those pills.

I have never lived at extremes. Modesty and moderation were ingrained in me before I could pronounce either word, by my mother and Mema and their working-class sensibilities. And if nothing else, I have held myself to those principles. In high school, even on the rare occasions that I allowed myself to go out on weekends, it was a point of pride that I knew my limits. I was never the least sober in the room– often, I was the most by far. I never, ever, lost control.

The assistant was a young, lanky man– almost a boy, really, I noticed as he plunged the IV drip into my arm. I imagined babbling to him when I woke up, making a fool of myself, having to be carried out like I once carried my high school friend when she mixed Vicodin and vodka.

“Don’t give me too much,” I remember pleading. “Look at me. Promise me that I will walk out of here on my own.”

He must have listened, because when I came to, it was with a surprisingly clear head. At least, the part of my head that I could feel was clear. I spent the car ride home in silence, poking at the numbness, pushing down the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

Healing happened, slowly and awkwardly. A prescription of Hydrocodone sat on my dresser unopened; I refused everything but aspirin and a steady supply of vanilla pudding. Instead, I spent my days drifting between sleep and discomfort, but I suffered in silence. The whole house, after all, was suffering too.

Mema was not an affectionate woman– in the years that I knew her, she was not even particularly kind. She was stubborn and abrasive, with a Southern drawl turned scratchy with years of smoking and sighing and complaining.

She was also the strongest woman I have ever known.

After she quit smoking, she kept as far as possible from any sort of vices that would shorten her lifespan, replacing them instead with virtues… temperance, fortitude, and CNN. Even in her last years, when my parents begged her to have a glass of wine each night just to help her get to sleep, she refused. Her pain management was a strict combination of stubbornness and grit, and her health remained remarkable for her age.

But when you are close to one hundred years old, regardless of how healthy you are, on some level, every part of your body is begging you to just stop. To rest. Sometimes, it’s even in your own mind.

Once, I heard her ask my mother, “Why am I still here?”

“You know that we can’t get you back on a plane safely with all this oxygen, Mom.”

“No,” she sighed. “Why am I still here?”

But she accepted it. She held firm, and she stayed. Even when we ran out of money and resources and patience, when we had to fly her those three thousand miles to move back in with my auntie Beth, she stayed until she could not stay one second longer.

When I was seventeen, I once stood staring into her medicine cabinet on the precipice of explosion. I had my father’s gin and my mother’s anger in my stomach, and I knew what matches it would take to light that fuse. But I stayed, strong and composed, just as she did every day. I couldn’t do it for myself. So I did it for her.

I am not taking those pills.

I was, at the outset, correct about my ability to push through the discomfort. My constant fear of losing control had given me an acute awareness of how much I could handle, and I walked that line confidently. I did everything right, took the antibiotics and cleaned the surgical sites with a ritualistic reverence. All of my focus went towards the pain in my mouth. And the other pain, the ache that had settled into the bones of our house and deep into my chest, went untreated.

Until it couldn’t anymore.

I pushed myself too hard, I understand that now. I had convinced myself that I was out of the woods entirely, that I hadn’t felt any real soreness for days, that I was ready to shut the door behind a miserable week. That afternoon, I went hiking with my best friend, and we caught up over coffee and pre-Christmas peppermint bark. She tried to mention Mema, and I pointed out a hawk in the trees ahead.

By the evening, I was curled up in excruciating pain, convinced that the left side of my jaw was cracking and splintering as I laid with a bag of ice that did no real good. Taking Ibuprofen was like trying to stamp out a forest fire.

With gritted teeth and an apology, I cracked open the bottle of Hydrocodone.

That night was one of the worst of my life. I dreamed apocalyptic wastelands, bodies fetid and festering after the pestilence of the pandemic that had already defined that year. I saw my grandmother, sweating in and out of sleep– alive for a moment, but dying again and again. In the confusion and haze, for just a moment, I thought she might have been a god.

My fever dream ended as a weak winter sun began to stream through the window. I was drained, more exhausted than I had been the night before, but the ache had disappeared and my head was clear. I stripped the sheets and washed off the night, plugged in my headphones, hit shuffle perched on her old bare mattress.

And I was catching my breath/

Staring out an open window, catching my death/

And I couldn’t be sure/

I had a feeling so peculiar, that this pain would be for/

Evermore

I didn’t even notice I was crying until the drops hit my legs. I do not think I could have stopped myself if I tried. But I had run out of the desire to control.

Hey December, guess I’m feeling unmoored/

Can’t remember what I used to fight for

Everything, my grandmother and mother have insisted, exists in moderation. But what is moderation when we feel in extremes?

I rewind the tape, but all it does it pause/

On the very moment all was lost/

Sending signals to be double-crossed

We are made for vices, for cigarettes and coffee and chocolate cake. We are made to cling to any semblance of control, and then to watch again and again as it slips away, and then we are made to try again.

When the tears ran out and the last notes played, I pulled myself up and grabbed my keys. On my way out of the door, I caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen counter– a small glass bowl filled with See’s lollies. We had bought a box to send her for Christmas the day before she died.

This is what she left behind. Plastic wrappers, wood chips. A gap in the family and four gaps in my jaws. Ninety-nine years of stories and stubbornness and Southern sensibility. I carry the weight of her within me, her love and her loss. I manage our pain the way that she taught me, with control and composure. But I’m learning my own ways too.

And I couldn’t be sure/

I had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be for/

Evermore

My fist closed around a butterscotch.

[reflectionsoftrish]

Play “Holocene” by Bob Iver in the background if you decide to read ahead to get a glimpse into my mind. ☺️ It sets the mood very nicely. ... So I’m writing this on my train ride home from DC. I have so many thoughts and emotions swirling and it just kept filling I felt I needed to start to write just to give it a destination of where to go. I don’t typically share a lot. I think we’re all like that. We like to talk about the good times and glass over the bad. Everyone knows that I took awhile to complete my master’s. I took awhile to get a job “in the field”. I took awhile to figure out where my place is. And I still am. But I’ve come to realize I always will. Why do we think in destinations? Why is life a checklist of items that we need to tick off? Go to college. Check. Get a degree. Check. Get a job. Check. Get your own apartment. Find a mate. Get married. Get a promotion. Have kids. Work. Exist. Live. I felt the pressure so hard. I grew up with a not so great family life. My parents fought. My father was indifferent towards me. My mother over protective. I escaped into dance and practically lived at the studio. I was always an average student but that didn’t feel good enough. I’m Indian right? I’m supposed to be a straight A student. I’m supposed to do Science Olympiad or join a Math team. Take all the AP courses and score high. Go to a good school and do well there and graduate on time and get a good job. I couldn’t. And I struggled. And I felt worthless and not enough my whole life. Having to withdraw twice during my thesis was the hardest thing for me. I hit my lowest low. It confirmed all my inner fears of not being good enough. It doesn’t matter that my parents were getting a divorce. Everyone has troubles. My peers did it. Why couldn’t I? It was my rock bottom. I got my first job. A hostess at a restaurant haha nothing serious. It was still a big step for me. At 24 it was my first job. It was something I could do. I felt appreciated. I felt useful. At that time in my life I needed that. I grew as an individual. I started talking to strangers and coming into my own rather than shy away. Mind over matter. I started dance again. I couldn’t do anything like I could before and I was crushed. Going from a competitive dancer to not being able to do a single split was mortifying. But surprisingly, and I am so proud of myself, I didn’t quit. And I needed that. I needed to prove to myself that I can make progress if that is what I want to do. Mind over matter. I picked up new hobbies. I started hot yoga. And it’s funny, I used to scoff at all the spiritual sayings that you hear about practicing yoga, but that stuff is legit. If you open yourself up to that time spent on your mat where it comes down to just you and your physical form and what it can do and accept where you are - somehow that effects your mind and mental awareness at the same time...I’m still confused how but I’m here for it! Mind over matter. I did an acting and modeling class program. Yeah, I did that. It was fun. It was something different. It pushes you out of your comfort zone at times. It allows you to be someone else for just some time. And that’s a nice thing sometimes. I was in and worked on some short films this past year and it’s been everything to me. It’s opened my mind even more creatively in different ways and I love that. Mind over matter. So now let me get to the point. These past few months have been an...interesting time for me. Nothing happened. Nothing’s changed. But my perspective on my own life has. And with that everything has changed. The thoughts and ideas and emotions and feelings have been swirling for some time. I’ve found myself being more optimistic in my life view. Things will work out. And not just work out, life will be amazing. Because I will make it so. If there is something I want to do I’m not standing in my way anymore. I’m not going to think less of myself anymore. I’m not going to give up before even trying anymore. I have goals and aspirations, ideas and dreams and I’m gunning for them. These past 5 years after college were a struggle and it was so hard sometimes just to breathe - but I am oddly so thankful for it. Because it brought me to here. Today. It brought me to me. Mind over matter. ️

[thedappleddragon]

;-;

[mrtouchthesky]

Kanye West is not only a rapper, but also a fashion designer, songwriter, and businessman. Kanye's ego and unpredictable nature have won him many haters in the last few years, however, I fell in love with Kanye in the beginning of his career. There is so much that he has achieved in his life and I don’t think he’s as appreciated anymore. Kanye is one of those artists that has been through so many detrimental life events and yet still comes out on top in whatever he puts his mind to. It’s hard to even know where to begin when talking about this phenomenon. Kanye is one of the best-selling artists in the 21st century and most awarded artists of all-time. Popular music is one that blends musical and socio-economic characteristics and his music doesn’t fall short of that. His beats, lyrics and overall tone of his songs have an eclectic taste. Whether he wants to take a more hip-hop, rap, electro, trap, religious, provocative, emotional, political or societal spectrum, they still become the top hits of their time.

Early Life

Kanye West was born in Atlanta but soon moved to the South Side of Chicago after his parents' divorce. Kanye started rapping in the 3rd grade and composing his own songs in the 7th grade. After graduation, he attended Chicago State University to drop out only a year later to pursue his music career.

Portability

Kanye West’s music can be available on multiple devices and apps. In a mobile music handbook, Gopinath and Stanyek talked about how music needs to be “everywhere and anywhere” or ubiquitous. Whether it’s on laptops, phones, iPods, or CDs, Kanye’s music can be listened to anywhere. Spotify, YouTube, Vimeo, Tidal, Apple Music, Pandora SoundCloud, and more have also made it easier to access his music in the 21st century. 

College Dropout

My favorite Kanye album was released on February 10, 2004. I was only seven years old when it released, but I instantly fell in love with his music. Of course, having older brothers really introduced me to different genres of music outside of religious songs. After producing songs for multiple artists, Kanye wanted to start his own career which catapulted just by this very album. What also really pushed West to record this album was his almost fatal car accident in October 2002. In this album, Kanye combined hip-hop, soul, religion, and the “chipmunk soul” (high-pitched, sped-up vocals) as reflected in a couple of his album covers.

“Jesus Walks” expressed Kanye's religious faith and not being afraid to share that on a musical platform. It also reflects how lucky West felt after his accident and his denial to conform to the world’s sin and not talk about religion. This song surprisingly won a Grammy for the Best Rap Song of 2004. I really liked this song because it encompasses beautiful orchestral instruments, gospel, and inspirational lyrics.

“Through the Wire” was literally sang through Kanye’s wired shut mouth after being released from the hospital. In the accident, his jaw was severely shattered and he had to be wired shut in reconstructive surgery. If you listen closely to the song you can hear the struggle he has just singing the lyrics and the pain reflected in the song. This song was Kanye's therapy to pursue his own path of becoming that famous artist that he always dreamed of.

Late Registration

Released on August 30, 2005, the most popular song from this album is “Gold Digger” and may undeniably be Kanye’s most known songs. What made this song a hit in 2005 was its simple lyrics, happy beats, and wit. If you asked, I’m sure everyone knows the lyrics to this song even if they aren’t a Kanye fan. I still regularly jam to this song because the beats are willing people to dance to it called “call-and-response”. The instruments aren’t as complex as his usual work, but I think that was the objective of this song - to make everything simple and catchy enough for everyone to relate as many music scholars realized back in 1989.

In case you were wondering where I got my Tumblr username from:

Graduation

On September 11, 2007, the world saw a subtle shift in Kanye’s style of his songs. College Dropout and Late Registration almost sound similar, but Graduation has a variety of different styles. Graduation has a more electronic tone and hard-hitting songs like “Stronger” that was a popular song from this album. I think "Stronger" reflects popular music because as David Suisman says in his book about American music, it "uplifts- elevates the mind, body, and character of individuals and the spirit of the nation". The lyrics repeatedly chant, “Now that don’t kill me, can only make me stronger” meaning that you shouldn’t conform to the norms of life just because of what others say. 

808s & Heartbreak

This album, released in November of 2008, was the first album Kanye had released since his mother, Donda West, died in late 2007 from a heart disease. This album reflects his devastation over his mother and breakup with his fiancée, Alexis Phifer. This had a huge turn in his career and personality. This album doesn’t really have any rapping, rather him singing his heart and being masked with Auto-Tune. “Love Lockdown” and “Heartless” are pretty much the only dominant songs in this album.

Even now, Kanye still contributes his outburst and mood swings on his mother’s death. This is reflected when a year later he embarrassed Taylor Swift at the VMA's to state his opinion on who really should have won Best Female Video. This time is when he became rude, egotistic, confused, and angry at himself and the world.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was released on November 22, 2010, and shows a complete 360 turn from 808s & Heartbreaks. I absolutely loved this album and can agree that it showed a completely different side of Kanye. This album is beautifully and maniacally crafted and shows how Kanye can come back from his past with an even stronger album. Rolling Stone said that "nobody halfway sane could have made this album" which is so true, after all, he had been through, what else would you expect? “All of the Lights” was an international hit and was my favorite song from 2010-2011. The song encompasses beautiful orchestra instruments like trumpets, violins, pianos, drums, bass, and sick lyrics. The instruments follow a syncopated pattern with the tone of the song. What made it so amazing was how it featured Beyoncé, Drake, Rihanna, Elton John, Alicia Keys, Fergie, John Legend, Bon Iver, and many more legends of our century.

The beauty of this album is evident in this montage of all the album’s songs:

Watch the Throne

Watch the Throne is one of my favorite albums by Kanye and Jay-Z. This collaboration dropped on August 8, 2011. One could only imagine how great this album was going to be just by hearing that the two biggest hip-hop artists were creating an album. This album went platinum and also features other African-Americans such as Beyoncé, Frank Ocean, James Brown, Otis Redding, and Nina Simone. Kanye and Jay-Z used their platform to make a political statement in terms of racism and institutional racism and had a huge impact on how hip-hop influenced the youth. Music scholars, Starr & Waterman, stated in their book about popular music that the 1950s “invented the teenager as a commercial and cultural entity” so it’s obvious that music now is still targeted towards youth. Even the title suggests how hip-hop culture is seen in the public now and that they have to defend their “throne”. Kanye and Jay-Z are constantly talking about how their careers are going to surpass anyone else in the music business and black excellence.  Songs like “Made in America”, “Murder to Excellence”, and “No Church in the Wild” have very apparent meanings. The most known song is “No Church in the Wild” which beats are in the background of numerous commercials. Timothy Taylor, a music scholar who focused on youth and capitalism in Sounds of Capitalism, said that around 1960, “advertisers learned to use popular music in commercials” to really target the baby-boomers and younger generations. The repetitive and upbeat nature of the song makes you really focus on the lyrics and what that company is advertising. The lyrics of this song is about faults in the religious hierarchy of life and how power certain powers are canceled out like a mob vs a king, a king vs a God, and a God vs a non-believer. Ultimately, Jay-Z and Kanye are saying that they are the gods of the rap world. This album shows that they believe they can overcome any skepticism that the world throws at them because they have already made it big in the industry.

Yeezus

Yeezus debuted on June 18, 2013. This was the same month that Kanye and Kim Kardashian had their daughter, North, after being together since 2012. This album is probably Kanye’s most controversial album in terms of people’s reactions because of the harsh sounds, the electro, and industrial sound it resonated. Rolling Stone even said that this is the “darkest, most extreme music Kanye has made and is extravagantly abrasive”. Despite that, I still really liked a few songs from this album and it reflects how versatile Kanye is. Around this time, Black Lives Matter emerged and I think that’s what Kanye is referencing to in a lot of the songs of the album. My favorite is “Blood on the Leaves” because of the intensity of the rhythm and beats. It talks the detriments of living the life of fame and about drugs. The song starts off on a haunting note with Billy Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” in the background recounting lynching and over events from the Civil Rights era. Kanye is reminding us about the history and taking another social-political stance with his platform.

Products & Advertising

Kanye has done clothing collaborates with Louis Vuitton, Nike, Adidas, and A.P.C. His most known product is the YEEZY collection Back on February 8th of 2015, Adidas confirmed their clothing and shoe collaboration with Kanye with many posters and advertisements. When his brand came out he did fashion shows and music videos and advertising for Kanye’s fashion paralleled with his music which was a very smart move for Kanye. In the video, the youthful models just stand motionless in tattered clothing. His fashion line is another way Kanye reflects his ideas to be different and a true artist. In this interview, Kanye talks about how he wants to be creative in all areas and won’t take anyone’s criticism towards him. The music playing in the background is a sample of a song from his album that would have released a year later. It sets the mood and blends all of his artistry together.

The Life of Pablo

The Life of Pablo is Kanye’s latest album that was released on February 14, 2016. This album originally was only on Tidal so it took a while before it was available elsewhere for me to listen to it. Kanye was the first artists to have an #1 album off of mainly streaming totals. This album came out a few months after Kanye and Kim had their second child, Saint. I think this album reflects all of Kanye’s messy, confused life as he battles psychiatric problems. Kanye explains that the title is a reference to, “Pablo Picasso, Pablo Escobar of course, Apostle Paul. [Paul] was the strongest influencer of Christianity, Pablo Escobar was the biggest mover of a product, and Pablo Picasso was the biggest mover of art. And that mix between message, art, and product is The Life Of Pablo”. I love this album because it reminds me of mixtapes that Chance the Rapper has done. This is no coincidence since Chance actually helped Kanye with this album a lot. One of the most shocking things about this album is the infamous “Famous” video that depicts all of the people Kanye has in “made famous” naked in a bed together. I’m not even sure if he got permission from all of these celebrities to use their replicas, but it definitely has given this album a name with some pretty harsh lyrics. The album has a lot of sampling from hit songs of the time like in “Father Stretch My Hands pt. 2″ which uses Desiigner’s “Panda”. This may make the album seem discordant, but it reflects Kanye’s thoughts and how disarrayed he was at the time. A lot of the songs are contradictory as Rolling Stone said because it’s like a battle of how he sees himself and what he doesn’t want the world to realize about him. This explains why Kanye seems so distant and rude in the public eye. The album features a lot of great artists of this time like Rihanna, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Frank Ocean, Chance, Post Malone, Desiigner, The Weeknd, Chris Brown, Sia, Kid Cudi, etc.  

Although Kanye’s actions and egotistic behavior has turned many people against him, they can’t deny his talent. Critics will look past his rash behavior and still enjoy his music because someone this talented can’t be underrated. In 2016, Kanye surpassed Michael Jackson for having the most top 40 hits on the Billboards for a male artist, which proves to show that his career only goes up from here. Even David Bowie believed that Kanye was a “messiah of music” and knew he would rise to fame in the future. Kanye blends music, advertisement, entertainment, sampling, portability, fashion, relatability, personality, memorability, and structure to establish his career.

Works Cited

Amaloney. "David Bowie predicted the rise of Kanye West in 1972, according to    this bonkers theory." The Sun. The Sun, 21 Nov. 2016. Web. 07 Feb. 2017.

Biography.com Editors. "Kanye West."

Biography.com

. A&E Networks Television, 22 Nov. 2016. Web. 09 Feb. 2017.

Dolan, Jon. "Yeezus." Rolling Stone. Rolling Stone, 14 June 2013. Web. 07 Feb.           2017.

Gopinath, Sumanth and Stanyek, Jason. Anytime, Anywhere? An Introduction to the Devices, Markets, and Theories of Mobile Music. The Oxford Handbook of Mobile Music Studies. July 2014. Print.

Horowitz, Steven. "Jay-Z Explains "Watch The Throne" Title, Significance To Hip Hop Culture." HipHopDX. N.p., 14 Aug. 2011. Web. 6 Feb. 2017.

"Kanye West Explains The Meaning Of 'The Life Of Pablo' Title." Exclusive Hip Hop      News, Interviews, Rumors, Rap & Music Videos | AllHipHop. N.p., 22 Apr. 2016. Web. 07 Feb. 2017.

Sheffield, Rob. "Kanye West: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy." Rolling Stone.          N.p., 25 Nov. 2010. Web. 5 Feb. 2017.

Sheffield, Rob. "The Life of Pablo." Rolling Stone. Rolling Stone, 16 Feb. 2016. Web. 09 Feb. 2017.

Suisman, D. 2009. Selling Sounds: the commercial revolution in American music. Cambridge, Ma. & London: Harvard University Press.

Starr, L. & C. Waterman. 2013. American Popular Music: from minstrelsy to MP3. New York: Oxford University Press.

Taylor, T. 2014. The Sounds of Capitalism: advertising, music, and the conquest of culture.

Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press.

[urbancuntemporary]

1-10 for the music asks!

Thanks!

1. Current Favorite Song

I’m really digging a lot of ABRA’s songs (not to be confused with Abba) and rn CRYBABY is one of my faves

2. Song that used to be my favorite but now I don’t like

I don’t have any. If I ever loved a song when I was younger it is now deeply embedded in my heart and no matter how bad I realize the quality is I still find nostalgia in it. 

3. A song that used to be my favorite and I still like

I used to be like stupid in love with That Green Gentleman by P!ATD and I’m still very fond of it now. 

4. A song that I’m embarrassed to like

I don’t think I have any, I mean I liked a lot of bands back in middle school that weren’t very good like i loved Skye Sweetnam and she’s not...she’s not good but I’m not embarrassed to say that. Also How You Remind Me by Nickelback I actually really wyle out to that song

5. A song that reminds me of another period in my life

I was obsessed with Fefe Dobson from like 11-14 and it reminds me of the time that I was super in love with Chris Evans so I watched The Perfect Score all the time so I’ll say Everything by Fefe Dobson

6. A song that reminds me of a place I’ve been

When I was 7 me and my family went to Arizona for my cousin’s wedding and the cousin that we were staying with loooooooved the song We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. I memorized the song there because of how often he played it. Like....he would put it on repeat when we went out. When we’d hang by the pool he’d play it. I heard that song at least 50 times in the 2-3 days we were there. I didn’t even get tired of it. 

7. A song from a genre I don’t usually listen to

My grandma, sinner that she may be, listened to a lot of gospel when I was growing up. And one of the songs that I loved was Too Close To the Mirror by Eddie Ruth Bradford. That was my shit. 

8. A song I loved when I was a little kid

By 5 I knew every word to Pushover by Etta James (or every word sound). That song was everything to me. I had no idea what it meant either. 

9. Song I loved 5 years ago

Everything kind of runs together.....But Holocene by Bon Iver I think 

10. Song that reminds me of my childhood

Cheetah Sisters. I’ve got so much love for the Cheetah Girls and I loooooooved them when I was a kid. I loved to sing (not in front of people) and I was determined to be a Cheetah Girl and my mom was the only one who was willing to let me live out that dream cause my dad thought cheetah print was too provocative a pattern for someone my age🙄. But!! I actually ended up being successful at it cause my mom bought me a bunch of cute shit in cheetah print that I would wear in different ways. Like I had a bluejean jacket with a cheetah collar. I had a bibbed hat with a cheetah stripe down the side. I had a cheetah belt. And like a bunch of cheetah shirts that were really cool. And I would wear them all at different times. I was living. 

[theos-rp]

ACCEPTED

Congratulations, Quinn Ivers, you have been granted admittance to the Island. Please add our moderator account within three days or your face claim will be reopened.

OOC Name / Alias: Li Are you 18+?: yep Time Zone: GMT 0 Do you understand that this roleplay is an 18+ environment, and that you may be exposed to explicit material, mature content, or triggering themes?: yep Is this a second character? (Please also list your first character here, as well as the admin that approved it – or just say the mod did!): nop IC Face claim / Group/occupation: Min Yoongi(Suga) / Bts Chosen Name: Quinn Ivers  Son/Daughter of: Morpheus, the god of dreams and sleep  House: Ionic 

WRITING SAMPLE 

Slowly and surely, the land was recovering and rebuilding itself after the war. Life and happiness were slowly trickling back between the old and new stones. People, old and new, coming back to build or rebuild what they lost. Restarting their life with bright eyes shining with one of the things that hurt him as the days ran past him faster than he ever dared to acknowledge. It was Hope.

Hope, that kept him going through the agonising realization after he woke up that he may come back. Hope, that one of the faces that returned to the city would be his. Hope, that his own failure to uphold the barrier didn’t end up sentencing the very reason of his happiness to death.

As time trickled slowly by him, his wounds healed, his magic was replenishing and regenerating at a snail pace, just as slow as the city was rebuilt. Hope gained a fellow in those times, Uncertainty. Uncertainty in whether the blow was fatal, or the invaders had their way from the rumours he heard: catching creatures as war prisoners. Uncertainty in whether this was better than being taken over by darkness forever, than slipping in an everlasting slumber. He never dared tell anyone that’s what he wished for if his fears were indeed true.

The others slowly avoided him after he snapped at them, his sharp tongue no longer concealed, his temper no longer tamed. The witch felt the emptiness that long ago resonated through him carve its way back inside his chest. The emptiness that was oh so familiar from before his ray of sunshine was born and after it was taken away from him. A void that just kept getting bigger with every reflex of grasping the delicate medallion that once adorned his neck, fingers grasping the air that took the resting place of the locket.

One would think that Hope would lead to Grief, but once merged with Uncertainty it turned into Emptiness. And emptiness left room for fear and hate, loathe as his mind conjured images long forgotten, voices and sounds that once haunted his every night, returning like old friends. Old friend with new protagonists that just kept get stronger and stronger, adrenaline cursing through his veins at every other dusk, abusing his mind and heart. Until his complexion was sister with the surface of the moon, the craters’ shadows imprinted under his eyes.

Two full moons after that faithful day, he was taking his usual stroll through a known path, covered in moss and leaves. The forest had always been kinder, calmer with him than concrete, and the bustling with life rejuvenating place welcomed him as it always did for his daily strolls. No matter the pain, his footsteps always took him down this well-known path towards the house he knew better at times than his own.

The breeze tousled his messy locks as his long blazer flapped behind him, the sudden silence throwing him out of his thoughts. He recognised this tremble, almost a tickle on the surface, the known, familiar energy to which his magic always happily responded to. Almost desperately wishing to twirl with the other’s energy. His eyes widened once he saw the figure a few feet on front of him. Unscratched, healthy, in one piece and so so familiar, the void inside his chest just tripling in size and threatening to swallow him whole.

Emptiness would turn to relief, to happiness and leave way for hysteria and confusion. But no, it conjured all the above in a tornado of emotions, leaving no room for a change in them. They assaulted him all at once, the reason for which the witch’s chocolate brown eyes turned into an ice purple, gaze sharp as a barrier locked the other into place. The slightly shorter male walked to the other. The usage of magic was inadvisable in his condition, the almost depletion of it and the strain of regenerating too raw onto his body. However, his magic was responded better to emotions, rather than to reason.

“Where have you been??!!” The witch yelled stopping a few steps short of the bound male, small frame trembling with rage. For as much as he was overjoyed, Yoongi was livid.

[d-ivers-blog]

“IVERS,” the sound echoed around the walls of his greyscale cell, his name making his way into his dreams and yanking him back no gentler than a cold bucket of water would, “you’ve made bail. Come on, get your shit.”

It was a fact of the beast, of life, to someone like him. It was something he preferred not to fight and instead let it be-- be it self destruction or whatever people in the past have said. It was what it was and who was he to change that? It wasn’t that he ever had the intention to see familiar faces downtown or spend the night in a damp cell. Like he always thought. He was what he was. He was a product of his environment, of genetics or whatever some bullshit counsellor told him. It was what it was.

He hauled himself up from the floor, stepping over the drunk dude lying in a pool of his own vomit, and ran a thoughtless hand through his messy matted hair as sleep still stuck in the corners of his eyes. He knew the guy in front of him, his kids went to the same school as Damon’s-- Frank his name was? Like their dad, his kids were total pricks too in his honest opinion, but then again most of them were.  It seemed like every goddamn kid in the school knew when he’d spent another night detained like their fucking father couldn’t keep a fucking secret. But Damon didn’t care much for rumours, even if they were real ones. People didn’t like him regardless, it’d always been the way, at least this way people tended to stay away from him. Something he wished Sabina would understand.

Damon gave a small nod to ol’ Frank as a heavy fat hand escorted him from the cell to get his belongings. It was a walk that he could do half asleep, still drunk and with a broken. It’d become as habitual as brushing his teeth, and that was still something Damon didn’t know to be proud of or not. 

“You’re lucky this time, kid. You’re lucky the school’s not bothering to press charges. Can’t say what it’ll be like the next time we see you in here... and...When will that be? So I can mark it in my diary, make sure i’m free....?

Damon decided it wasn’t worth it the retort even a snide scoff. The prick had already done enough damage to his face throwing him against his car the day before. He could let it slide just this once. The guy was a bag of shit anyway, he could basically smell the whisky on his breath.

As if he were in a a half dream, he signed his belongings out, shoved a cigarette between his lips and left the warmth of the station  behind to be greeted with an icy wind. And if it wasn’t the wind that woke him up a little, it was seeing Sabania, wrapped up in her green coat, and his Gran step out of Sabina’s car that did.

“Great...” He sighed, trying in vain to light his smoke in in the wind. 

It should have occurred to him earlier to ask how he made bail. This time he didn’t call anyone to help him, he didn’t even give the school the right number to call his gran. He had no way of affording his release this time....Yet, here he was. And there they were.

He tried to ignore the feeling of guilt pit itself in his stomach, the feeling of worthlessness settle in his bones. Damon knew he should be thankful and at least a little bit happy to see them. But he wasn’t. Not this time. He knew with bail came explanation, apologies and thank you’s-- all things he had very little patience for in a small car ride home. He knew they’d ask him why he did it and tell him he needs help. His Gran will wear the same sad eyes she wears every she sees him come home with a new bruise or she sees him fight with him mum. Its those eyes he wanted to avoid. Its that look that he knew he deserved but preferred to look away anyway.

And Sabina? Well no doubt she probably went behind her fathers back and paid for him....again. No doubt she went to his house to tell his Gran. No doubt that, yet again, he didn’t deserve her unwavering kindness. He knew she would be confused and see the good in him anyway. because that’s what she did. For whatever reason that he could never fully comprehend, she thought he was worth a damn, and that included ignoring the fact he destroyed a classroom, threatened some students, and took a baseball bat to everyone’s lockers. He decided a long time ago that it was easier to let her think the best of him instead of trying to prove to her he wasn’t what she thought he was. And yet, even when he didn’t try, and she was confronted of moments like this, he was confused why she still picked him up.

“Thank god you’re okay,” warm familiar arms came to him outstretched and welcoming, his Gran embracing him as she had so often when he was a child. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, just below his purpling skin. “Why didn’t you call me. I had to hear it from Sabina.”

Damon lit his cigarette and shrugged, his eyes carefully staring anywhere else but her face knowing that one look at her sad eyes would be enough to last him a lifetime. Damon wished that the wind wouldn’t carry the smoke away from them, instead linger between them like a nonexistent wall, hiding him from their prying eyes.

Only another pair of arms wrapped around him now, this time tighter and quicker, giving him less time to prepare before stumbling backwards. Damon didn’t hug back. Instead putting the cigarette beneath his lips after Sabina pulled away.

“I’m glad it’s all okay now.” She paused for whatever reason.  

“Can we get the fuck outta here now.”