#maybe musicians are just slow people by design

[choosingwhatmatters]

Music in The Loyal Pin, episode 3

The more I hear of the music, the more I marvel at the genius behind it. My spreadsheet of themes and motives is over two pages long, and often there are several iterations of one melody, depending on the context of the scene. Just in case you’re wondering, this is what my professional spreadsheet looks like:

I am too lazy (and frankly, too sleep deprived) to record each motif, so I am writing down the numbers of the notes. 1 is do, 2 is re and so on. After that I note down the time measure. It’s not a perfect system, sometimes my inner ear can’t make sense of what I am seeing. But again: lazy and tired :D

So, last week I talked about a piece that I call “Pin’s heavy heart.” I also introduced the concepts of major chords (which tend to sound cheerful) and minor chords (which tend to sound wistful). “Pin’s heavy heart” features a lot of minor chords, which makes sense because we often hear it when Pin is sad. Not in this episode though. In this episode, the piece plays when Patt and Pin receive Anil’s invitation to Pine Palace.

The piece starts with its usual repetition of a minor third but then – oh, how I adore it – the whole phrase lands on a major chord and continues from there. The familiar melancholy of the piece is now streaked with little sunbeams from major chords. It’s almost as if Lady Pin had a reason to feel happy. We’re seven-and-a-half minutes into the episode and my little heart is already pleasantly warm.

The piece I want to talk about this week is one I have coined “Big emotions.” It sounds somewhat like this:

There are only five instances in the show so far where we could hear this piece (I think), but they are the reason for the name "Big emotions". In episode 1, Medium Anil attempts to suck the non-existent snake venom from Pin’s wound and Medium Pin learns for the first time that Anil is to go to the UK. In episode 2, Medium Anil realises that she won’t be seeing Pin during her travel preparations and Medium Pin cries in her bedroom while Prik eavesdrops. In episode 3, Anil asks if she could show Pin Pine Palace which the latter joyfully agrees to.

The piece experiences not one, but two variations in this episode. The first is played by a glockenspiel and can be heard when Pin learns that she is to massage Anil. The second is played by an accordion and sounds when Pin presses herb compresses to Anil’s back. Big emotions indeed.

Next week, I’m definitely going to have to talk about some pentatonic shenanigans that happen whenever Anil gets close to Pin, because that is the music the episode closes with: Anil’s face getting closer and closer to Pin’s cheek while pentatonic notes keep raining down. Also, I think there is a brandnew motif that is introduced at the same time as Anil’s cousin is. I suspect that we might hear it again in episode 4 ... But for this week, I am all music-ed out.

As always, thank you so much for travelling with me through the exciting soundscapes of the show! Thank you also for the kind comments on my last post! This fandom makes my little heart all sorts of warm.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 01

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: recreational drinking, yoongi is an asshole (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.1k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: NEW ERA NEW ERA NEW ERA! whew!!! i’m excited for this one! this is going to be a loooong ride, so buckle up and enjoy! please note the slow burn tag on this one, because i’m not joking around with it. trust me, it’s going to hurt me just as much as it hurts you.

a HUGE thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for continuing to beta read for me <3 your commentary never fails to make me laugh and your edits save my life.

P.S. everything i know about the korean music industry is informed by my years as a kpop fan. i don’t know much about the rock scene there, so expect inaccuracies galore going forward. i do my due diligence where i can, but that can only help so much.

CH. 01: ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE VAMPIRES!

You aren’t entirely sure when you stopped feeling at home in places like this. There has to be some kind of defining event, some kind of indicator of The Before and The After, but every time you try and figure it out you come up short.

In The Before, not all that long ago, you would be scrounging for the bus fare rattling around in your pockets to get to a place like this as soon as you punched out from your shift at the Speedy Mart.

During your short stint in college, your friends didn’t understand your obsession. Music venues, to them, were fun for a weekend’s night out. The thrill of flashing a fake ID, of flirting with the musicians after their set, of getting said musicians to buy them drinks—it was a satisfying rebellion, a fun story to tell people at school and hide from their parents.

But you were there every day, even after classes and graveyard shifts under fluorescent lights, always racing to the nearest show without even changing out of your polo. It was never a rebellion to you. The lights, the thumping bass, the secondhand smoke—it made every nerve ending in your body light up.

You were born in this smoke, as far as you’re concerned.

Maybe it’s different now because it’s work to be here. But what isn’t work, these days? Your life is micromanaged down to the minutiae—the meals you eat, the products you use in your hair, your goddamn piss breaks. There’s no clocking out for you, no gasp of relief that comes after. Such is life for one of Seoul’s many playthings.

Even in the dead of winter, your stylist, Hyerin, has you in a dress that begs to be pulled down every five minutes like clockwork. 

You learned a long time ago to bite your tongue on matters like this. The brands you work for pay you for the exposure you give them, after all. The chill that settles in your bones from the ten steps you take from your paid car to the venue door will be well worth it next time you count the zeroes in your bank account. At least, that’s what Hyerin told you as she pushed you out of the car and into the cold.

Wasteland looks the same as it did the very first night you ever stepped foot inside. Same red, glowing guitar sign above the entrance. Same shitty overpriced drinks. Same sticky floors. It’s nice that some things never change even when you do.

You’ve never been on the balcony, though. You’ve gotta hand it to Jeongguk—he’s really pulling out all the stops. To your knowledge, the balcony is normally reserved for VIPs. Close friends and family of the band, other celebrities, lucky and well-connected fans. Significant others. You suppose you fall under more than one of those categories now.

The crowd gathered on this side of the stage buzzes incessantly around you, waiting for the set to start. The excitement is palpable, and you understand why. It’s the very last show of Burn The Stage’s very first world tour following the release of their third studio album, and they’re ending it here: in Seoul. At Wasteland no less, the venue that housed the show that got them signed in the first place. Of course people are excited.

If you were the same person you were in The Before, you would be, too. 

Instead, as the stage lights go down and the crowd roars around you, you down the rest of your drink and pray it’ll do its job and calm your fidgeting. For a split second, the thought that maybe you shouldn’t be drunk tonight passes through your brain, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. Your hopes of making a good first impression were squandered as soon as Hyerin zipped up your dress. 

Besides, it’s not as if Jeongguk picked you for your shining reputation. More like the opposite.

With a flash of lights and a cacophony of sound, Burn The Stage launches into their first song on the setlist. The crowd roars around you, but you’re not here as a fan, so you try to remember everything Jeongguk taught you in preparation for tonight.

If you weren’t already close, most everything there is to learn about Jeon Jeongguk himself could easily be found with a simple Naver search.

Not only is Jeongguk the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of Burn The Stage, but he’s also the de facto face of the band, and he couldn’t be better suited for the job. He’s beautiful. Like, seriously beautiful. Well-built and knows it, sings songs about love and sex and anger with the sweetest voice known to man, covered in tattoos and piercings that eommas everywhere pretend to disapprove of when they’re actually ogling just as much as their daughters. He’s a teenage girl’s wet dream, and with that comes hordes of them using the deductive skills of the NIS to figure out the last time he took a shit. Very little in his life is a secret, whether he likes it or not.

The rest of the band, in turn, gets the luxury of a little bit of mystery.

Park Jimin, the drummer, and Kim Taehyung, the bassist. Jeongguk’s best friends in the world. You’ve met them both in passing before, at industry events here and there, and they both seemed nice enough. 

Jimin has a bit of a reputation for being temperamental, angry, but the way Jeongguk describes him paints him as something gentle. Childhood friends who’ve known each other since scraped knees and runny noses. 

It’s public knowledge that Jimin wanted to be a dancer, before this—that when he was in college, he suffered an injury that ended his dancing career before it even started. One moment he was one of the most promising ballet students in Seoul, and the next he was retired at nineteen. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but every time the band is interviewed the question is inevitably asked. Do you have any regrets? You’ve watched the videos, seen the way he shakes with anger even as he answers with a saccharine smile. You have a feeling getting along with Jimin won’t pose any challenges for you. You know a thing or two about regrets.

Taehyung is a bit harder to figure out, but not in any way that sparks concern. He’s just an interesting guy that way. 

He was the last to join the band, the first to answer a ‘BASS PLAYER NEEDED’ ad posted around the city. Apparently, he was so good that they didn’t feel the need to call anyone else.

He lives in his own world, does his own thing. Posts very artistic photo dumps on his Instagram with concerningly cryptic captions. He’s quiet when he’s around people he doesn’t know, but when he’s put in a room with Jimin and Jeongguk he becomes the loudest person there. He’s kind, caring, always seems to know the right thing to say even if it’s delivered in the strangest manner possible.

Jimin and Taehyung won’t cause any problems for you. Jeongguk assured you that they’d be easy to win over, that as long as Jeongguk likes you, you’re in with them. 

The real wild card is the guitarist. Min Yoongi.

According to Jeongguk, Burn The Stage wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for Yoongi. When the band formed, they were just dumb kids with a shared dream, but Yoongi was the one to set it all in motion. 

When they didn’t have anywhere to practice, Yoongi convinced the ajumma he worked for to let him cram as much equipment as he could fit into a tiny noraebang room. When venues wouldn’t book them without the guarantee that they would draw a crowd, Yoongi burned hundreds of CDs and stood on the streets of Hongdae begging people to listen. When shady entertainment companies started offering them laughable contracts, Yoongi found Namjoon and somehow convinced him to manage them for dirt cheap. When they finally got an offer worth taking, Yoongi made them mull it over for as long as they possibly could. Weigh the pros and cons and decide if it was what they really wanted.

If Jeongguk is the face of the band, Yoongi is the heart. Unfortunately for you, this particular heart is very well-guarded.

Yoongi takes his privacy seriously. He refuses to answer interview questions he deems too personal, he doesn’t use social media. When asked why, his answer is always that he wants the music to speak for him. 

Because that’s another thing: every single song that Burn The Stage has ever released has been penned by Yoongi. To his credit, it’s kind of what they’re known for. His lyrics have a raw honesty to them that’s gotten the band into trouble more than once. 

You finally tune into the show that’s unfolded below you, the words spilling from Jeongguk’s lips loud and clear in your ears now that you’re paying attention.

​​Well, I ain't got no dollar signs in my eyes That might be a surprise but it's true Said, "I'm not like you and I don't want your advice Or your praise or to move in the ways you do and I never will" 'Cause all you people are vampires And all your stories are stale And though you pretend to stand by us I know you're certain we'll fail

It’s rock music. It’s polarizing, controversial, edgy. Biting the hand that feeds them—especially in the eyes of the executives lining the band’s pockets, you’re sure. And yet everyone eats it up. 

Still, Yoongi wouldn’t get away with half of it if he wasn’t attractive, you’re sure of it.

Because he is. Attractive. They all are, and he’s no exception. He checks all of the boxes annoyingly well. The long hair, the signature smirk, the little silver barbell on a tongue that he seems all too happy to flash at a moment’s notice. Too bad he seems like one of those pretentious, tortured artist types that take themselves way too seriously. That’s never done it for you.

Jeongguk is the one singing Yoongi’s words, and he might as well be Korea’s sweetheart—if it weren’t for all the tattoos. He conveys the message of Yoongi’s songs exactly as intended, but he doesn’t have to act like an egotistical gatekeeper to do it.

Maybe it’s a preference on your part. You’ve always had a thing for sweetness.

★ ★ ★

After the concert, you’re ushered off of the balcony by one of the band’s security guards. It’s the same guy who escorted you up when you arrived, and you note to yourself that he’s very polite. Eunwoo, according to his nametag.

It tracks, given Burn The Stage’s reputation for making sure the women at their concerts feel comfortable in the crowd. You’ve heard stories about them stopping mid-song to have handsy men kicked out, and it’s nice to know their commitment extends to the people they employ for themselves.

Eunwoo offers you his hand palm-up as you descend down the balcony stairs, and you take it with a grateful smile. You’re feeling wobbly in these shoes, and the drinks you’ve downed since your arrival aren’t helping matters. Even with the assistance, you still feel like a baby giraffe as you step down, but thanks to Eunwoo, you don’t eat shit.

Eunwoo dutifully guides you backstage, to a grimy, graffitied hallway housing the dressing rooms for Wasteland’s talent of the night. Jeongguk waits outside of one of them, guzzling down a bottle of water as a female staff member dabs sweat off of his forehead with a pristine white towel. She’s only there for a moment before slipping back through the dressing room door. Finally noticing your approach, Jeongguk turns his head and grins at you, and you feel your nerves ebb away instantly. He’s good at that.

As you get closer to Jeongguk, you turn to smile and nod at Eunwoo in thanks. He smiles back politely, wordlessly falling back to give you some privacy.

“Daaaamn, YN-ah,” Jeongguk says, whistling lowly as you reach him. “You’re going to cause a bloodbath in there.” He nods his head towards the dressing room door, and you roll your eyes despite the heat building in your cheeks.

“I know, I know,” you say, smoothing your hands over your dress. “It’s not exactly a meet-the-family outfit, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Nah, it’s cool. You look hot,” he says, grabbing your hand and making you do a spin, forcing a surprised laugh out of you as you try not to trip over yourself. Jeongguk keeps you steady, though, with a hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, although you’re sure your face gives away how terrified you are of what awaits you on the other side of the door. “Maybe you should’ve picked an actress for this, though.”

“I trust you,” he says softly, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s not too late to back out, though. I’ll understand…”

You believe him, of course. Those doe eyes don’t lie, and even so, he’s already told you over and over how bad he feels for asking this of you. But you don’t want to back out. Jeongguk has given you so much since you’ve met—it’s only right to try and repay him for it.

“I want to do this,” you assure him, reaching up to squeeze his hand on your shoulder. “I’m just worried I won’t be able to pull it off.”

“You will,” Jeongguk says, smiling down at you warmly. “Don’t sweat it too much, okay? We’ve got this. It’s not like I have to pretend to like you.”

Right. You wish Jeongguk’s words did what they were meant to and instilled some kind of confidence in you, but what they actually do is make your chest ache uncomfortably. Pull yourself together, you think. Now’s not the time.

You smile good-naturedly, hoping Jeongguk doesn’t notice the way it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” you mumble.

“That’s the spirit!” he laughs, sliding the hand on your shoulder around to the other one so his arm is slung around you. You hate the way your heart flutters, despite the fact that you’d prepared for this. Dumb bitch.

Jeongguk cracks the dressing room door open just enough to ensure that all of the men inside are decent, and then he’s guiding you inside, your hands flying down to smooth your dress over again, just in case. 

The dressing room is bustling with more people than you expected, people you recognize from the balcony and staff alike. There’s a fast-paced rock song playing over a bluetooth speaker, almost loud enough to drown out the chatter. 

Everyone seems to be in celebration mode after the last show of the tour. There’s a large sheet cake on a cart in the middle of the room emblazoned with the band members’ faces in frosting, plastic champagne flutes littered around the room in varying states of fullness. Judging by the bottle in his hand and the way staff members wipe at his face fussily, it seems like Taehyung took the liberty of pouring champagne over his head to cool off.

You’re used to having lots of eyes on you—it comes with the job—but something about the way Jeongguk’s bandmates immediately stop what they’re doing and take notice of your presence startles you, puts you on edge.

“Jeonggukie! You missed the cake,” Jimin calls, standing up from where he sat on the couch. He holds out a slice of the sheet cake to Jeongguk, tilting his head at you as he approaches. “Where do I know you from?”

Jeongguk removes his arm from your shoulders to take the plate, snorting at the image of his decapitated cake-head staring up at him. “Hyungs,” he says, grabbing a plastic fork and digging into the slice. “This is YLN YN.”

“Oh, we’ve met before! The model, right?” Taehyung pipes up from where he’s still being wiped down, and you nod politely. “I saw your Innisfree campaign last month. I couldn’t remember whether your skin was really that nice in person.”

You watch as he extricates himself from the staff, ignoring their protests as he walks away from them.

Taehyung gets close to you, close enough to inspect your pores like he clearly intends to, and you fight the urge to instantly recoil. Jeongguk seems too busy stuffing his face with cake to interfere, and you want to make a good first impression. So much for your personal bubble.

“It is,” he says, nodding sagely to himself.

“Th-thank you?” you stammer. Beside you, Jeongguk finally tunes back in.

“Jeez, hyung,” he says around a mouthful of cake. He chews for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing. “Let her breathe.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung says sheepishly, backing out of your personal space, and you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, shaking your head.

“It’s fine,” you say, mustering a polite smile. 

You note that despite his initial (albeit subtle) acknowledgement of your existence when you walked in the door, Yoongi now seems entirely disinterested in interacting with you. He hasn’t moved from where he’s planted on the couch, focused intently on strumming his guitar. How he can even hear what he’s playing over the noise is beyond you. It’s not even plugged into an amp. 

You’d be a little annoyed that he hasn’t even bothered to greet you, but you reason that he must be pretty worn out from all of the fanfare surrounding the show tonight. Introvert recognizes introvert. You try not to take it personally.

“Do you know Jeongguk-ah well?” Jimin asks, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes bounce between you and his bandmate. He seems to be putting the pieces together, so you glance at Jeongguk, wordlessly passing the question his way.

Thankfully, Jeongguk seems to get the hint. He tosses his plate in the nearest trash can before sliding over to you again, his arm slipping around your waist easily, betraying nothing.

“Hyungs,” he starts, glancing at you and nodding once. Let the show begin. “YN-ah is actually, um… my girlfriend.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi sit up. That got his attention, it seems. 

A hush falls over the room, even the eyes of the staff members within earshot widening in response to Jeongguk’s announcement. Oh shit, you think. Please let this go well.

“Since when?” Taehyung asks, curiosity piqued. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t seem upset by the new information. At least, not as far as you can tell.

“Well, um,” Jeongguk starts, tonguing nervously at his lip ring. He pulls you closer so you’re practically curled against his chest now, and you silently pray that the way you’re looking at him reads as sweet and not like you’re about to jump out of your skin. “It’s actually been a few months now… Since right before the tour, actually.”

“Right before the tour?” Jimin asks, his brow furrowing in obvious confusion. “So you’ve been doing long distance?”

Jeongguk glances at you, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it was bad timing on my part,” he says, his eyes fixed on yours. Damn. If he didn’t have such great pipes, you’d say he should’ve gone into acting. He’s male lead material. “I just couldn’t leave without telling her how I felt.”

You wish that you could do or say literally anything useful instead of just clinging to Jeongguk’s side like a barnacle. This is supposed to be a joint effort, but you feel frozen in place, unable to find your voice. It’s a good thing Jeongguk seems to be pulling it off all on his own.

“So cute,” Taehyung coos, bumping his shoulder against Jimin’s conspiratorially. “Our Jeonggukie’s all grown up and in love.”

“He’s always been a romantic,” Jimin joins in, miming at wiping fake tears as if he’s a proud parent. He reaches out and grabs your hands, startling you. “Please take care of him.”

“Hyuuuungs,” Jeongguk whines, tearing his arm away from you to whack Jimin and Taehyung on their heads simultaneously. “You’re going to scare her away!”

“Doubtful,” Yoongi says from where he’s still seated on the couch. Oh, so he does speak. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all night. It’s low, raspier in person than in the videos you’ve seen online. His words are directed at Jeongguk, but when you turn your head to look at him you find that his gaze is fixed on you. Your pulse spikes at the discovery. “I don’t think anything could scare her away from you, Guk-ah.”

The words themselves are innocuous, even supportive, but something about the way he says them makes your gut twist. Nobody else seems put off by it, but you can tell something’s not right. You have to say something, to open your mouth and speak. You have to pull this off, for Jeongguk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, forcing a smile. You manage to tear your gaze away from Yoongi, looking back at Jeongguk. He’s grinning down at you, and it’s real, even if the pretense of it isn’t. Your smile becomes a little less forced in return.

★ ★ ★

Jimin and Taehyung are insistent that you stick around and celebrate for a while, so you do. You end up enjoying yourself, despite the weird moment with Yoongi. 

Jimin and Taehyung are fun to be around, just like Jeongguk said they would be, although conversation between the three of them becomes a little hard for you to follow sometimes. They just talk so fast. 

They ask you questions about your job, your friends, your family. They also tease Jeongguk relentlessly in front of you and seem all too thrilled to find out that you’re their noona. You find it surprising how easily you open up to them, but it just… happens. Just like it did with Jeongguk when you first met.

You relax enough to convince yourself that your perceived pointed nature of Yoongi’s words earlier was all in your head. Surely, he couldn’t have a problem with you when he doesn’t even know you. Jeongguk told you himself that Yoongi’s a quiet guy. Maybe that was his own way of telling you he approves of you. He hasn’t said or done anything since to make you think otherwise. Granted, he hasn’t said or done anything, period.

Once he arrives, you meet Namjoon, Burn The Stage’s manager. Jeongguk told you a little bit about him, but it was mostly just thinly-veiled thirsting. Now you see why.

He clarifies right off the bat that he already knows who you are, which saves you the anxiety of having to go through the whole routine again, and then he apologizes for being late.

“I was talking to reporters. I wanted the guys to be able to celebrate without having to do any interviews,” he explains as he shakes your hand with a dimpled smile. Damn. Yeah, you don’t blame Jeongguk one bit.

After a while, the champagne catches up with you and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

The staff member that was dabbing Jeongguk’s sweat earlier—Minji, you learn—directs you out of the dressing room and to the nearest women’s bathroom further down the hallway. 

You try to make it as quick as possible, much tipsier than you thought and all the more unstable in these shoes because of it. After one last check of your hair and makeup in the mirror, you make your exit, focusing down at your feet as you go.

Unfortunately, you run headfirst into someone’s chest in the process. Hands come up to grab your elbows, steadying you before you fall flat on your face. For a second, you think maybe Minji had been waiting to escort you back to the dressing room, but these are not a woman’s hands holding you up. Wait a second, you think. You definitely saw these ring-clad fingers displayed on a huge screen earlier. Strumming at a guitar, perhaps?

In a moment of amazing mental clarity on your part considering the state you’re in, you realize that these are Min Yoongi’s hands, and your head snaps up to look up at him.

“Yoongi-ssi! I’m so sorry!” You quickly right yourself to the best of your ability, pressing your hand to the wall next to you for support.

Once he’s sure you can hold yourself up without his help, Yoongi instantly retracts his hands, crossing his arms over his chest. “I should’ve been looking where I was going,” you add, doing your best to bow in apology without losing your balance again.

Yoongi tilts his head at you as if he’s assessing you, his gaze inscrutable. Man, for a lyricist this guy isn’t big on words. You’re just about to politely say goodbye and head back to the dressing room when he finally speaks.

“I’ve spent the past hour trying to figure out what your angle could possibly be, but I’m coming up short.”

Um. What?

“Huh?” you manage, blinking at Yoongi like he’s suddenly grown a second head.

“It’s not like your career’s in any trouble. Nobody thinks you're Korea’s angel or anything, but your shit reputation hasn’t stopped you from getting brand deals,” Yoongi continues, scoffing to himself. “Are you just bored? Is this what you do to amuse yourself?”

Uh oh. He knows. He knows for sure, and even worse, he thinks that you’re the mastermind.

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, forcing your voice to remain level. You don’t even try to defend your reputation. It’s not like he’s wrong. 

“Right,” Yoongi says, leaning in a little closer, like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Well, a word of advice. If you want people to buy that you’re really in love with Jeongguk, you could try to look less like you’re going to throw up when he touches you.”

FUCK. You thought you pulled it off. You thought you pulled it off, and now here’s Jeongguk’s goddamn hero telling you point-blank that you didn’t. You wrack your brain trying to think of anything you could possibly say to defend yourself, to get this guy off your ass, because this cannot be your fault. You’d never forgive yourself.

“I—”

“Or,” Yoongi starts, cutting you off. “You could just cut the bullshit and leave Jeongguk alone.” He pauses, rubbing his chin as if he’s pretending to think about it and then nodding once. “Yeah, let’s go with that one.”

Jesus Christ he’s a piece of work. You feel your fists clench at your sides, your nails digging painfully into your palms. You just got your nails done, and there’s a strong possibility you’ll draw blood, but it’s all you can do not to strangle this asshole right here and leave Burn The Stage without a guitarist.

“Yoongi-ssi,” you say, your words dripping with fake politeness. Fuck this guy, actually. “I don’t know what I’ve done to give you such a bad impression of me, but I assure you that Jeongguk and I are very much in love.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t buy it?” Yoongi asks, voice tinged with impatience. “You may have everyone else in that room fooled, but not me, and if you hurt Jeongguk I can guarantee it won’t end well for you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snap. “Again, I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to make you think so poorly of me, but I meant what I said in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

You need to remove yourself from this interaction right now before you do something stupid like burst into tears. You take the opportunity to push past Yoongi before he gets a chance to say anything else, making sure to essentially shoulder check him in the process because again, fuck this guy.

You stalk down the hallway, feeling much more sober now. It’s as if all of the alcohol got forcibly drained from your system in the face of total fucking disaster, and you’re honestly thankful for it, because the last thing you need is this asshole seeing you actually fall.

For a moment, you’re fooled into thinking you’d successfully ended the conversation, but of course he needs the last word.

“I know more about you than you think, dollface.”

Dollface? The fuck?

You chance a glance behind you and you immediately regret it. Yoongi leans against the wall where you left him, an amused smirk spread over his face, and the sight immediately fills you with dread, a type of primal panic you haven’t felt in four years flooding your senses.

He doesn’t… He couldn’t know about that. There’s no possible way. Jeongguk doesn’t even know about that. Nobody does, because you’ve done everything in your meager power to keep it that way.

You whip your head back around to face front, your heels clacking on the crusty linoleum beneath them as you continue down the hallway. Don’t look back, you think. He doesn’t know. 

You’re thankful that you brought your bag with you to the bathroom, because you’re very much not in the mood for a party now. Once you’re safely outside, you call your car and send a text to Jeongguk explaining your sudden escape. You felt sick, you tell him. 

It’s not like it’s a lie. 

Yoongi loves being on stage.

Over the past few years, there’s been a noticeable change in his demeanor. He’s become passive, apathetic to the normal day-to-day that comes with being a celebrity. Nothing really wows him anymore.

He remembers the way he reacted to the accommodations the band received when they first got signed. He was way too scared to ask for things at first, but the label gave it all to him anyway.

For instance, Yoongi’s always been particular about his stationery. The first time he filled a notebook after getting signed, he didn’t even think to consider it a company expense. Why would he? He was fully capable of buying his own shit, even if he had to save up for it. Sure, every time he had to write a lyric down on the back of a receipt his eye would twitch, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

But the label guys noticed. Before he even had a chance to buy his next batch of notebooks and pens, he was sat down in a spacious meeting room and asked point-blank what he needed. When Yoongi gave them specifics—Leuchtturm 1917 unlined hardcover pocket journals and a fuckton of Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pens—they didn’t even bat an eye. When he—rightfully—warned them that he might strangle someone if he’s handed a gel pen instead of a ballpoint, they just assured him that wouldn’t happen.

Ever since then, there’s been an endless supply of exactly what he needs, always within reach. He’s still grateful for that, of course, because he goes through those fuckers fast. But it’s just a fact of his life now. It’s not special to get his fucking Leuchtturms anymore, not when he could douse his entire supply with gasoline and burn it on a whim and still have a fresh one in his hand within mere minutes.

And it’s not just journals and pens.

Namjoon is the band’s representative. Yoongi picked him personally long before there was any contract, or even hope for one, and if everything were to go to shit tomorrow, Namjoon would still be there. But after the single from their second album charted on the Billboard Hot 100, a label-equivalent to Namjoon was hired, as if anybody could ever be equivalent to Namjoon. Park Hyunseok. Park Hyunseok, whose sole duty is to buzz around Yoongi and his bandmates like a pesky fly and “make sure they’re happy.” They quite literally want for nothing.

Yoongi remembers when his skin used to buzz with the emotions simmering just under the surface. He was fiery in his youth, pissed off and ready to prove a point. He felt everything strongly, fully.

Not so much these days. Anger is only marketable for so long, or so he’s been told.

For the past year, Yoongi’s felt numb to the world. And he’s dealt with it, of course. That’s what he does. The album did great, the tour sold out, the boys are happy. That’s really all that matters. He just doesn’t know how he’s going to write another fucking album if he’s got nothing to write about anymore.

Still, he loves being on stage. There’s nothing like it. It never gets old, never gets boring. He still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling of stepping onstage and feeling a crowd scream his name, scream his lyrics right back at him. Lyrics to songs that he wrote in his shoebox apartment when he was eighteen and it felt like nobody gave a fuck about him. Funny how things change.

Nobody can take that feeling away from him, even if they’ve taken all the other ones.

It’s been a good night. It feels good to be back in Seoul after being away for months, feels even better to be on this particular stage again. Yoongi always feels keyed up after a good show, itching to do something with all of the energy thrumming through his body, and tonight is no different. He’s almost giddy with the opportunity to celebrate this tour with his bandmates and Namjoon and then go home and crash. Home. Fuck, it’s a good night. He has a hot date with his king size bed.

But then you.

It’s been years since you’ve even been a thought in Yoongi’s brain, and he liked it that way. Unfortunately, it’s apparently true what they say: all good things must come to an end.

Yoongi sees right through you. He's met so many of your type in his life that even if he hadn’t met you before he would’ve been able to sniff you out the second you walked backstage. Users. Social climbers. The bored and braindead looking for their next toy. The exact kind of person he’s been trying to protect Jeongguk from this whole time, and now you’re on his arm. 

And whatever, a hookup is one thing. Yoongi frankly doesn’t give a fuck where Jeongguk decides to stick his dick. The less he knows the better on that front. But a relationship? No, it isn’t real. Yoongi knows that much. Maybe it is for Jeongguk, but not for you. He's never even heard Jeongguk, hopeless romantic extraordinaire, talk about you.

Jeongguk introduces you as his girlfriend, and suddenly it’s like Yoongi’s watching a car crash in slow motion. He prays that he’s not alone, that Jimin and Taehyung have caught on to your piss-poor acting skills—seriously, you look like you’re about to pass out—but it looks like Yoongi’s entirely alone on this one. You have them wrapped around your little finger with minimal effort. He has a feeling that comes as naturally to you as breathing.

Of course, Yoongi has the added displeasure of having met you before, way back when. When you had the chance to be somebody, before you pissed it away, to what? To pout in front of a camera for a living? He thought he’d run out of ways to be wrong about you four years ago, but clearly you just can’t help yourself.

And of course you don’t remember him. Why would you?

Yoongi knows Jeongguk better than anybody. He also knows that thing people say about teenagers is true. If you tell them not to do something, they’ll only want to do it more. Jeongguk may be a grown man now, but he’s stubborn as fuck, and he never grew out of that. If he goes to Jeongguk and flat-out tells him that his girlfriend is a piece of human garbage, Jeongguk will only date her harder.

He tries to control the infection at the source by confronting you directly, but it’s clear the fire that he thought you lacked is, in fact, there, if only to piss Yoongi off.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

Okay.

If that’s how you want to play, Yoongi can fucking play. He’s going to make you wish you’d left Jeongguk alone when he gave you the chance.

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[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #327

Today, J and I got up early. Early enough for me to snap some pretty good pictures of the morning sky:

J wanted to practice takeoffs and landings while having me in the plane, and so that is what we did! I got a couple neat pictures as we did that:

I guess there was some kind of forest fire that spread to a nearby mountain range from a state that is east of us. It's why the first picture is all weird and hazy-looking. We were gonna go to the place where new pilots practice, and J was gonna ask me to do some things, but visibility was a bit too low. We decided to do that some other time.

We decided to go to Eggcellent once we were done. Ea was there. And apparently, today is their last ever day of making and selling their famous cream cheese tarts:

Of these, my favorite is easily the yuzu one. But when they have matcha, that one is my favorite.

...I'm a little sad that they're not gonna make these anymore. But apparently, the cost of the shell that the filling goes into is getting so high that they'd have to sell each of these little tarts for $6 if they wanted to turn a profit. They think that such a price would be unreasonable. So they're going to try to make Portuguese tarts instead. I don't know what a Portuguese tart is, but if it's made by Ea and Ch, I'm sure it's gonna be delectable!

We spoke to Ea at length about the general state of things here. There were several things that he wasn't aware of, I guess. We explained that we will try to leave, and he seemed sad about it. He and J talked a little about the idea of us starting a Canadian branch of Eggcellent, haha...

...It's a nice idea, but I don't know a damn thing about running a business. I could memorize their recipes, but... I'd probably get really frustrated and overwhelmed with trying to figure out the logistics. And who knows whether people would even wanna try it.

...I looked into maybe studying game design in Canada. There's apparently an 8-month program somewhere over there. I'm gonna try to figure out how much it costs, and whether I can do it remotely. I'll need some of those skills for certain stories that I've got rolling up around in my noggin.

J and I went to a meetup for autistic people after that. There was me, J, a dude and his son who was about my age, I think, and also a lady with her son, who might have been a few years younger than me.

...The lady spoke to J and I as though she didn't understand that there's a difference between “quiet” and “stupid”. She kept responding to anything that J said with a slow, high-pitched, patronizing, “oh that's so interesting,” as though she was speaking to a small child showing off their paperclip collection, instead of to a grown man who was talking about his experiences as a musician in a ska band. I found it rather distasteful, but I wasn't sure that it was worth fighting a battle over; her son was wearing a camouflage-print John Deere hat, and a shirt that said, “I don't need no therapy; I just need to listen to more Garth Brooks!”

...You're not going to understand the cultural references behind non-military and non-hunting things being camouflage-print. You're not going to understand the relevance of John Deere and how these things fit together. And you're not going to understand Garth Brooks, or the implications of denying the efficacy of therapy, and how these two things are connected. And that's perfectly fine. I'm not going to explain it. I sure do wish that some of my brain cells weren't allocated towards knowing these things, so I'm not gonna force you to also allocate any of your brain cells for the purpose of understanding it.

So don't worry about it. It's ugly stuff anyway – stuff I grew up in and understand intuitively; I don't think I'd be able to explain it well even if I tried. It's too much contempt towards mental health concepts, too much contempt towards the idea that men also have feelings, too much worship of military culture, too much worship of rural culture, and too much worship of extremely narrow definitions of “masculinity”, all rolled up into a few very small symbols, and worn in a performative fashion. There are too many hostile defense mechanisms in play from this other person for me to be able to untangle them all.

I was glad to be home. The other man and his son seemed generally delightful, and I look forward to maybe meeting them again, but... I was glad to be home.

I'm... tired today. Though I'm not sure why. It could be a simple matter of me not keeping up with my water intake as much as I ought to lately. It could be the weight of things catching up to me. It could be that I didn't sleep well last night. I'm not really sure.

...Are you doing any better where you are...? I wonder...

It's cold outside. It's supposed to be cold outside. But I guess the chill has kinda seeped into the house, despite the heat being on. Suppose the thing to do is sit in front of the fireplace for a while until the chill decides to leave my bones.

...Wanna join me...?

...It's impossible, I know. But maybe you can pop by, kick off your boots, and warm up your toes here next to me.

...Maybe I'll try to play a video game tomorrow or something...

Hey. I love you. And even on days I'm tired, I'm still gonna write to you. So please stay safe out there. Please keep making good choices. Because I'm gonna write a letter to you tomorrow, too.

'Til soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[alarrytale]

When do you think the window will close for HL to become a power couple or to CO and make a big impact? I was just thinking about how Nicholas is gaining a lot of attention and he's almost 29, not far off Harry. His age hasn't really worked against him. Same with many other musicians and actors who are in their 30s upwards and are doing great. I don't know why but it feels different with HL. Maybe it's because they've been in the limelight for so long. Generally speaking, they're very boring compared to other celebrities. Their images haven't changed much since the beginning of their solo careers. Whereas someone like TS keeps reinventing herself. Harry is still a womanizer and Louis is still a laddy lad. Because they're in the closet they're not unleashing their full potential. It holds them back in every way. It affects both of them but I think it especially affects Harry. He looks so tired and fed up. It would be a huge weight off them if they CO. The longer it takes them to CO the less impact it'll make.

Here's a few asks about Harry in regards to coming out, hussell, citrus fruit bicycles and rebranding, and my answers to them.

Hi, anon!

I think mostly it's because as you say, they haven't really reinvented themselves. They don't have social media precence and is not engaging their audience in other ways. It's like they're tired of playing these games and they're low effort and low energy.

They've also got so much baggage, so many loose ends to tie up before everything is forgiven and forgotten. As much as they are going for a blank slate, the slate is alredy full of paint. They can't rid themselves of their history and former actions.

Harry really isn't bothering to spend much time with Louis. He's been in London for well over a month now.

Well, Harry is on a well deserved break from touring (while pursuing other ventures...) and he's working. Louis is working too. Do you know anyone who brings their significant other to work? They're obviously both prioritising work rn, and they've talked about it and decided it together. We also do not know if Harry's been to see L on tour. So do not fret. All is well in larryland.

He's not a slow burn, but a quick and fast burning star./// Even if Harry lost all his fans tomorrow he would never be described like this. He's been hugely famous and successful since 2010, that's 13 years. Even as a soloist he's been around for 8 years. A fast burning star is a two album wonder like Shawn Mendes.

You misunderstand me, anon. We are talking about H's career not being designed to last until he's 80yo here. He can't stunt until he's 80 and expect to keep his fans. He can't rely on his good looks and womaniser image to bring in fans in the year 2073. In order to do that he'd need a different fanbase demographic and a different USP.

I see you mentioned that you are on twitter, so what im about to say might not be news to you but I have to disagree with that ask mentioning Harry’s new stuntship is garnering positive attention, full disclosure im not on tiktok but I have been monitoring Harry/Harries/Larries on other social media platforms like twitter/instagram/tumblr to see the reaction of his fandom, I have to say that there is a general indifference to H and her, most of their outings don’t even make noise outside of a relatively small portion of Harries (im basing this on comparing the numbers of interactions Harry gets on his own versus he gets with her, bigger update accounts dont even posts updates on them (it is funny that hld does and other dont lol) -i saw his team got an account posing as a new pop culture account post about them tho it is hilarious), he has a large fandom that is known to be online all the time so a couple of hundreds of people talking about those outings is nothing compared to thousands of people reacting to his ‘newest’ tattoo reveal, funny enough that is the most he was talked since the tour ended, that must be alarming to his team seeing that he has a new fling, so we know how exciting and erratic that gets within fandom with girlfriend harries acting like they are the ones in the honeymoon period of said relationship and larries trying to prove that it is yet another pr attempt, larries have the biggest “whatever” energy I have seen we have when it comes to this, what must be concerning for them is that this is not a consequence of conscious effort on fandom’s part, people just don’t care. I’m of the opinion that his team pit hets against larries or vice versa to generate nonstop convo surrounding Harry, but that is not happening rn. I give them that they tried something new with this pr, they chose a poc interest which became a hot topic for just a minute but people quickly got used to that “reality”. However some poc harries are not as much pleased by this situation bc they are realizing that so much of Harry’s public persona and life is just him/his team reacting to how he is perceived so they are feeling like this is not something genuine but an attempt to savor a part of Harry’s image -this i observed in older harries (when i say older I mean people aged 22 and above), younger ones are just accepting it as is.

I talked about this with another blog in detail, but his former stuntship being so exposed ruined the fantasy of boyfriend harry for too many of his fans especially older ones which is a shame bc it shows a)they got wiser to his public persona/brand and didn’t like it b)those are the fans that needed to stick around for harry to have a longer career as they were (imo) leftovers of 1D fandom, they literally outgrew him, I watched some of them leave during the former stunt and now im seeing the ones that are left publicly making fun of him, I know so many of Harry’s fans, larries or harries, are not ready to talk about this but boyfriend H is an enormous selling point of Harry as a brand so his team being so invested in pushing stunt after a stunt is not helping him, on the contrary it is giving non-larrie fans an opening to question what he/his team serve as harry styles. They are catching up on the fact that there is always the same formula at play when it comes to his private life or his interactions with his fans or his need to be seen only when he wants to sell smth. I saw his team paying well known accounts on instagram/twitter to post about him, his music, his heartfelt moments from the tour, name anything outside of his relationships (there is nothing wrong with this by the way, so many of celebrities do this to get their news out there ‘organically’) but GP don’t respond well to Harry, he might be well known but the reputation he has with gp wont help him prolong his career, on top of that seeing the state of fandom rn, he is in desperate need of rebranding asap, idk if his latest antics have anything to do with showing record labels that he has what it takes to get another multimillion dollars contract but they are failing and turning off some of his fans that are in his corner from him.

Hi!

Yes, yes, yes! I hard agree. I think you, i and the tiktok anons who thinks hussell is garnering a lot of attention just have to agree to disagree on this.

As i said, i think we're at a cross road. He needs to makes some decisions on how to proceed next. Does he want a short career or a long one, does he want to risk losing core fans, does he want to risk becoming a laughing stock and not be taken seriously as an artist? Or does he want longevity and respect?

Harry is a multimillionaire. Why the hell would he rent L*me bikes in London, where he lives, when he could just use his own bike? Antis are so stupid. How do they explain him disappearing for weeks and then getting spotted every single day. I'd bet they think that in the month over the holidays we didn't see him that he never left the house. Ridiculous lmao. The real reason why they are arguing against L*me being a PR deal is because by admitting that Harry does PR it means that his 'relationship' with TR could be PR for L*ewe. Which means his other 'relationships' could be PR. By admitting he does PR it opens up a can of worms. So they'll never admit to that no matter how obvious it is. They're ignorant by choice.

Hi,

Again, i'm not happy about the name calling here. Antis have been gaslighted for years and it's not their fault. So please refrain from the name calling. I've seen a lot of het harries calling out the citrus fruit promo, so some see it. Some i think is seeing it, but they have an ingrained need to defend him from critisism. There is no doubt it's promo.

I think the relationship with TR is to repair his image after the damage Holivia did, and also the L*ewe connection. It's image rehab and it's working. They picked a poc, an unproblematic woman and it's a 'low key' relationship. The Harries and the gp are eating it up. It's getting him back into people's good books. People are really invested. I can't see it being a short stunt, it'll be at least a year. If it ends in a few months it's not going to look good for him. Harries want to see him settle down and are questioning why he isn't. There will be more questioning when he hits his 30s. Short flings are going to make him look as if he can't hold a relationship down so the stunts will be longer. You said that we might be due for a rebrand sooner than we think. I wish for this too but I don't see him CO very soon as he's with TR. He holds hands with her so they do want people to think they're in a relationship.  If he isn't CO soon then what kind of image rebrand can he get? He can't be rebranded as queer as he's still going to stunt with women. He'll get even worse backlash. I can only see them pushing his het image more. Showing that he can hold down long term relationships with women. Doing the power couple thing with a woman. Which I think I'd rather not have lol.

Hi!

Would you repair a failed pr relationship with another pr relationship that might also fail? That's a big risk to take. I'm not sure i agree that hussell is image rehab for harry. People are tired of stunts in general and i think no matter who he chose as a new stunt after O, we'd be just as fed up and tired.

Also see two asks above. There is fandom disagreement on this point.

I don't know if this is going to be long or short. It depends on Harry's next plans, and we're not privy to them yet.

A rebrand doesn’t have to mean a coming out. It might just be changing the target audience, changing music genre or changing clothing style. Maybe he's doing more movies or maybe he wants to start a luxury clothing brand. We don’t know.

Hussell will never be a power couple. She's too unknown and not on his level. And i don't think Harry would want that either. He'd look visibly unhappy and uninterested if they tried that. More than he already does with her now.

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

You & Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

18+, NSFW, 183k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, Protective!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Abuse, Slow Burn, Konig Pines Hard, Sexual Content, Porn with Too Much Plot, First Time, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Smut, Fluff, Angst

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE WARNING I

While you haven’t let go of him, you and Konig still haven’t shared a word since the dressing room. Savoring the short break on the ride to The President’s mansion, letting Ruby do all the talking as she coaches you on party etiquette.

Neither of you are listening.

You’re both worn out, fixated on your shoes, eyes hollow and thoughts a million miles away. Your headache is pounding, every last muscle in your body aches, and with each blink you have to fight to reopen your heavy eyelids.

It’s when you try to take the crown off your head that Ruby cuts through.

“No, no! What are you doing? Leave that on.”

“But-“

“Oh, no, young lady! The victors wear their crowns - You earned it!”

You release a weighty sigh, too tired to argue, and let your crowned head lull back on the luxurious leather seats.

Once you arrive at the mansion gates, Ruby stops you when you move to open the door, insisting you wait for an attendant to do it. You and Konig step from the limo linked at the elbows, and are immediately blinded in all directions by flashing, white lights.

What must be a hundred cameras snapping photos, Capitol elite overlapping in grating shouts.

You and Konig turn in on each other, raising your hands to block out the harsh flashes from all directions. Ruby skips over and gives you both a gentle shove on your backs.

“Well, go on you two!”

She lightly swats your bicep.

“And don’t cover your face! They’re taking pictures. You’re going to look ridiculous!”

You can hardly hear her over the buzz of the crowd, too busy trying to keep your heels planted on the red carpet and not on your tribute pedestal, deafened by the sound of Eleven’s snapping neck at each shutter of a camera lens.

You cling to Konig’s arm with both hands as you wobble on your heels through the golden gates of The President’s mansion, heart pounding in your chest, wide eyes catching a hundred cheering, smiling faces. You both flinch and draw in a sharp breath at the sound of an explosion, only to look up and see candy-colored fireworks sparkling in the shape of your names.

The President’s garden is so off-puttingly perfect, neatly sculpted hedges and bushes of roses, not a single leaf or petal wilted or brown. A large fountain sits in the center of the garden, the flow of water glowing with a rainbow of colors as they cascade to the shimmering pool below. Soft, twinkling lights seemingly float and bob in the air, casting a dim, ever-changing glow onto the guests. Paths designed with patterns of colorful river stones sidewind around the garden, and a stage hosts musicians, playing a triumphant song on your debut.

Konig’s eyes meet yours, both of you exchanging a look of hesitance as you’re led to the stairs up to the mansion, swarms of people lined up on either side of the riverstone path.

Every eye at this party is trained in your direction. You feel like you’re on display, a prey with hundreds of hungry eyes on you just waiting for their opportunity to pounce. As they clap and cheer loud enough to be heard miles away, Ruby guides you to the mansion’s marble stairs where she gives you a gentle shove and struts off.

Maybe you’d know what the hell is going on if you’d bothered to listen to Ruby in the limo, but you’re guessing you’re both to make your way to the balcony and meet The President, standing tall and towering over the party from his perch.

You cling to Konig’s bicep, keeping careful watch of your shaky heels with each step.

You give The President a weak smile with sloped brows as you near the top of the stairs, a shaky peace offering. The eyes that meet yours are unforgiving and entirely cancel out his perfect smile. You’re too weak to hold his gaze for long, watching yourself kick up your sparkly dress hem with every step instead.

You can still feel it, his stare. It’s burning your skin, piercing straight through to your core and melting your insides to a heavy sludge.

By the time you both make it to the top of the stairs, your legs have turned to gelatin and your muscles are trying to vibrate their way out of your skin.

A Capitol attendant extends an intricately-rimmed silver platter to you both, two long stem wine glasses filled with a yellowish, bubbling drink placed neatly in the center.

“Is this alcohol?” You whisper to the attendant, who gives a curt nod in response.

You and Konig gently pluck your glasses off the tray. You go to take a sip, but stop when the attendant widens his eyes and shakes his head at you.

The crowd laughs from down in the garden. Your head snaps to meet them, brows tight in confusion and cheeks flushing with heat.

Your eyes nervously flick to The President. His smile says amusement, but those dangerous eyes are flickering with a flame of pure hatred.

You swallow and look down to the floor as Konig’s arm sneaks around your waist with a tug into his side.

The music ends in a grandiose flourish, and in its absence you can hear a few straggling chatters and hushes from the guests down in the garden.

You flinch as The President’s slow but powerful words broadcast over the speakers.

“A toast. To a truly inspiring year of the Hunger Games.”

The crowd has their glasses raised, and you follow their lead as discreetly as possible, hoping anyone won’t notice you’re late to your cue or the shake in your fingers.

“And to two victors who beat all the odds, and overcame great adversity.”

The President’s stare flits in your direction without warning.

It reminds you of the snake from Price’s games, like you had thrown a fruit square into his neck, those sharp eyes narrowed and slicing straight through you. You’re worried he might just slither over and swallow you whole.

“May your dedication to each other remain unwavering.”

The crowd gives a one-note cheer, playing a symphony with their glasses, exchanging hundreds of clinks and tinks before collectively drinking. You follow their lead, the drink sloshing and bubbling furiously against the glass in your jittering hands.

The President’s eyes are still trained carefully on yours when he tilts his glass and sips his drink with his wrinkled lips.

His stare seems to paralyze you, you’re unable to look away, in shock from the gashes he left behind with his cutting eyes, your guts spilling out and filthying his pristine balcony.

You finally break the stare when the crowd laughs again, taking a strong gulp of air as you pull away your empty glass to wipe your lips with the back of your hand, smearing lipstick on your skin.

“What? What’d I do?” You ask.

Konig leans into you and speaks from the side of his lips, trying to keep his words discreet.

“I think you were just supposed to take a sip.”

You look down to the empty glass in your hands, and then to everyone else’s glasses, still bubbling with the yellowish drink.

You close your eyes and force a deep breath through your nose, fighting the urge to cover your burning face as you wish for this balcony to swallow you whole.

You can’t bring yourself to check in with The President, afraid you’ll once again be frozen under his surely displeased, no - loathsome stare.

The Capitol attendant has sensed you and Konig have absolutely no idea what’s going on, and wordlessly guides you both to make your way down to the garden once again.

So many stairs, such unsuitable shoes and dress hem. The only thing you can focus on is how terrified you are that you might fall face first down these elegant stairs in front of the entire country.

Oh, and of course, the eyes burning holes in the back of your head.

You take it out on Konig’s arm, your grip on him so tight your knuckles are shaking. It takes you both far too long to descend the marble stairs, but the crowd waits patiently with brilliant smiles and clapping hands.

As soon as your second heel makes contact with the garden’s riverstones, you’re surrounded.

Trapped by a blur of chests and pushing arms and touchy hands, the open air robbed from you and replaced with suffocating drunken breath. They’re ruthless, elbowing each other out of the way to get pictures with you both where you will surely look horrified and confused. There must be ten hands on you, hundreds of voices speaking to you at once.

Grabbing around your arms, your free hand, someone puts their hands on your hip and squeezes.

“Hey!”

You whip around, keeping your grip on Konig as you try to wiggle and shove your way from their hands, but as soon as you swat a pair away, another comes to replace it.

You catch sight of Konig, flinching at your side, trying to get away from much too adventurous touches and insistent questions. He’s trying to shake away the women clinging to his bicep and feeling up his chest.

The rage that engulfs you is instantaneous and red hot.

You bare grit teeth, elbowing to put yourself in front of him and shove away the outstretched hands reaching for him.

Konig’s arms close in on you, though, and with a stiff yank he pulls your front into his in an useless effort to hide you. You gasp and flinch into Konig’s chest when someone’s hand melds far too low on your back.

Before you can swivel to find the culprit, Konig’s arm whizzes over your shoulder, and Titan’s pulpy, caved-in face blinds you when he makes impact. You and the flock collectively gasp, followed by the sound of a body lifelessly collapsing onto the river stones.

Your eyes are screwed shut, trembling fingers clawing into Konig’s suit as Sapphire rips her own spear from your hands with her dead weight.

You snap.

Each flash of a camera, each grabbing hand, every grating voice a build-up of pressure in your skull until it explodes. There is no time for thought, your body moves without permission.

You snatch a long-stemmed wine glass from a guest’s hand, and duck to a squat to smash it against the river stones. As soon as the shards burst in all directions, the drink foaming and lapping up your dress, you’re on your feet to bring what remains of the jagged crystal to Titan’s throat - jabbing Sapphire’s bloody spear at him in threat. With heavy breath you hold your ground, swiveling on your feet and thrusting her spear at anyone who dares to near you.

The circle of heels and dress shoes finally begins to make room, gasps and shouts of horror from all directions. You think a few people have actually fainted.

You can make out Ruby’s shrills somewhere in the crowd.

“What on earth?! What happened?!”

You can see her hair bobbing as she excuses her way through the crowd, skidding on her heels to a stop when she breaks the growing clearing.

Her hand shoots up to her mouth as she eyes up the mess - shattered glass and an unconscious body lying in foaming drink.

“What did you do?!”

As soon as you lock on to her face, you suck in a sharp breath, your face transitioning from rage to horror.

You are not in the arena.

You are at the fanciest party in the country, being broadcasted live to all of Panem, attacking Capitol elite at The President’s mansion.

You choke on a squeak as you meet the silent crowd, staring on with gaped mouths and wide eyes. The wine glass stem is tossed from your hands as if it was burning you, a violent shake in your fingers and tears in your eyes.

You’ve been angry before, but nothing like this. Ever since you left the arena you feel like an rabid animal, teeth bared and relying purely on instinct.

Ruby sees your face, drained of color and mortified, and she forces herself to rid her shocked expression as she smooths two hands over the front of her dress.

Her glossy heels side step the puddle of drink and broken glass before she puts a gentle hand on both your shoulders, guiding you both to turn and walk.

“Excuse us, excuse us for a moment. Yes, yes, you’ll all get your photos, dears!” She says with her charming, bright white grin, ignoring the shocked faces and the humiliation you just know is burning her skin.

Every eye is trained on you, the guest’s murmurs to each other drowned out by the upbeat music.

Your entire body is shaking, face simmering with a nauseating heat as Ruby leads you along the pathways out of the garden, paraded in front of every last guest until you’re out of sight.

She’s trying to stuff it down, but the hysteria in Ruby’s hushed voice is certain.

“What is going on?!”

“They were - they were touching us,” You stammer.

“Of course they were! They want photos with you!”

Konig’s bicep hardens under your clammy palms when he crosses his arms over his chest.

“No touching,” He says, “Or we leave.”

“You can’t leave!” Ruby chirps, “This party is for you! Do you know how rude that would be?”

“As rude as grabbing her ass?” Konig grits.

Ruby’s pacing now, her heels clicking on the ground and her hands rubbing out her temples.

“As rude as downing your glass of champagne during The President’s toast?! As rude as attacking Capitol officials?!”

She shakes her head at you both in disbelief, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

“What has gotten into you two?!”

You sputter, your brows pinching and hands flinging out at your sides.

“We died, Ruby! That’s what happened! We died! And we killed! And you can’t just-”

You cut yourself off with a growl before continuing.

“You can’t just expect us to go back to normal!”

Ruby sticks a ring-adorned finger in the air, and the thick superiority in her voice immediately triggers your eyes to roll.

“May I remind you, the people at this party spent large sums of money to send you gifts, which kept you both alive in that arena.”

“I didn’t get anything from them,” You spit.

“Well, if it weren’t for them, Konig would not be alive - and I seem to recall him saving your life quite a few times.”

“I didn’t realize that meant we were giving them a pass to grope us,” Konig says.

“They’re just being friendly,” Ruby says with a dismissive wave, “You two are victors! The whole country wants a photo with you! And you two are acting like animals!”

Ouch.

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re treated like one,” You mumble, scraping pebbles under your heels.

Ruby sighs.

“Can you play nice for one evening? I told you you’re on strict orders! You’re going to give John a heart attack!”

Your brows immediately pinch, the hostility drained from your voice and replaced with confusion.

“Where is Price?”

You can’t help but feel a little abandoned. You’re certain if he was here this whole mess wouldn’t have happened.

“Oh, who knows,” Ruby dismisses with a roll of her eyes and a smack of her lips, “That brute is probably off drinking.”

Ruby launches into a rant about Price’s lack of respect, and you and Konig both take your opportunity to relish in another breather, prying the feeling of wandering, drunken Capitol hands from your unwilling bodies.

The open air is nice, a moment of respite, even. The air in the theatre was so stuffy, cycled through thousands of lungs and fried by stage lights. The air at the party, while open, is suffocating. Distorted and tight with grating voices and hundreds of prying eyes.

This air, the air outside the gates, - it’s resetting, crisp and begging for your attention. The breeze is soothing on your face and arms, almost painful as it passes through your nostrils with each crisp breath.

“Now can you please show an ounce of decorum?”

“We’ll show them as much decorum as they show us,” Konig says flatly.

You tilt your head up at him, and give his bicep a squeeze. He’s wearing those bored eyes, standing tall with his chest puffed out.

“You’re victors now,” Ruby tutts, “You have a standard to uphold! Please do not embarrass me any further!”

You just sigh.

Tired.

When the three of you return to the party, stiff and so clearly uncomfortable, your crown hangs low. You stare only at your dress hem dragging along the walkways.

The silver lining is everyone keeps their distance, whispering to each other and sneaking glances in your direction instead of crowding you both.

It’s humiliating, and you feel like there’s a spotlight on you, but at least you have free rein of the buffet.

And you are starving.

The food may just be the best thing that’s happened to you all day.

Wait, no - second best thing.

It smells so good.

There are too many dishes, there’s no possible way you’ll be able to taste them all, but it’s not going to stop you from trying. Creamy soups and meats draped in flavored, savory sauces, potatoes cooked in just about any way you can imagine, an entire table lined with only desserts, all of which look more like art to be admired than food to be devoured.

Oh, and the drinks.

You truly thought all booze tasted terrible, so the drinks they serve, fruity and sweet and barely tastes of alcohol, only makes you wonder why Price drinks whiskey.

You and Konig take your assigned seats just in front of The President’s mansion, giving him a perfect view of his aberrant victors.

There’s hundreds of circular tables, each one draped with a pristine, pure-white table cloth. A flame sits in the center of perfect centerpieces, and it must be a fake, because it’s ringed by flowers and a nest of twigs that sit far too close to the realistic flame.

It feels weird to be eating.

Too normal, too routine, so out of place after the nightmare you woke up from. You can’t help but feel like you’re not worthy of it. Like there’s twenty-two tributes sitting with you at this table, watching as you gorge yourself with their lifeless eyes and empty plates.

You push through it.

It helps that the food tastes too tempting for you to convince yourself to put your fork down.

The silence has continued between you and Konig as you eat, too tired, too guilty, too raw to talk. Your chairs could not be closer, though, your thighs flush together and arms bumping as you eat.

You sneak glances at him from your peripheral throughout your meal, and it hurts. Everytime you look at him, it is a new reminder of the horrors - gruesome kills and sacrificial deaths.

It doesn’t hurt to rest your head on his bicep once your stomach is bursting at the seams, though.

Mauve joins you three at some point, and aside from Mauve’s gushing paired with plenty of cheek kisses, and Ruby’s pointers on table etiquette paired with light swats, you couldn’t repeat a single thing either of them said if you tried.

The booze is making you sleepy, drowsy eyelids fluttering shut as you embrace the cozy warmth the alcohol brings to your skin. You give in to its whim, using Konig’s arm as a pillow and forcing yourself to only think of the music and the scents of extravagant dishes.

The atmosphere of the party has lightened by time you’ve both finished eating, the drinks coursing through the guest’s veins and rowdy conversation lending you both a hand.

As the guests get drunker, the more courage they have to near, and one of them finally breaks the barrier and asks for a photo with you both.

When not greeted with punches and shards of glass, the others steadily trickle over with caution, until you’re both swarmed once again.

With every snap of a photo, you have to stifle the image of the boy from eleven. His lifeless eyes stare back at you from the center of each bright white flash, every shutter of the camera lens slurred into the sound of a broken neck.

Your already forced, uncomfortable smile becomes more warped with each photo, and you’re sure you’re yawning in at least ten percent of them.

Konig doesn’t make any effort to keep up appearances. He stares forward, features hardening as the night drags on. He can’t seem to hide his rightful disdain, eyes projecting hatred and superiority. Like everyone at this party is beneath him.

The first person that dared to put their hand on your shoulder made you flinch and instinctively pull away under their hand, launching back into Konig’s instinctive brace as you face the culprit.

And of course, it’s just about the oldest woman you’ve ever seen, hunched at the back and walking on a cane. Capitol elite or no, she immediately evokes pity, and then guilt. It was surely an innocent and functional touch, and the look of embarrassment on the little old lady’s face burns your face with a matching shame.

“No, no,” You assure her, “I’m sorry, just scared me.”

She gives a laugh, showing her perfect, pearly white teeth. Not a single one of her teeth is rotted, missing, or even the slightest bit brown. You can’t help the way your head shakes in confusion, because you’ve never seen an old person with perfect teeth before. Not a whole lot in District Nine can even live long enough to reach the definition of elderly, let alone do so while maintaining perfect teeth.

The old woman puts her fingertips just under her collarbones.

“Oh, my, can you imagine? A little thing like me?”

You can’t find it in you to laugh with her, only able to conjure a weak smile and faint nod.

These people are so out of touch.

After what you just went through, you’d be startled by the blow of the wind. They’re not treating you like someone who lived the past week as prey, entirely glossing over the fact that your two hands have ended lives, that you’ve just woken up from being dead.

And it coming from just the seemingly innocent, tiny, crippled old lady just makes it all the more eerie.

You’re not supposed to be wiser than someone four times your age, but you can’t help but feel as if you are.

Once everyone sees the little old lady get away with touching the victors without getting knocked unconscious or threatened with broken glass, it’s free reign, and the drunker the guests get, the touchier they get.

They don’t seem to notice your discomfort or annoyance, and the only thing keeping you both from wigging out is Ruby, smiling proudly as she sips her drinks and accepts her congratulations a few feet away. And of course, The President, who you can’t see, but know is watching.

You can’t help but feel like you owe it to Ruby, too. Her very first victors. She’s probably been dreaming of this moment her entire career, and year after year of watching her kids die, maybe she should get to enjoy her moment without dealing with insolence and embarrassment. Especially after she gave you her fancy locket.

So you suck it up.

For hours you deal with the hands on your shoulders, on your back, smoothing over your arms and grabbing your hands.

The hardest part is watching Konig get the same treatment.

In most every photo since the little old lady, your stares are focused on each other, faces twisted as you watch each other get felt up.

It’s when someone other than Mauve or Ruby finds it appropriate to kiss you on the cheek that Konig’s fingernails start to dig into your skin hard enough to make you hiss, your interlocked fists trembling with his rage.

He’s about to lose it again.

“Ruby?! Breather!”

Ruby’s brows pinch, a slight confused jerk of her head as she rips her focus from her conversation.

After a moment you add a stiff, “Please.”

It takes her a moment for it to click.

”Oh, oh! Yes!”

She excuses herself from her conversation, sets down her drink, and waves the crowd away in her standard pushy-but-polite fashion, assuring them they will get their photos, just not now, dears!

When it’s just the three of you, Ruby gives you a proud smile and a nod. Maybe for asking instead of exploding, maybe because you actually used the word, ‘please’ for once, or maybe it’s just because you made her the escort of a victor.

“Oh, my victors,” She hums.

You actually smile a little when you notice it.

Ruby’s drunk.

She’s got a slight sway in her upper half, her cheeks are flushed rosen, and her smile is wider than ever.

It’s incredibly endearing, but Konig does not find it so.

His stance is wide, arms crossed over his chest, and the bicep you cling to is entirely tensed. You give him a squeeze, but he can’t seem to meet your gaze, his half-lidded eyes staring off into the distance. His hand does shift on his own arm to graze a finger over your knuckles, but it only soothes the sting a little.

You know your face is a reminder of the horrors he just went through, and the thought makes your throat swell and ache. As you look down and attempt to swallow the thought away, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

He’s right here, you’re clinging to him, you went through it together, you are together.

But you feel so alone.

Konig’s head tilts towards the ground, and he speaks through grit teeth as he scrapes the sole of his glossy dress shoes on the river rocks.

“Did you see them?”

You perk up, an instantaneous wave of relief washing over you.

Even better that it’s trash talk.

“They’re awful, I wish they’d just stop-“

”No,” He cuts, “On their wrists.”

Your brows furrow as you wait for explanation, but he gives none, continuing to avoid your stare.

You carefully look to the guests, and once you notice one, the others practically scream for your attention. More people are wearing them than not.

Your ribbon.

For a solid five seconds, you stare blankly, bouncing around from wrist to wrist. A momentary calm as you process what the fuck you’re seeing.

That is your ribbon.

You earned that ribbon.

It was your gift.

It was your token to the love of your life.

Turning your gruesome kill, Willow’s suffering, and your parting suicide token into a fashion statement!

You are literally shaking with rage, tears of frustration well in your eyes and threaten to spill over your exaggerated lashes.

When you realize you’ve been holding your breath for far too long, you push a long exhale through parted lips.

You wonder if maybe it’s a good thing. If the ribbons spread far and wide mean that Willow’s pain will not go forgotten. Maybe her suffering is acknowledged through these ribbons.

You know that’s not what it means to them.

But you’re too tired to be angry.

“You have the original anyway,” You croak with a shrug, “That’s all that matters.”

While Konig doesn’t turn his head, he does look at you from the corner of his eye.

After a beat, he lets go of a heavy breath, his arms untensing under your touch.

“You know,” Ruby sings, leaning forward a little too far before she whispers her secret, “If you don’t dance at these things, people will talk.”

Without really meaning to, you adopt a patronizing but soft tone while speaking with her. That of a parent trying to gently let down a child who wants to play outside in the dead of winter.

“We’re not really in the mood for dancing, Ruby.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be good dancing!”

She smiles mischievously and gives a sloppy wink.

You wear a weary smile, another scoff behind your closed grin.

“I don’t think we’re in the mood for bad dancing, either.”

“No, no! Can’t have that! The victors always dance! I’ll show you!”

”Maybe later,” You say.

”Definitely later!” She beams.

She then raises her brows at you both.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this-“

She looks over her shoulder to make sure no one’s listening in on her scandalous advice.

“But the drinks help!”

She bursts into laughter, and when you look at Konig, he looks back.

You didn’t realize how cold your chest was until it floods with a sickeningly sweet warmth. He gives a soft roll of those comforting blue eyes, but your favorite is the grin he bites back.

You’re actually eager to follow Ruby’s advice for once.

You hardly have to move, as soon as you lock eyes with a Capitol attendant they step over to you, a tray of drinks in hand. It’s one of the sweet drinks you tried earlier, and as you take a glass you can’t help but ask - hoping you’ll never have to deal with the repulsive taste of whiskey ever again.

“Hey, what is this stuff?”

The attendant's brows raise, and she transfers her tray to one hand to bring a finger to her lips.

“Secret?” You ask.

Konig gently nudges you with his elbow.

“What?”

His lips are twisted when you meet his face, and after studying the woman for a few moments longer, the realization hits with a heatwave of embarrassment.

“Oh. Oh!” You give a nervous laugh at yourself, “I’m so- I’m sorry, I’m a little-”

You cut yourself off, the hand raised to your forehead begging her for grace. The attendant gives a polite curtsy before scurrying off.

You lean into Konig’s, quieting your voice as your eyes pick out the various attendants in their white and black uniforms, doting on guests.

“Are all of them-?”

Your question trails off.

“I think so,” He says.

“This place is fucking insane. It’s insane. I feel like I’m in- I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“They’re despicable,” he says.

As your eyes dart around, you can’t help but wonder if one of the attendants is the girlfriend of the boy from eight.

You shake away the thought as quickly as you can, but she lingers.

Does she hate you?

She must.

You’re the girl who foiled her boyfriend’s revenge plan, the girl that led a pack of bloodthirsty careers straight to the love of her life.

You try to imagine what it must be like for her - forced to serve the Capitol elite day in and day out, knowing her boyfriend’s back home, but having no way to reach him.

If it had been you - taken away for speaking out about the Capitol, knowing Konig is back in District Nine, but having no way to check on him.

And then to see him for the first time, the boy you broke by leaving, so clearly unwell, lurching forward to volunteer in the games and hellbent on getting gory revenge against the girl that ratted you out.

You have to stop the thought there, it’s making you sick to your stomach, and you find your grip around Konig has turned deathly.

That girl, wherever she is, wins the suffering game.

The drink goes down quickly, and as soon as your glass is empty, an attendant rushes over to take your glass and offer a replacement.

It’s welcomed.

Between sips, you rest your weary head on Konig’s bicep and close your tired eyes.

“I want to go home,” You whine into his arm.

“It’ll be over soon.”

He says this with a reassuring kiss on the forehead, but his hoarse tone betrays him.

“I wish we could be alone,” You whisper.

After a few moments of consideration, his grip tightens on you.

“Want to sneak away?” He asks.

You whip around to face him, looking up to find a goading raised brow and a faint, sly grin.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Ja,” He says.

Those pretty blue eyes are sparkling with a glint of determined mischief that you couldn’t resist if you tried.

“Okay,” You say.

It’s an incredibly arduous task to sneak away.

Every few feet must be earned by a new wave of introductions, photos, and grabbing hands.

One woman pinches your cheeks, and you’re just thankful it’s the ones on your face.

“Oh, you really are just the cutest thing! I don’t usually, well, you know, but I’d make an exception for you!”

“Hey,” A nervous laugh crosses your lips, “What?”

She just laughs, the pungent smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Such a feisty little thing,” She chimes with a wink, her form swallowed by the crowd before you can get an explanation.

“Did she just make a pass at me?”

You shoot a look at Konig, but he’s too busy trying to placate a gaggle of elite gushing over his size. Hands reaching out to touch his chest, arms, shoulders.

What’d you like to do is start dishing out black eyes, but the booze, and of course, Ruby’s pride, make it easier to be semi-agreeable.

“Alright,” You say with a playful wave, “Step back, he’s already spoken for.”

This is a somewhat effective approach, because the guests seem to adore your ‘joke,’ and plently oblige with their rowdy laughter.

It doesn’t seem to discourage whoever is taking their turn with a picture, though. As if taking a photo gives them a pass to grope you.

When you both finally manage to shuffle your way over to a maid’s closet, you have to wait patiently to cycle through more photos, congratulations, and drunken introductions before there’s a lull.

You’re just about to throw in the towel on the whole thing before the perfect moment arrives for you to both awkwardly slip into the maid’s closet.

When the door shuts behind you, the music and rowdy party chatter muffled the moment it clicks shut, you find you’re nervous to be alone with him. Butterflies in your stomach and a shaky laugh on your lips. Your hands fidget in front of your core, and it’s difficult to make eye contact with him.

He nears with slow, daunting steps, each one making your heart beat a little faster. His hands caress down the sides of your abrasive, sparkly dress to find their home on your waist.

For a moment he studies you with a look in his eyes that you can hardly decipher, an intense stare that pulls a glow to your cheeks and turns your thoughts obsolete. His fingers tighten on your sides as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a long, lingering kiss. Your heart is both pounding furiously in your chest and ablaze with a cozy warmth that blooms throughout your torso and trickles down your limbs.

And suddenly you’re not thinking about the horrors. You’re only thinking about the prick of his stubble on your skin, the strong hands on your waist holding you close, the hint of alcohol on his breath, the vibration of his low hum on your lips.

With little warning, his hands slide down the curve of your hips to the back of your thighs. He scoops you up without so much a grunt of resistance, awkwardly bunching your dress in the front and resting your inner thighs on his waist.

He doesn’t break the kiss even when you gasp into his mouth. He deepens it instead, keeping you firmly on his front with one hand and another pressed to the back of your neck to keep you from losing focus.

He rests your back against the wall, and with a tilt of his head, his eager tongue intertwines with yours. The grip on your thighs is assured, his fingers indenting the soft flesh beneath the scratchy dress.

He pulls away for a moment, his lips inches away and pretty blue eyes staring straight into yours.

“All mine,” He says, low and breathy.

“All yours.”

The front of Konig’s suit pants rock against your front through the layers of your bunched dress, forcing a hitched, breathy sputter from you. You find your nails are digging into the lapel of his suit and tugging him close without thought.

There is little time to react between the jiggle of the doorknob and the door opening, looking over Konig’s shoulder to find Price slinking into the gap just big enough for him to sidestep into the storage closet, wasting no time as steps over to you both.

Konig immediately lets go of the back of your thighs and raises his palms in surrender, backing away from you the moment your heels find the floor with a huff.

You and Konig speak at the same time.

“I didn’t - ”

“Can we have five minutes of privacy?”

“No,” Price says sharply, seemingly not fazed at the display of canoodling he walked in on.

“Where have you been? These people-“

Price ignores you, boring into Konig with stern eyes and pinched brows.

“Did you really knock out a Capitol official?”

Konig shrugs.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea the amount of work you just gave me?”

Price’s voice is rising, but Konig doesn’t buckle.

“He grabbed her ass,” He says flatly.

Price winces, and for a moment you can see his face go through a range of emotions as he tosses a thought around. He groans, grumbling something at the ceiling before he turns to you, his voice urgent.

“They’re already not happy with you. And you being disrespectful at the interview, at this party - is not helping!”

You go to speak, but Price raises a finger to silence you. His words pour out quickly but as clear as crystal. Intense, careful eyes take turns between holding either of your stares.

“You didn’t play their game, you didn’t follow their rules, and you used their arena like it was a fucking playground.”

“So what?”

Price grumbles again, his shoulders tossing in annoyance.

“You took what was supposed to be a punishment for rebellion - and had fun instead. Get me? Your deaths meant something more than just losing a bet to these people. People aren’t supposed to root for breaking the rules, but they saw you as more than tributes.You were way too human, and Capitol folk are starting to see you for what you are.”

Price shrugs, his voice going soft for just a moment.

“As kids.”

He draws a long sigh and rubs out his beard.

“It probably would have been fine if Romeo took the hit, but you,” Price points his finger at you, “Of course you always have to have the last fucking word. The way they see it, you might as well have spit on the games themselves by opting out of victorhood.”

“You're saying it would have been better if Konig died?”

“No!”

Price grunts in exasperation, his muscles tensing, literally fighting back his annoyance.

“What I’m saying is - the rule is that there is one victor. And two outer district kids finding the loophole, breaking that one rule by rejecting their offer, and getting away with it? Well, how do you think they feel about it?”

“You know what?” You start, “If they didn’t want human, maybe they should have fought roosters instead. And I’m tired of everyone pretending like winning the games is some - “

Price barks your name, and it stuns you in the form of a choke, catching in the back of your throat and fighting you when you try to swallow it.

“This is serious,” He hisses, “Two outer district kids aren’t supposed to be above the rules. You think they wanted to pull you both out of there?”

Price snaps his fingers three times in rapid succession.

“They wanted to let you both die, hear me? You both are a spitting distance away from being rebels as it is - and you telling Caesar to go fuck himself, knocking out officials - “

Price cuts himself off with another frustrated grunt.

“This would have been nice to know sooner,” You mumble, rubbing out your bicep in hopes to relieve the nauseating unease creeping over you.

“This is the first time we’ve been alone and off tape since you both entered that arena. Do you have any idea what this week has been like for me? And you two-”

“For you?!” You snap, “We died!”

“And who do you think brought you back to life?!” Price hisses at you.

“I didn’t ask for that!”

“I remember someone asking me to save Romeo.”

Price jams his thumb in Konig’s direction, and while you blow a huff of air in dismissal, you both know he’s right.

“Isn’t this a good thing?” Konig asks, “If people are seeing the tributes differently?”

“Yes,” Price answers.

Your brows furrow, and Price gives a forced, mocking grin.

“That’s the problem. So do me a favor-“

His tone suggests it’s not a favor, but a demand, and with each sentence his frustration thickens.

“You go out there. You play their game. And you behave!”

You can’t pin why, but the hissed ‘behave’ makes you flinch. Your shoulders tense, your fingers adopt a sudden shake, and blood rushes to your ears in one instantaneous whoosh.

Price sighs, and his eyes find the floor. A hand comes up to his forehead before smoothing over his hair, rubbing out the back of his head.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“One more thing,” He says, “I don’t want to worry you both, but the - ”

Price sucks in a breath, his next word riding a heavy exhale, “Tape.”

“Tape?”

“The tape,” He repeats, “Of you two, uh-“

Price clears his throat and looks away.

“Got it,” You say.

“Well, it-“

He lets out an exasperated grunt.

“It’s popular.”

Both you and Konig share a hesitant glance.

“The, uhm-“

Price can’t make eye contact, can hardly get the words out.

“Look, it’s been passed around.”

“What?” You sputter, “But that- that’s-“

“It’s not like these people have ever been moral.”

Price clears his throat again, and he can’t seem to stand still in his spot, restless in the way you’ve only ever seen him the night before the games.

“So everyone at this party has seen us fuck?!”

“Well, not everyone,” Price mutters.

Your burning face warps under the forceful pinch of your own hand.

“I don’t need this, I really don’t need this right now.”

“There’s a lot that you kids don’t know. And- and I’m hoping they’ll cut you some slack, considering the circumstances.”

Price gestures between you and Konig.

He sees both of your blatant confusion, and another sigh leaves his lips. He looks over his shoulder at the door before finding you both.

“The victors have always been,” He pauses, his eyebrows raising, “Desired.”

“Desired?”

“Desired,” He repeats.

“They want to fuck us?”

Price smacks his lips, his voice lowering.

“They don’t want to fuck us, they do fuck us, you understand?”

You really don’t.

“It’s not like you have much of a choice. The payment is just,” He thinks for a moment, “A bonus, get me?”

It takes you a moment to digest this.

As it dawns on you, you squeeze Konig’s arm a little tighter, and make a baby sidestep to close what little distance there is between you.

“And that tape only got them - More excited.”

The thought of someone forcing prostitution on Konig, the thought of Konig fucking some rich Capitol -

You are at risk of throwing up again.

“So it is crucial that you do - Exactly. What. I. Say. You understand? If we play our cards right, I think I can get you both off the hook.”

His loose wrist swirls in front of you, gesturing between you and Konig.

“The whole - romance thing.”

You nod, and shift on your feet as your eyes find the floor.

Price sighs, a palm covering his forehead.

“I’m sorry, kids, I really am. It’s all bullshit, I know it. But I am trying my best.”

Your brows furrow, and the strain in his voice seems to be contagious.

“I know. Thank you.”

He nods slow, face more than weary, his eyes pinching closed for a moment.

“Now, please - I am begging you both to be good. Don’t make this any harder on me than it already is. Please?”

Price is throwing all sorts of curve balls at you today. Price does not call you by your name. Price does not beg. Price orders.

You give a shaky nod, and find you’re digging into Konig’s arm so tight your knuckles are turning white.

“You’ve got two minutes. Make ‘em count.”

Price turns on his feet, heading for the door. Without looking back, he waves a hand at you both over his shoulder.

“And don’t make me come back in here and drag you both back out. I got enough of a show last time.”

As soon as the door closes behind Price, you and Konig face each other.

His hands find your biceps, sliding down your arms until he tightens his hold around your forearms.

“I won’t let them,” He says, “I won’t let them.”

You nod, quick and assured, your hands gripping his forearms in return.

“I know. I know. I won’t let them either.”

You pull each other into a deathly tight embrace that you’re sure would have lasted the entire two minutes, but it’s interrupted by the door opening again, this time much less gentle. The doorknob crashes into the wall hard enough you both jump, holding each other tight at your sides.

At once you’re both blinded by flashing, white lights, ears assaulted with the sound of camera lenses shuttering and the rowdy chatter of the Capitol folk, squeals and shouts overlapping in a nauseating chorus. You have to pinch your eyes shut, teeth grit, arms raised to shield your eyes.

Blinding sun.

Pure white snow at your feet.

The sound of a broken neck in your ears and Eleven’s lifeless eyes staring at nothing and right at you all at once.

You cling to Konig’s suit, fingers shaking as you bury your face into his chest.

A sharp whistle commands attention, Price’s sturdy arms forcing his way through the crowd, extended at his sides and forcing them away from the door.

“Alright, alright, back it up! Nothing to see.”

He whistles again, and you know that’s your cue to wriggle through the part in the crowd. Both you and Konig hold each other tight as you run, run like you’re ripping through the trees of the fall forest, branches tearing into your skin to escape the gory slaughter, to escape from the boy you love after he killed for you.

Your face is burning, flushed with humiliation and fear, breaths heaving and your pulse pounding against your temples.

“How much longer? How much longer?” You ask Konig, as if he knows the answer.

“I know, I know,” He says, “It’s okay.”

It’s starting to feel like this party will never end.

It’s your hell, your punishment for killing and dying and stealing someone else’s victory. Trapped in this shameless extravagant world with people who don’t get it.

Konig positions himself behind you once you’re steady on your feet, and drapes his arms around your collarbones. He hunches over to rest his chin on your head, and puts a bit of his weight on you.

Just a little.

It’s weirdly soothing. Grounding, something to focus on. After a few minutes you begin to trace little hearts on his suit jacket sleeves as you cling to his forearm.

Throughout the embrace he leaves periodic kisses on the top of your head, and you both ignore the guests not-so-sneaky sneaky photos.

“All mine,” He whispers.

“All yours,” You whisper back.

You stand like this for a while, mostly thinking about how bad your feet hurt, the ache starting to travel up your ankles in an all too familiar fashion.

You’re seriously considering ditching your heels.

Your dress is so long, they surely won’t notice if you walk around barefoot.

“Time to dance!” Ruby chimes from behind you.

You groan as Konig stands straight, his hands finding your shoulders instead.

Ruby gives you both little choice, pushy-but-politely ushering you both to the space in front of the live band, which is unfortunate, because what you crave most right now is some peace and quiet. To her credit, though, she keeps you at the edge of the crowd on the dance floor. The last thing you want right now is to be surrounded.

“It’s easy!”

Ruby is touchy with her demonstration, but you don’t mind it as much as you do the rest of the guests and their touching. You know it’s innocent, and it’s hard to say no to her in this state. Coming from her specifically - her acting like everything is fine is making it a bit easier to pretend like it is, which is weird, because usually her ignorance is nothing but grating.

She takes your hand and practically slaps it on Konig’s shoulder, and guides him by the wrist to put his hand on your waist. She circles you, and on the other side, she prompts you to intertwine your fingers.

“And now you sway.”

“No, no, don't bend, stand straight and use your whole body!”

“I thought it was allowed to be bad dancing,” Konig mumbles.

“Graceful bad dancing,” She corrects.

And so you sway, rolling your eyes and shaking your heads at each other, because this is ridiculous. Dancing after what you just went through just to appease these abhorrent people.

You’re glad he’s connecting with you again, at least. Sharing in the hatred.

And it’s not the worst.

Getting to look at him and not think of what has happened, soaking him in and feeling his touch under your fingers.

At one point you close the distance, resting your head on his chest instead, his silken tie on your cheek. You wrap your arms around him in an embrace, and in return he holds you tight.

You close your eyes and take another break, here in his chest. Breathing him in to ease your nerves, putting a little weight on him to relieve your poor ankles, melting into his strong arms.

“Would you mind if I had the next dance?”

The spine-chilling, unfortunately familiar voice comes from behind you, and immediately twists your intenstines in knots.

You both perk up, and you watch as Konig’s brows raise.

“Ach, of course.”

Konig lets go of you, palms displayed as he takes a few steps back. You beg him with your eyes to come back, but you both know that’s not an option, so he offers a wince of apology.

You don’t have the sense to hide your horror as The President steps in and offers his hands.

A sneaky, stealthy, slithering man he is.

His hand feels dead in yours, cold and sagged, like if you’re not gentle enough the meat might just slip off his bones.

“Congratulations, my dear,” He says.

The President gives a polite nod of his head. Those icy eyes are piercing, staring straight into yours and not so much as blinking. You’re convinced he can see your very soul, every thought and fear and secret binded into a book for him to skim over at his leisure.

“Thank you, sir.”

He gives a hearty laugh that makes your skin crawl, your stomach threatening to send bile to lap at the back of your throat.

“None of that ‘sir’ nonsense.”

His head tilts up, and he looks to the evening sky as he speaks. Slowly. Carefully.

“I can’t help but feel as if I know you personally. As well as I know a friend.”

You have to stifle the sharp inhale you instinctively draw when his eyes meet yours again. The hint of a cruel, cautious smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

“Quite a show you put on for us all.”

Your throat is so tight, if you could find the words, they would surely have come out wavered. You nod instead.

“I have to say I admire that young man’s dedication to you.”

His eyes crinkle.

“Do you think he would still be as infatuated with you if he knew you wouldn’t repay the favor?”

A choke catches in your throat. Your eyes dart to Konig, standing just out of earshot to keep an eye on you. His face is twisted, brows scrunched, asking you with just a look what’s going on.

“I- I’m sorry?”

The President’s smile doesn’t falter. He speaks as if he’s clarifying a step on a recipe, and not drilling you with the most bone-chilling, unhinged questioning you’ve ever had the displeasure of being on the end of.

“If he knew that his dedication was not returned.”

You don’t have the sense to hide your nervous, confused laugh.

The President’s eyes remain locked onto yours. They’re just a little too open, his smile a little too wide.

Inhuman.

“I- I- gave up my life for him. I don’t-”

“Did you?” He cuts with a curious perk of a brow.

You blink twice, your awkward sways coming to a halt.

“I beg your pardon?” You stutter.

“Did you give your life up for him?”

The President lowers his chin, his brow raising.

“Or did you do it for you?”

He leans in closer, his voice just a frosted whisper. While his words are terrifying, his face upholds appearances. Refined and cheerful, as if he were recounting a lighthearted story around his surely exotic dinner table.

“Death is easy, my dear. There is no pain. There is no consequence. There is no ‘aftermath,’ as you like to put it.”

You try to work up saliva into your dry mouth, but it’s no use.

“I don’t understand.”

The President gives a low, calculated chuckle that tapers into a hum.

“Nothing to understand,” He says through a smile, “It’s notional.”

You have to coax the words out, each one spiked and slicing your throat on its ascent.

“Forgive me, for being blunt - “

Your unsure voice takes on an unnaturally high pitch when you find the courage to make eye contact with him.

“Is- Is this blackmail? I - What do I have to do?”

For the first time, the President’s face falls, and his expression finally matches those loathsome eyes.

“It’s notional,” He repeats, “And if you’d like to keep it that way, then I’d suggest you listen to that mentor of yours.”

You look down to your shoes before giving a shaky nod.

He reinstates that perfect smile, and you can tell, even in his perpetually loathsome eyes, that he takes great pleasure at the way you cower.

He hums and finally looks away, watching the evening sky as he slips back into his act.

“That John-“

He chuckles with a shake of his head.

“He certainly is a sentimental man, isn’t he?”

The air being pulled into your lungs is useless, you can’t breathe, bordering on hyperventilating.

“It’s clear he cares quite a lot about you both.”

The President’s face drops suddenly again, and his annoyance is clear.

“A thorn in my side.”

“He’s a good man,” He continues with a resetting breath, “But that big heart of his is going to get him in trouble one of these days.”

The President might as well have Price under his thumb, and he’s deciding whether or not to smush him like a bug or go get lunch.

When the song ends, his eyes narrow dangerously at you.

“I hope you enjoy your evening,” He says.

The President leaves you frozen in your spot, stepping over to him and reaching up to give him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“She’s all yours, my boy. Not a scratch on her.”

Yet.

The President gives a hearty laugh as he walks away.

Konig all but runs over to you, wrapping his hands around your biceps.

“What was that all about?”

Konig’s brows furrow when you shrug unconvincingly.

“Just wanted to congratulate me, I guess.”

Konig nods slow, a concerned pinch of his face and lips weighed down, but he doesn’t push.

When you go to dance again, you rest your head on his chest. You close your eyes and let him lead, the hands on your back guiding you into a loose sway. Your entire body has gone limp to his, bones made of jelly and a stomach made of lead as you try and make sense of The President’s ominous words and not-so-subtle- subtle threats.

You can’t, and to be honest, you’re so exhausted you’ve turned numb. Once the shake in your fingers goes away, you’ve decided - in the simplest of terms, you’re not going to give a fuck until morning.

“My feet are killing me,” You mumble into Konig’s tie, “And I just want to go home.”

“Want to sit?”

You nod into his chest, and are subjected to another round of photos and touching hands, which is even more unnerving after learning that these people know what your naked bodies look like, have seen you be intimate, and are eager to force you both into their bedrooms to get a live version of the show.

After you quell this round of eager elite, you take a seat next to Konig on the cluster of patio couches along the mansion gates. His arm slings over the back of the couch to invite you to nuzzle into his side, and you happily take his offer, closing your eyes as you cozy up to him. You hope you can sneak in a break, here in the safety of his chest.

Your attempted break is interrupted, though, when Konig squeezes your shoulder to alert you that someone’s approaching.

A sole woman, mid-thirties, you think. A plump build and wavy brown hair.

“Hi there,” She says.

She’s lacking in the Capitol effectuations, and she leaves moderate distance between you as she extends her hand in your direction.

“I’m sure you’re both, uh,” She gives a weak laugh, “Sick of people by now.”

You give a polite but tired hum as you carefully accept her handshake.

“I’ll make it fast, promise,” She says with a quick wave of two palms.

“My name’s Mabel. Just - wanted to thank you, I suppose.”

You eye her with a crease in your brow, brain already scrambling to figure out her intentions. She sees your confusion, and jumps to explain herself.

“I’m - I’m one of the District Eight mentors.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping open.

Mabel gives a solemn nod at your horrified recognition, before she carefully looks over both her shoulders. Her gaze flits to the ground, and her lips barely move when she speaks again.

“I wanted to tell you that it’s never easy to do the dirty work. And we thank you for making that sacrifice.”

You exchange a glance with Konig before giving her a hesitant nod.

“Yeah, uhm-”

You’re really not sure what to say to that one, and your brain is too foggy from the drinks and too scrambled with exhaustion to find an elegant response.

“Yeah.”

Mabel smiles at you, and takes a few steps closer. Her core creases when she leans over and sets a rectangular card on the drink table in front of you, and her voice returns to a normal volume.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate.”

She gives the card two taps before she turns and leaves you both be.

You and Konig share another look before you carefully pry the card from the table with your nails.

You flip the card over in your hands, expecting to see contact information, but the sloppily printed capital letters makes your blood run cold.

DISTRICT EIGHT UNREST

Your head shoots up to find Mabel, but she’s disappeared among the party goers.

The world has fallen upon deaf ears, unfocused eyes blur the vibrant colors that surround you into a gross, brown swirl, the music and drunken chatter suddenly a million miles away.

Because of you?

Is it because of you?

If it has nothing to do with you, why would she go out of her way to pass on a message of treason?

She could be executed for spreading district intel, and for her to give it to a strange victor so brazenly, when you are surrounded by elite at The President’s mansion and being broadcasted to the entire country -

Because of you?

It can’t be.

Why is she warning you about it?

If what’s on this card is true - then you know why there’s unrest in District Eight, and it’s not because of you.

But you are the only player left standing from a very recent incident heinous enough to potentially make an already discontent district reach its boiling point.

Because of you.

The flinch that tears through you when Konig nudges your shoulder snaps you back to reality, the music and chattering flooding your ears once more.

“What is it?” He asks.

You just shake your head, an unconvincing croak in your voice as you stuff the card into your bust, right next to his token.

“A contact card,” You say.

Konig’s stare lingers for a moment before he nods slow.

You move to a stand, rushing over to the nearest Capitol attendant, and snatch two drinks from the tray with a quick thank you.

When you turn, you bump into Konig’s chest, apparently at your heels. The bubbling drink sloshes up the side of the glass, splattering and foaming onto the hem of your dress and the river rock path below.

He steadies you by your shoulders with a worried look in his eyes.

You just nod at him as you bring the glass to your lips and down the entire thing, stifling a burp when you finish the glass.

“Oh, phew, sorry.”

You bring the other glass to your lips and begin to down it as well, but stop when you catch Konig’s pinched frown.

“Oh, sorry,” You say, gesturing what remains in the second glass in his direction, “Want some?”

He shakes his head.

You finish out the second glass and take a sharp gulp of air when you pull away.

“Ja?” Konig asks.

“Yeah,” You croak.

“Okay,” He says.

And so you get fucked up.

Everytime feel the prick of Mabel’s card on your chest, everytime you think of The President’s threats, everytime Price’s voice echoes through your thoughts, everytime you wonder if one of these attendants is Eight’s girlfriend, everytime you think of a suicide, of a gory kill, of the injustice of it all -

You take a drink.

It’s not long before your unpleasant thoughts are beyond fuzzy and your cheeks are pooled with warmth.

The drinks make the photos and the touching easier to bear, but it doubles the weight of your already heavy eyelids and drapes your body with a cozy blanket that’s hard to resist.

Finally - finally, the party ends. So late into the night the sun must be close to rising. It takes you an unbearable amount of time for you and the rest of your team to make way to the golden mansion gates.

More photos and grabbing hands and drunken breath.

When you finally make it to the limo, you slip your shoes and your crown off almost immediately, and curl up into Konig’s arm on the leather seats. You even doze off on the ride back to the tribute suites.

You don’t bother putting your shoes back on before climbing from the limo, holding them at your sides as you stumble to the elevators.

Ruby’s in a similar state, and she seems to have gotten over the whole kissing situation, or at least is too drunk to care at the moment, because she has no trouble linking her elbows with Price to keep herself steady while she gushes over the party and all the praise she received.

Price is off.

You can feel it, even through your intoxication. He’s radiating a tense, stiff aura, his features tired and expressionless. He doesn’t even tease Ruby about her particularly rowdy behavior. Just guides her along, silently.

You’re more than relieved to see the sickeningly extravagant suite, knowing you’re mere yards from a comfortable bed and having Konig all to yourself.

Price lets out a heavy sigh behind you as you breach the entrance of the hall.

“Kids?”

He clears his throat.

“A word?”

Konig and you slow, already uneased and hesitantly turning to face him.

“You’re not gonna like this, but ah-“

Price sighs again.

“You’re sleeping in your own rooms.”

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

[an-elementary-world]

Peter Gabriel - Utilita Arena Birmingham 16 June 2023 

Peter Gabriel is a legend, unquestionably.  His voice is so distinctive and immediately recognisable that you know it’s his music as soon as he opens his mouth.  He has produced genre crossing albums since the late 1970s and still continues to mesmerise with inventive and progressive ways of making and delivering music.  And of course he used to be in Genesis and chose to leave that band at their height, on his own terms.  He is even self-deprecating enough to know how sometimes he is perceived by others as the most boring man in rock and appears in the Brian Pern’s rockumentary series.  As a man who used to dress up on stage as a flower and wear a fox head and red dress, you have to balance that outrageousness with the quiet meticulous musician who records wind in metal pipes and uses those samples to piece together complex sound sculptures that at the end of the process are incredibly listenable… even if on face value you’d expect that to be the equivalent of watching paint dry.  Peter Gabriel is a complex man.

This “i/o” tour is supporting the release of his first new music in a long time, although the album is made up of songs and music he has been working on for 20 years in one form or another.  Gabriel is not releasing the album conventionally, as you’d expect from a man who always finds new ways to promote his music, and has released 6 songs from the album individually since January (on each full moon).  The actual album is due for release at the end of the year, however, won’t fans already have the whole thing by then anyway?  The debate on whether this is a good marketing idea can only (at the moment anyway) be judged on chart performance, and with an initial decent number 19 placing for the first release it was followed by four unplaced releases and a number 95… so, let’s put that down to only a conceptual artistic success.

The set tonight is made up of 22 songs and half of them are from this new album - Peter is serious; this is not a greatest hits tour for your average fan, or a rockstar going through the motions - this is an artistic statement by a musician who is not resting on his laurels, or satisfied to mindlessly rummage through his successful back catalogue for a casual listener.  He starts the show almost in disguise, walking on to the stage with no band and talking directly to the audience, joking that he is actually an avatar, yet unlike Abba who appear as they were in 1976, he has chosen his avatar to be the old, fat, bald man he is now.  Of course, he is joking and the concert begins with the most human of introductions: a joke.  It’s an icebreaker and the stage is set for the most intimate of evenings as Peter does the most un rock n roll thing of all and breaks the fourth wall.  He doesn’t speak in cliches but explains and introduces the new songs, the artwork displayed on the screens, his band members and the concepts that drove him to write these new songs.  It sounds like a lecture or a presentation, and when I look at the audience they are, for much of the set, quietly listening and learning - not rock n roll at all.  But it is beautiful.

As an elder statesman of rock and also not a born dancer, the incredibly complex and stunning stage design makes up for Gabriel’s lack of movement, which is essentially him pacing back and forth across the stage.  He has presence obviously because he is Peter Gabriel, but if you didn’t know him you’d think the lead singer really needs to be more commanding on stage… maybe wear a big flower hat or something!  As such the audience is mostly uninspired to move and sits motionless for almost the whole set.  Or maybe this is just the effect of the general slow to mid-tempo of many of the songs, or it could be the ages of most of the people in attendance.  Gabriel does lift the crowd to its feet for ‘Sledgehammer’, but for some reason chooses to end the first set this way and so everyone immediately sits back down for the interval.  The second set then starts twenty minutes later with another slow tempo track and the arena is static again, until the finale and the encores.  It is a noticeably staid atmosphere.  I don’t doubt everyone here is listening intently and loving every moment, but you only notice their enthusiasm occasionally. 

The band tonight are a dream come true for those of us who take as much interest in the session musicians as the main artist, and alongside the world’s best drummer Manu Katché, is the world’s best bass player Tony Levin, who with guitarist David Rhodes has been with Peter for what seems like forever.  The other obvious stand out musician is cellist and backing vocalist Ayanna Witter-Johnson, who as well as being able to play cello standing up, sings at the same time.  And not only that, she sings duel lead vocal with Peter, particularly on the track ‘Don’t Give Up’; filling the boots once worn by Kate Bush on the recording and previously live by the incredible Paula Cole, is a hard thing to do, but she bettered them with her soulful rendition of that beautiful song.  It must also be said that Peter’s voice is still a thing of absolute beauty.  It often sounds like it is at the very edges of its range, and could break at any moment, and that fragility is human and real.  I love that about him.  

As with any tour supporting and playing mostly from a new album, the new material, as interesting as it is, takes time to get under your skin and be part of your life.  Therefore the songs we all know and love are where there is a real buzz from the crowd.  The highlight for me is ‘Solsbury Hill’ (the line “Son, he said, grab your things I’ve come to take you home” brings a tear to my eye every time I hear the song, because since I first heard it in 1977 when I was about 9, I always thought it was about a father saving his son from a dangerous situation).  The singalong part of the ‘Boom boom boom’ is always a crowd pleaser and tonight is no different.  This is the last song of set two but the roars and screams pull the band back on stage for two encores:  the sublime ‘In Your Eyes’ and devastatingly brilliant ‘Biko’, with Stephen’s face on the large screen above the stage.  The audience again sing along with the outro as each band member leaves the stage, leaving only Manu and his thundering tom toms.  The song is still as poignant now as it was when it was written.

The main feeling I take from the show is how happy and content Peter Gabriel appears to be; he is clearly very comfortable in his skin and loving bringing his new songs to the world.  There are moments in the two sets where I thought the audience had slipped into a collective coma, but in the barn that is the NIA, it’s sometimes difficult to get a real personal connection, apart from the overall spectacle of the occasion.  There are real moments of beauty though, musically and visually, no question about that at all.

This tour continues in the UK for the rest of this week.

Set 1:

Washing of the Water

Growing Up

Panopticom

Four Kinds of Horses

i/o

Digging in the Dirt

Playing for Time

Olive Tree

This Is Home

Sledgehammer

Set 2:

Darkness

Love Can Heal

Road to Joy

Don't Give Up

The Court

Red Rain

And Still

Big Time

Live and Let Live

Solsbury Hill

Encore:

In Your Eyes

Encore 2:

Biko

[venus-light]

A list of pleasures of the flesh and small joys about being alive:

Beautiful people, sex, friendship. The flesh of fruit. The petals of a flower, and the smell of baking bread. Toast that crunches in soup, a soft cat on the windowsill. New songs to sing in the kitchen, playlists made with love, another shot pulled back with laughter.

Another experience ticked off the list. No rush. Cool tattoos. More piercings over the years. Singing your heart out and being applauded. Remembering how someone takes their tea. Soft hair. Painting stars on your face. Getting drunk at a party. Making two coffees in the morning. Maybe three. Cradling the warmth of a mug in your palms. Having a blanket placed on your lap. Sitting down in a newly clean room. Scented candles. Sleepovers. A shelf full of drinks. Lightning storms caught on camera. Tropical weather. False eyelashes. Takeaway food from all corners of the world. Having a nickname. Walking quietly in the early hours of the morning. Talking excitedly on the same wavelength as someone.

The kindness of a bus driver. A sweet, excited conversation with a waiter. Being lost in a crowd. Teaching something to a friend. Existing in beautiful nature. Having people to share it with. Beautiful sunsets in the evening through a car window. Roadtrips. Cathedrals. Being called over to join someone. Choosing each item carefully from the grocery store. Seeing growth from the people you love, seeing them look visibly excited, visibly happier. Clicking with someone you just met. Cooking for someone. Navigating a new city.

Making your siblings laugh. Making your friends laugh. The sound of an ensemble harmonising together. The ring of violins and cellos. A city dressed up for Mardi Gras. A sincere compliment. The hours waiting in anticipation before a concert. People playing chess on the floor in a crowd. The feeling of riding through tunnels on a subway. Tall boots. Bubble tea. A couple falling asleep together on the train. Pride flags in unexpected places. Solidarity in unexpected places. A crowd singing together on the streets of Melbourne. The bold lights of a performance.

Art that grabs you by the throat. Sexual tension. Intricate rituals. Understanding. Safety. Challenge. Acceptance. Love. Healing. A group hug with friends. Singing duets. Spinning around in a new flowing dress. Dressing yourself up in glitter. Not feeling alone in the world. Strangers who smile at you on the street. Cute kids. Travel. Self-made photoshoots. Hearing your musician friends play and laugh and sing. Nighttime in a new city. Collapsing in a hotel room and taking your shoes off. Playing soft, calming music so your siblings can fall asleep. Taking the top bunk.

Acts of care. Warm drinks and gloves on a cool day. Mountains though the window. Opening someone’s drink for them. Swigs of water after a long volleyball game. Good banter. Fulfilling conversation. Celebration. Snow. A great joke in a story you keep coming back to. Resting your legs in a pool. A shoulder to cry on. A Chinese name for your younger sister.

A poem that makes you see shrimp colours. The ocean. Space. Forests. Crowds. Choirs. Music. Vastness and magnitude and interconnectedness. Forest cities. The feeling of being desired. The relief of being a part of something larger than yourself. The feeling of pride when you create something beautiful. Costume design. Children’s performances. The way creativity flows like a mysterious, branching, unpredictable stream. Being remembered for something you love and are good at. Experiencing intrigue. Wonder. Appreciation. Beauty. Desire. Trust. Intimacy. Catharsis. Awe. Relief. Surrender. Letting yourself be moved to tears.

Feeling yourself grow and change with time. The slow work of building skills over the course of years. The fulfilment of a new technique finally clicking. A great serve in volleyball. A high five. A high note that resonates just right. Makeup that shimmers. Dewdrops on the bus window. A dress that captures the light.

Beautiful comics and artwork. The feeling of finally understanding something. Characters and people that capture a fragment of yourself forever. Work that changes you. Resonance. Melting. Fondness. Pride. Self-recognition. Vanity. Nonconformity. Joy. Giving in to something. A really good u-quiz.

Understanding and acceptance. Setting boundaries, finally. Letting go of resentment, finally. Letting go of a life lived in service, shedding a dead identity like old skin. Making choices out of love for yourself, and out of love for others. Ninety three thousand photos in your camera roll. Mementos of love and grief. Protest marches. Charity work. Cafe desserts. Time spent in joyful conversation. Chatting on the couch with family and friends. Learning how to love someone else. Someone else learning how to love you. Being flawed, accepted and safe.

Choosing what feels good over what looks good. Living on your own terms. Letting go of repression. Forgiving yourself. Unburdening yourself from shame. Offering yourself acceptance, understanding, solidarity, compassion. Having the safety and self-assurance to offer the same to others. Refusing to assimilate, and choosing to be authentic instead. Being in a room for the first time, where conflict and disagreement is safe. Being flawed and vulnerable and embraced. Waking up one day and realising you’re not afraid all the time anymore.

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

BNHA Valentine’s Day Headcanons!

Happy first day of February! Some of my Discord friends and I were brainstorming how different My Hero characters would celebrate Valentine’s Day. So let’s give ‘em a whirl! All characters are adults or aged up to be 18+ in these scenarios.

Big thanks to @varnienne, @emmappelle, @sweet-darling91, @donica95​, and @katsontherun for letting me bounce ideas off of them. 💖

⚠️MOSTLY FLUFF BUT THERE IS SOME NSFW AHEAD!⚠️

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

SFW

Gotta start with my blonde bby. And the best way I can describe his ideal Valentine’s is BIG and LOUD!

He’s never been one shy away from telling you how he feels, but he’s especially talkative on V-Day. Going on and on about how lucky he is, how much he loves you, etc.

It’s love songs all day, baby! From blasting modern pop songs while he makes breakfast to sweet, old-fashioned tunes that he makes you slow dance with him to in the living room. He’s a true romantic (and a surprisingly good dancer to boot).

And he might even (re: definitely will) serenade you. The man is a musician after all! In fact, don’t be surprised if Hizashi wrote a song just for you.

As far as gifts go, Hizashi goes all out. He’s a hero and a celebrity, with the salaries to match. So you can expect a few big ticket items. Plus, he’s a good listener. If you ever mentioned something you needed/wanted/expressed interest in, chances are it will arrive wrapped up in red and pink paper on the day.

“Hey little listener! Remember how ya said you might wanna try painting? No? Well I turned the spare room into a studio for ya anyways! Maybe you can make me something to hang up at the station, yeah?”

But just because his gifts are expensive and flashy, that doesn’t mean he devalues your own. Hizashi will blubber and gush over anything you give him, from lavish luxuries to a something as simple as a homemade card. Loudly I might add. Make sure to have earplugs handy.

Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks of having a radio star as your partner is that he’ll most likely have to work on Valentine’s Day. It’s even worse if he had teach that day as well. So don’t count on any fancy dinners until after the 14th.

But if you tune into his station on the day (and you will), there will be at least three or four songs dedicated to “his favorite little listener.”

NSFW

Even if he can’t be with you on the actual night, he’s definitely going to make up for lost time. Mood music, candlelight, the whole nine yards. He wants to romance you. To make you feel as good as you make him feel everyday.

Oral and overstimulation are the name of the game, and Hizashi is a giver through and through. He’s happy as a clam once he’s got his face buried between your legs, making you cum for the umpteenth time that night. Seriously, does he ever come up for air?

Praise is also a big thing for him. It flows from his mouth like the sweetest wine. And with his quirk, every whispered word and groan against your body feels just as intoxicating. Good vibrations indeed.

He also loves it when you’re vocal. No love song can compete with the way you cry and moan under his touch. He’ll make you sing for him all night long and into the morning hours.

“Damn, baby. I love you so damn much. Love the way you look cumming on my tongue. Think you can do it again?”

Eijiro Kirishima

SFW

Okay. This boy adores Valentine’s Day! Like it’s his favorite holiday.

And how can he not? Everything in the stores is red! He can stock up on red merchandise for the rest of the year in the span of a week. And believe me, he does.

This means his partner should expect a lot of the cliché gifts on the big day: teddy bears, heart-shaped boxes, and red roses to name a few. Oh, and he’s definitely got a stockpile of cheesy, punny Valentine cards centered around his and his friend’s hero personas.

His favorite is the one that says “I think you’re a Red Riot! Be my Valentine?” But maybe that’s partially because it came from you.

Kirishima doesn’t just shower you with crimson trinkets; he buys treats for everyone! Especially his closest friends. To him, Valentine’s is all about showing the people he loves most just how much he cares. And it’s honestly adorable to see him practically bouncing off the walls in excitement when he finds a little red treasure for this year’s celebration.

“Babe! Look at that red shark plushie. It looks just like me! So manly!”

*proceeds to buy seven of them: one for him, one for you, and one for everyone in the Bakusquad + Tetsutetsu*

But at the end of the day, once all the chocolates and stuffed animals have been given away, he’ll make sure you know there’s no one he loves more than you. He spends the final hours alone with you, eating a home cooked meal and cuddling on the couch. Times like these are his favorite, just being to hold you close and appreciate your presence in his life.

Fair warning though. You’ll probably end up watching some some cheesy romcom, cuz he loves those too.

NSFW

Of course, the red theme continues in the bedroom: red rose petals, red sheets, even a set of red lingerie he bought just for the occasion. Which he proceeds to rip apart minutes after you’ve gotten them on. Hope they weren’t too expensive.

Kirishima tries to be gentle with you, he really does. Savoring your pleasure and letting your orgasms crest and fall naturally. He wants to see you cooing and boneless by the end of the night.

But sometimes he underestimates his own strength and gets a little rougher than expected. Maybe he gives too sharp of a love bite, or squeezes your hips a little too hard. But it’s all done out of passionate love, so you don’t mind too much.

You might actually prefer it if he gets a little rougher.

However, if you wanna get kinky, there is one thing Kiri’s always down for: pulling you over his knee for a good, old-fashioned spanking. His quirk is perfect for it, hardening the palm of his hand just before it smacks down on the soft flesh. It’s like he has a set of built-in paddles. Trust me, if you let him get into a good rhythm, by the end of the night your ass will match the Valentine’s decor perfectly.

“Not pushing you too hard am I, beautiful? I know I can be unbreakable sometimes, but I never want to break you. I love you too much to do that.”

Mirio Togata

SFW

TBH, before he met you, Mirio was a bit of a player (which is kinda canon). Like “has a different date every year” player.

And can you blame him? He’s a total heartbreaker with that (le)million dollar smile and those baby blue eyes. He got so much Valentine’s chocolate from girls in high school, it was sickening! But with you, things are different.

For starters, he’s not so big on material gifts. Giving or receiving.

“How could I want anything more when I’ve got my sunshine right here?”

No, this sweet himbo is all about making memories with his partner! Sharing experiences and spending as much quality time together as possible.

So he plans everything days, sometimes weeks, in advance. Budgeting his time and money to squeeze as much love into a single day as humanly possible.

The moment you wake up on February 14th, he hits the ground running. Quite literally! He’s practically doing laps around your bedroom in his excitement to get the day started.

Valentine’s Day with Mirio turns out to be a marathon of couple activities. Bike riding to a local café for breakfast. Sight-seeing in Tokyo followed by ice cream in the afternoon. He even manages to sniff out a carnival for you to go to in the evening, letting you run amok on the rides and games. And yes, he definitely spends too much money trying to win you one of those giant stuffed animals.

By the end of the day, you’re thoroughly spent and just want to snuggle up next to him. And maybe have a late night snack of chocolate. Mirio is more than happy to indulge you, even offering to carry you home. Anything to be close to his precious sunshine.

NSFW

Despite your sleepiness and aching feet, Mirio insists he has one last surprise to give you. So he asks you to lay face-down on the bed and wait for him. Naked of course.

Once he finds what he’s looking for, he straddles your tailbone with his thighs and squirts something slippery onto your back. You yelp at the cold sensation and that earns a laugh from Mirio. He tells you it’s massage oil. One specifically designed to relieve muscle tension.

It’s like he knew you’d be sore after his day of non-stop adventuring. Almost like he planned it... What a smooth criminal.

It makes sense though. Maybe it’s because his quirk requires him to pass through things, but physical touch is his primary love language. Nothing grounds him quite like having you in his arms, worshiping every inch of your body.

He works you over, kneading at the muscles in your back, hips, and legs with steady pressure and prescision. He even rubs your feet, making the earlier pains melt away into bliss.

You’re almost too sleepy and relaxed to realize one of his hands is creeping up your body until it’s too late. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers into you, amplifying the pleasure of the massage in a new way. Like I said, Mirio’s a smooth criminal when he wants to be.

“Feeling good, sunshine? Yeah, I’ll bet you are. You always look so cute like this... just makes me want to kiss you all over. Maybe I will! But I think you’re still a little tense right... here.”

[vhenadahls]

the remnants of the life i used to live here in eden

After Tali is exonerated, she decides to give Pippa Shepard a tour of the Rayya.

G, 2600 words.

“Tali’Zorah, in light of your history of service, we do not find sufficient evidence to convict. You are cleared of all charges.”

Admiral Raan’s voice is still steady and professional, a proper admiral’s voice, but it’s lighter than it’s been the entire time they’ve been on the Fleet. Tali sags forward against the railing in front of her and Pippa, relief exuding from her entire body. The garden plaza erupts with a buzz of chatter, blotting out both Raan’s and Shepard’s next words - not that Tali is sure she would’ve heard them anyways, her own heart is beating so loud. She hasn’t been exiled, and Shepard hasn’t revealed her father’s treachery, and when she woke up on the Normandy today she definitely had not expected this to be the way her day went.

The admirals end the trial, and people start to stream out of the garden plaza, still buzzing with conversation and gossip and thoughts and theories. Tali drags Pippa over to speak with each of the admirals, pointedly keeping the conversation with Admiral Xen blessedly short, and to thank Reegar and Veetor yet again for speaking up for her. Eventually they make it back to the corridor outside the plaza, Garrus trailing behind them. Looking up at the achingly familiar patched-together entranceway, she makes a split-second decision. “Garrus, you go on back to the Normandy. We’ll catch up.”

Garrus looks at Pippa for confirmation. She glances back at Tali, who knows her body language is telegraphing her excitement but that Pippa and Garrus won’t know what it means. After a moment Shepard nods, and Garrus walks back up the corridor to the docking bay the Normandy is in.

Pippa turns to face Tali full-on, a wide grin visible through the viewscreen of her helmet. “Well then, Miss vas Normandy, what’s got you so excited?”

Okay, maybe Pippa’s not so bad at quarian body language as she thought. She pushes that aside and bounces from foot to foot “We’re on the Rayya. It’s my birth ship. I thought I’d take you on a tour.”

Pippa’s mouth drops open behind her viewscreen - Tali’s learned this one, a display of shock or awe for many species, not just humans. “A tour? Really? Is that allowed?”

Laughing, Tali links her arm through Pippa’s and steers her towards the trading plaza. “Probably not, but I doubt they’re going to say anything after today.”

The trading plaza, just a short walk down the corridor from the garden plaza, is also achingly familiar and almost just as she remembers it. The people and items in it are different, of course, but it’s the same design as always. Bank of lockers on the back wall, all different sizes, all full of things someone didn’t need but someone else could use. Rows of desks for anyone to hawk wares, services, whatever it is they can do or make or trade that others might want. It’s loud, crowded, full of people speaking Khelish, people she can still understand if she turns off her translator. A wave of homesickness washes over her, even though she’s standing right in the middle of the ship she grew up on. She won’t live here again, not on the Rayya, even if she does come back to the Flotilla.

Trying to disengage from that feeling, she turns back to Pippa, whose grin has spread even wider. “Where are we now? It looks like a market.” Her eyes dart back and forth across the plaza, head turning so rapidly she looks like a top.

“Kind of,” Tali says, leading the way to the stall of a quilter she remembers from before her Pilgrimage. “We don’t use credits within the Flotilla. Needs like food, water, and medicine are doled out as needed, and you trade for other things. Trade your work, your surplus supplies, information, whatever you have. That’s what this is for - this is where people trade what they can. The lockers on the wall,” she points, “are for people to leave items they don’t want anymore, and someone else can take them. Other people make things to sell here. Quilts, suit adornments, and so on. And musicians and storytellers and dancers can show off their skills.” She points again, to a musician and a dancer attracting a small audience in the opposite corner.

“No credits? How?” Pippa slows, trying to watch exchanges between traders and customers while continuing to follow Tali. “Even when I was a kid on the streets, creds were king. That’s what will for sure get you food in your belly and a safe place to sleep.”

Tali’s heart squeezes painfully, the way it always does when Pippa mentions her childhood before BAaT and the Alliance. She’ll have to ask about that someday. “We don’t have to worry about food and shelter - everyone gets food, everyone gets shelter. You know that’s why we don’t have an incarceration system and our highest punishment is exile - we can’t support those who don’t work to provide for the community, because everyone is given those things by virtue of being quarian. But this sort of thing - things that aren’t necessities, things that make your life happier or easier or the like - those we trade for, because what better thing to offer than something else we value?” They’ve reached the quilt-trader, and Tali holds up her hand in greeting. “I’m Tali’Zorah, and this is Pippa Shepard.”

The quilt-trader nods. “I remember you, Tali’Zorah.” She turns to Pippa, holding out a hand with her palm facing forward, fingers slightly bent, so Pippa can interlace her own with them - a first-time greeting. “Welcome, Pippa Shepard. I am Chenah’Ayyal.”

Pippa looks back at Tali, probably confused, but holds her hand up - Tali would never have doubted she’d be a good sport. The quilt-seller interlinks their fingers, and Pippa won’t be able to tell, no matter how good she’s gotten at reading quarian body language, but Tali can almost feel the approval wafting off Ayyal.

“What brings you to the Rayya’s trading plaza, Shepard?” Ayyal asks, pointedly re-fluffing one of the quilts on her display. It’s reminiscent of Rannoch, qorach and canyons and wide-open sky, in shades of blue and purple.

Rather than answering, Pippa shoots a sidelong glance at Tali. The meaning is obvious - she’s going to let Tali do most of the talking, let Tali choose how others will see a human wandering around one of the Fleet’s most precious ships. She can spin this however she wants.

“I’m taking her on a tour,” she says. No spin. “I want to show her where I grew up.”

Ayyal’s stance becomes guarded, but not angry or mistrustful. Honestly more than Tali had expected, and her stomach unclenches just a bit. She draws one finger down the neat and even stitching of the Rannoch blanket. “This is beautiful. Your stitching is every bit as lovely as I remember. I’ve never seen it fray.”

With the disgusted sound Ayyal makes deep in her throat, the air clears even more. “How can you say that?” she asks, dragging the cloth from under Tali’s hand. “See here, the stitches are off center - everyone will notice! How am I supposed to be happy with anyone displaying this in their quarters? I’ll be a laughingstock!”

Tali tries her very best to muffle a laugh, and the hacking cough suddenly afflicting Pippa spells the same. “Just like a craftsperson,” she says, unable to contain a final huff of laughter. “Thank you for talking with us. Until I return.”

“Until I see you again,” Ayyal replies, and holds up her hand again to Pippa, who readily interlaces their fingers again. “And you, Pippa Shepard,” she adds, and Pippa’s answering grin could power the Flotilla for a week. At least.

 Grinning too, Tali links her arm back with Pippa’s and steers her back out of the trading plaza and into another corridor. “So that’s the trading plaza, obviously. Most of what’s right around here is also community areas - a school, an infirmary, you saw the garden plaza, and those sorts of things.” She points out the places they pass as they go, places where she spent her childhood and adolescence. “Schools are clean rooms, because children don’t have suits yet. They’re bubbled - like Raan talked about - but when there’s that many children together, it’s better for the space to be clean too. Infirmary too, for obvious reasons, so those are usually right near each other for efficiency.”

“Name of the day on a ship, any ship.” Pippa peers in through windows when they exist, nodding at each quarian they pass. Tali’s heart skips yet another beat as she watches her. The Rayya might be one of the Fleet’s most important ships, but it’s still dingy and patched-together and shabby compared to the least Alliance ship, let alone the Normandy. But Pippa doesn’t look out of place or uncomfortable at all. She looks excited, interested. She looks like she fits in.

There’s only one reason Tali could be worrying about whether Pippa fits in on the Flotilla, and she is not ready to interrogate that quite yet. Instead, she pulls Pippa down a side corridor, so suddenly that Pippa yelps from being knocked off balance. “This way is to hydroponics - the reason these are called liveships.”

Pippa might be an entire handspan shorter than Tali, but she sure can walk fast when she’s excited about something. “Oh, man! I know I’m not going to understand any of it. But it’s so cool! You figured out how to grow enough food to support seventeen million people in space! Three hundred years ago!” She’s pulling Tali now, stopping dead when they reach an intersection. “Which way?”

Their footsteps echo on the metal floors, familiar and comforting, as Tali leads Pippa through the maze of cobbled-together corridors to the hydroponics observation deck. When the doors open, Pippa hurries over to the windows, pressing her faceplate against the glass to peer at the leafy green plants below. “Look at it! That’s all food!”

Laughing again, Tali joins her at the window. “We all take turns volunteering there, not just those of us who live on the liveships. So everyone has a chance to be part of how and where food comes from and is distributed and all of that.” She gestures to a corner on the far end of what they can see. “I always worked in that corner over there. Helped plant, check irrigation systems, whatever needed doing.”

“Wish I’d had something like that.” Pippa’s smile this time doesn’t actually reach her eyes. “Didn’t really think, as a kid, about where food came from before I nicked it.” Her voice is wistful - the opposite of nostalgic, whatever that is. Tali squeezes her hand, and Pippa turns away from the window.

“Show me where you used to live?” she asks. “If you want to.”

“That was my plan. It’s a deck down, so we’ll just go through here…” she lets her words trail off as they head back into the corridor maze, find the stairs, and go down to the deck where she spent most of her life. The designs painted on the walls, the quilts hung to muffle sound, someone in a familiar suit in literally every corner of the ship - it’s almost like she’s stepped back in time.

She stops in front of the door to her family’s apartment, the apartment that was her home until two years ago. The blank door beckons, but she doesn’t knock. “It belongs to someone else now, another family. They moved my father once I transfered to the Neema, gave him a space more conducive to one person alone and gave this to a family that needed more room.” Her voice is as devoid of emotion as she can make it, trying not to let Pippa hear how draining this is to be back in these spaces that hold memories of her father. And her mother.

Pippa’s hand appears on her shoulder, and Tali looks down at it, trying to let it pierce the haze of remembering. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s alright to be upset.”

It’s alright. Tali snorts. “My father wouldn’t agree. We don’t have time for sentimentality. We didn’t have time to come here at all, honestly. He would’ve been upset with me for letting my feelings overcome my duty.”

“Hey.” The hand on Tali’s shoulder slides down her arm to interlace their fingers together, three and five. “You’re allowed to care. He cared about you. He didn’t know how to show it, but he did. You care about him, still. You care about your people, about our crew. And that’s a good thing. That means you’ll do what you can to protect as many of them as you can.”

“They didn’t want me to come home.” An unfamiliar person emerges from the apartment door, looks between the two of them, and heads off down the hall without a word. Tali moves back up the corridor, Pippa trailing behind, so they won’t be right in front of someone’s door anymore. She tries again. “They didn’t want me to come home. They were using me as a prop, a piece in someone else’s game.” Her voice is rising, and she doesn’t care to stop it. “They stripped my ship name, Shepard!”

“I know. But you don’t have to accept their reasoning for it.” Pippa leans against the wall below a sign in Khelish telling her not to do exactly that.

Tali narrows her eyes. “How do you mean?”

“The ones who voted to strip your ship name wanted you to feel like you didn’t belong. Like you had no home, no one to stand with you. But you do, Tali, you have so many people who stand with you! And multiple homes!” So quickly she looks like she’ll topple over, Pippa stands up straight away from the wall, hands spread for emphasis. “Raan did what she could for you, Reegar and Veetor spoke up for you. They gave you the Normandy in your name in quarian fashion - that’s not a thing any other species does, you know that. You belong in both places. Both, and. Not neither.” Embarrassed, like she wasn’t expecting that speech to pop out of her, she leans back against the wall.

You belong in both places. No one’s ever made it sound like that could be possible. You go on Pilgrimage, you come home and you stay home. Or you don’t, and you never come home again. But Pippa - the same ridiculous human that Tali followed by chance two years ago, who’s come back from the dead at the hands of a terrorist organization Tali couldn’t hate more if she tried - Pippa thinks it doesn’t have to be like that. She can have a human ship name, an entirely non-quarian crew...and still belong to the Fleet. Two homes.

It’ll take some time to get used to that idea.

“You stood for me, too.” She nudges Pippa with her shoulder. “Don’t forget yourself.”

Another blush spreads across Pippa’s pale cheeks. “Well, yeah. I thought that was a given. Or at least, it’s a given to me.”

“It means a lot, though.” Tali takes a deep breath. “I’m glad to be part of your crew.”

The blush deepens. “I am too, Tali. Um, glad you’re part of the crew.” She looks back at the apartment door, closed now. “You ready to go home? Wait, shit, sorry. You ready to go back to the Normandy?”

Five minutes ago, Tali would’ve appreciated the correction. It still grates a little. But…

“Let’s go home.” She can have both. Or at least she can try.

[spicyicymeloncat]

My thoughts on the Netflix winx (am I late to the complain train?) part 4b and actual final post!…

Continued from here

Maybe the zombies are getting in because Silva’s keeping the barrier open because Sky is lost somewhere drugged in the woods and no one can find him (no idea why Bloom would drug him tho, maybe so he wouldn’t follow her when she went with Beatrix to the village, no idea why Silva wouldn’t be able to find him, maybe the war room was in the forest and that’s where sky is idk idk). Maybe we damsel Sky and the winx verge away from the school to save him idk. I just want all six girls fighting together and having different fighting styles (that they learnt and developed over the series), and they work together I think it would be neat. Also I can get that they won’t have transformations but I think we can do more than just eye colour changes. Like any jewellery on Stella starts to glow, flowers bloom from Flora’s hair, flecks of ember appear on Blooms skin, lines of sheet music swirl around Musa’s face, the ends of Aisha’s arms become glassy and made of water and Tecna’s entire person gets these cyber-esqe grid lines lighting up on her skin. Not a full transformation just like, a visual appeal. Also I think it’s fine if bloom is the only to get wings since it’s a new concept as long as they don’t do that awful transformation scene. I just need bloom to kill a zombie so hard she grows wings okay that’s all that needs to happen. Basically the other girls will get wings in s2 which would involve Bloom sharing her powers (although it would be cool if it didn’t immediately translate into wings and they have to overcome some challenge before they can properly use the magic boost). I think in the actual show, the other girls are definitely gonna get wings (I mean it’s in the intro) but that’s how I’d do it.

Also the girls need to dress good. You don’t need me to give u ideas on how to dress the girls just YouTube fate and every video will be about restyling the winx

3) The show is exactly the same as the original it’s just live action

Yeah, no more dark gothic houses. Just campy fun vibes, sunlight, and focus on out there fashion. The show barely takes itself seriously because it’s here to have a good time. Alternatively, it starts out light and the cast remains relatively sassy and fun throughout BUT at the end of episode 1 things get super freaking dark.

Imagine ep 1, Bloom’s shy, everyone is really friendly, they go to a fairy cafe, they get bullied by a relatively harmless trix, the girls go through problems like fitting at school, working out what to wear at the party, and at the end Bloom wants to go home because shenanigans. Only to find… that since she left, earth has been invaded by fire zombies. The series see these teens who continue to try and live a normal ish teen life in the midst of a fantasy apocalypse that’s slowing consuming their universe. Like Bloom and the others sneak to earth to try and save as many people as possible, then go back to their dorm and play truth or dare til 3 am. Sorry lessons have been disrupted because your teacher is currently on another planet fighting evil wizards. Idk I think it could be really fun and crazy. Like the kind of whiplash I got when watch centaurworld (an animated show on Netflix, it’s incredibly good and has banging musicians numbers).

So yeah I think that’s all my thoughts on Fate. It had a lot of potential that I think would be fun to make overglorified fanfiction, however for what actually happens in the show, a lot of that potential is wasted. But it’s fun to think about what could’ve been :). I’m gonna be posting winx (cartoon) redesigns at some point and I have my own personal rewrite ideas for the original cartoon, because I think it’s fun, and I might share them

Part 1 - Social Issues

Part 2 - Writing

Part 3 - Designs

Part 4a - rewrite ideas

[nightklok]

I didn't realize you had OCs! Would you mind telling us about them? You got me curious!

Hello and sure :O

I really don't quite have a lot that's like enough to show off...but i do have two 'developed' MTL OCs i have been working on in the background (i say loosely)

Nairi Hammersmith- (CW: ableism, violence, Magnus)

Her tag (as wonderful friends made beautiful fanart that i want to show off)-I made an introduction post a while back but it mainly gave more context on how she fits into the AU with magnus' perspective so here's her own life in this AU.

She was always a troublemaker growing up and it didn't help her father would always ignite it. Growing up as a hard of hearing person, it was difficult as the world wasn't accessible to her and the fact that people assumed she wasn't as smart or capable of most things compared to other people. So she felt she had to pull her weight twice as hard, and then three times more because her name is also associated with Magnus Hammersmith, the guitarist who got kicked out of dethklok. It wasn't a good image. Instead of learning to fight with her wits and literally everything else, she chose hands and it was very effective. Magnus was very much an 'eye for an eye' and took her to karate classes. She's a third degree black belt.

Aside from getting into all sorts of trouble, she was a talented musician. She was taught guitar from a young age and while she could be faster than her own dad with certain songs, purposely slows down because she knows how he is. She's always been told she could apply to Juilliard if given the chance but her grades were always the one thing that she never cared much about. She's an average B-C student and prefers it this way; it's easier to stand out of the spotlight if she's average. She doesn't have many friends, mainly circles around a rotation of friend groups as she never feels like she can blend into them. She'll say she's not lonely though; she'd eat her lunches alone or with the teachers/professors she got along the most with. it's fine being alone though, look at what happened to her dad anyway. She may or may not have a crush with one of her friends she met in college though. She went on to college to study music; she would meet Knubbler and Abigail as they would speak in her college about their profesions and dethklok. Aside from adding them on linkedin, they never really interacted.

Post-DSR She has no idea about the whereabouts of her dad as he had basically straight up disappeared for the last few years. Just one day left. She wouldn't realize what had happened until his name came all over the news and that he had kidnapped Toki and Abigail. She is horrified, of course at seeing the man who she had loved suddenly turn out to be this monster. And her life is only hell right after they were rescued and Magnus' whereabouts were unknown. She has his last name, after all. But maybe the church can help? For a price of course.

Some fun facts about her is that she has a golden retriever dog named Kronk (Emperor's New Groove was her favorite childhood film), Knows how to fix a motorcycle and also never drank once in her life despite having so many opportunities of doing so at a young age.

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Hannah "Rabbit" Rodriguez/Smith (CW: racism, bullying, drug usage)

I haven't posted much about her other than just a design I don't really like anymore but you can find her in chapter 1 of Coast. And I guess this is the first time I'm officially gonna be mentioning the rundown with her, you don't need to read Coast at all at this point as she won't make a bigger part until much later. This is just more of her backstory here;

Hannah was born as Hannah Genova Lopez-Rodriguez and she was born in Honduras but would spend her childhood in Columbia. She was a bit of a troublemaker, caused a few fights here and there but she had good grades that made up for it and was a social butterfly. She was able to learn English by teaching herself through the cassettes and books her cousins from United States would bring to them every year they vacationed there. Her family eventually moved to the United States in order to obtain a better work opportunity. They had family in New Mexico where they stayed for a while. They would stay there for a while until her father's friend offered them a place to stay in Wisconsin so they moved there. Her last name was changed to Smith so they could blend in better.

Despite her knowing English well, she was easily the odd one out when she entered school. From her accent to her skin color, she was heavily bullied as a result and found it a difficult time to be taken seriously by almost everyone. It would take her being shoved against the lockers for almost every day for her to snap and beat up the cheerleader that did it, giving her a black eye. She was let off with a few months detention surprisingly enough and while she hated that she was the only one punished in the end, was glad that it never led to anything more than that. She would meet Pickles, a kid she'd see in passing but they never shared the same classes as she was stuck in the remedial courses. He got in detention for being caught smoking underneath the school bleachers in gym class.

They'd become friends after sharing a bottle of whiskey he snuck in and from there they would become friends. He did not seem to mind the rumors that would circulate over the idea of the trans guy and the one POC in the school hanging out. He got called names of course, but he didn't care as they were better than what they called him before. He would introduce her to his own friend group that consisted of teens in their neighborhood. She had a supportive friend group whom she cared for and genuinely didn't feel like being an alien being around (even if their food choices are absolutely horrid. Just mayo as a snack, Pickles...really??). She was the one that came up with the idea of gifting him a leather jacket for his 16th birthday, money that they all had pitched in for him. And for his 17th, would help pitch in money to get him a bus ticket for him to head to Hollywood.

She would stay in Wisconsin to graduate high school but eventually got accepted into a college in New York. She went there for marketing but her true dream was to be a tattoo artist. She loved sketching logos and designs and would actually have her first job being designing tattoo designs for clients. As much as she wanted to follow her true dream, she was pressured by family to go into a professional business world so she would agree to it. Going to New York would later prove to be a mistake as it was what would end up causing her to fall quickly into drugs and eventually, a hell that would be hard to escape from. And it didn't help that the friend group she had would eventually fall into that too. Admittedly her story isn't a very happy one but it's just the harsh realities of the 80s.

Also some fun facts about her/things i couldn't bring up: She knows how to do tarot readings and because of how uncultured her school was, learned to scam people off fake haunted readings for money and lunch food and she never got in trouble for it. She actually can learn languages fairly quickly; she took up French in high school and despite learning French from English, she had the highest scores of the class. She gained the nickname Rabbit from the friend group because she bleached her hair but it came off more as a white-goldish color and one of them would compare her to a rabbit. It would later stem into them calling each other animal nicknames for fun (Pickles would've been something like fox or even salmon but he had already chosen his name as Pickles at that point )

[vannahfanfics]

Hewwo!! So I found this Rarepair heaven, and absoLUTELY fell in love with it! So much so that I decided to request something for the first time ever! I'm sorry if you're not taking requests right now, its totally fine if you ignore this forever, but...but..would you mind doing a BakuJirou fic? It could be about anything and everything, but I really need some BakuJirou fluff to blow my mind right about now! Thanks in advance!!

Ahhh, thank you for the praise, Anon! Thank you for your patience; here is your BakuJiro story, and I hope you like it enough to request again sometime!

Urban Harmony

The rain drummed rhythmically against the sloped roof of the bus stop booth. Through lidded eyes, Kyoka watched the water stream down the frosted glass sides; the sparse light played across the running water, making rippling ribbons of white dance across her form. They frolicked over the cozy fabric of her knitted gray sweater before jumping down to the denim of her ripped skinny jeans before diving down to her Converse, where puddles of rainwater were beginning to accumulate from the day’s torrential downpour. 

Most people would enjoy the pattering of the rain, the squeaking of the tires against wet tar, and the humming of the car engines blending into a strangely soothing urban harmony. However, Kyoka preferred her own soundtrack to her daily grind; her earbuds were nestled snugly into her ears pumping heady rock music into the canals. She bobbed her head to the beat, mostly oblivious to the people trudging by clutching their umbrellas and splashing the puddles with their rain boots. Sheltering from the rain while listening to her favorite music had a certain catharsis to it, one that was making Kyoka sleepy and slightly wishing for time to stop for just a little while. 

The harsh scrape of sneaker soles against wet concrete rose above her music, prompting her to tear her gaze away from the hypnotizing waterfall-like stream of rain cascading down the glass wall of the bus stop. A boy was trudging toward her, his arms buried in his hoodie pockets and his head hunched down. A backpack rustled on his back, looking laden with books. He lacked an umbrella, so the rain beat down upon him with a fury, soaking the red fabric of his jacket a deep maroon. As he glanced up, she could see vermilion eyes peeking out below sodden ash-gray bangs. 

They were more mesmerizing than the falling rain, and her heart fluttered. 

“This seat taken?” he grunted, speaking loudly to overpower her earbuds. Kyoka shook her head firmly and slid to the side of the bench to give him more room, or maybe to push herself as far away as she could from his intimidating aura. The boy plopped down on the bench and dropped his book bag on a dry patch of concrete with a weary sigh, leaning back and stretching out his legs just enough to not be obnoxious. As he tipped his head over the back of the bench, Kyoka watched the rise and fall of his breaths with pinkening cheeks, swearing she could see the muscles rippling beneath the fabric. 

“Fuck,” the boy groaned, not aware that Kyoka had turned down her music to listen to him. “Shoulda checked the weather forecast today… I’m gonna be pissed if my textbooks are soaked.” He leaned forward to unzip his bag and rifle through it, checking their condition. Kyoka curiously craned her head to peek, growing impressed when she spotted large law textbooks in the gloom of the back. She jerked when he abruptly zipped the backpack shut and tossed a glare at her, his red eyes flashing. It wasn’t malicious, though— more like amused. 

“Nosy, aren’tcha?” 

Kyoka ignored the barb to swiftly reply, “You study law?” 

“That’s right,” the stranger said as he reclined back against the bench, nestling one arm behind his head while the other fished in his pocket for his phone. “I’m a first-year at the university down the way,” he explained with a nod of his head in the direction from which he’d come. “My apartment is pretty far, though, so I have to wait for this goddamn bus.” Kyoka snickered at his brusqueness, watching in curiosity as he unspooled his earbuds from around the phone and shoved one deep into his ear. He left the other dangling, implying that he was at least mildly interested in her. She decided to oblige his silent invitation. 

“I go to that university too. I study music.” 

“In theory or in practice?” 

“Practice. I’m a singer and guitarist.” 

He whistled appreciatively, his red eyes flickering to her for a moment before looking back down at his screen. He pressed a button, then frowned, jabbing at the screen with his thumb. He then ripped the earbuds out with a growl. 

“Pieces of shit… They’ve gone and died on me,” he muttered, squinting at the earbuds as he held them up. He flung them into the nearby trashcan and flopped back against the bench, radiating irritation. Kyoka fidgeted next to him, a blush rising to her cheeks alongside a ridiculous idea, but her tongue ended up acting on it anyway. 

“Um… The bus is gonna be a while, so… You could share my earbuds if you like,” she offered meekly. The red-eyed boy glanced at her critically, looking her up and down to study her as if she were suspicious. After a second of contemplation, he shrugged and scooched closer to her; as their legs brushed, Kyoka’s face grew a whole shade darker. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the earbud out of her ear and held it out to him. She hoped he couldn’t feel her quivering when their fingers touched for the briefest second as he took it and jammed it into his ear. Kyoka switched her earbud to the opposite ear before pulling up her music playlist, leaning in to show him her phone screen. 

“I’m not sure what kind of music you like, but, you’re welcome to look.” 

He wordlessly took her phone to scroll through the options, eventually settling on a soft rock song. Kyoka took her cellphone back and held it to her chest as the music began to slow from the tiny speakers, accented by the pounding of the rain in her opposite ear and the silence growing between them. 

“You’ve got good taste,” he remarked after a minute. She looked up with a slight gasp to see him staring out at the road, eyes lidded as he watched the cars trundle by. “So, what do you want to do with your degree, Earbuds?” he asked, looking out of the corners of his eyes at her. She flushed at the sudden nickname and squirmed in her seat, gaze dropping. 

“My mother and father are both retired musicians who own a record label and instrument design company. I’d like to become a performer myself, but if that doesn’t work out, I can take over the business.” 

“Well, at least you’ve got a back-up plan. You look too smart to be some starry-eyed girl who swears she’s gonna be the next big thing,” he smirked, and Kyoka smiled thinly, unsure if it was a compliment or an insult. Sensing what she was about to ask, he smugly puffed out his chest and announced, “I’m studying law to be a prosecutor. One day I’m gonna become the most famous and feared attorney in all of Japan.” 

“You’re the one who sounds like a starry-eyed girl dreaming of being the next big thing,” Kyoka laughed, making the boy look at her with an indignant chuff. As she snickered, holding her curled finger up to her lips, the tension slowly melted from his body. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, crossing his arms and looking back at the road. “Laugh all ya want, but it’s the truth, Earbuds.” Looking at him, at his confident posture and cocksure smirk, she could believe it. He seemed like the type of guy to chase down his dream and wrestle it into submission no matter how many obstacles were thrown in his path. 

“Kyoka,” she corrected him after a bit of silence, making him look at her with a raised eyebrow. “My name is Kyoka.” 

“That so, Earbuds?” Kyoka had to smile at his complete indifference and insistence upon calling her the nickname. She liked the familiarity of it, though they were no more than strangers who’d met at the bus stop. “My name’s Katsuki Bakugo. Nice to meet you, or whatever small talk bullshit you’d like me to spout.” Kyoka giggled; he really was an asshole but in the most charming way. He was doing it on purpose, too, based on the smirk dancing over his lips. 

“I’m not into small talk,” she said with a small smirk of her own. “I much prefer the rain.” Katsuki snorted, then leaned his head back against the bench to stare out into the street. The both of them watched the rain pour from the heavens, soaking up into the sparse bits of grass lining the sidewalks to flood the soil into little lakes. It slicked the road, causing the car tires to squeal and fling water as the vehicles trundled down the road. Passersby scurried along hoping to escape the deluge before it got worse, the lucky ones huddled underneath umbrellas or clad in rain jackets. The rain drummed in the background of the soft rock drifting out of her earbuds, peaceful and soothing. 

She found her eyes drifting to Katsuki. His vermilion eyes were lidded as he stared out into the street, and his cut jawline shone with the rain still drying on his skin. His ash blond hair was clumped and poofy from being under his wet hood. He looked roguish, but handsomely so, and it made Kyoka’s heart pound. She gripped her phone tight, but insodoing she accidentally brushed her thumb across the screen and skipped the song. 

“Yo, what the fuck?” Katsuki griped, making her jump. “I was listening to that.” 

“S-sorry.” 

Katsuki peered at her with scrupulous eyes, making her squirm uncomfortably. 

“Come on, Earbuds. I’m not that intimidating, am I?” he asked with a huff. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and cheeks in his hands. Kyoka flushed in embarrassment, wiggling a little on the seat. 

“It’s not that, necessarily,” she said and chewed on the inside of her cheek as she ruminated on asking him for his phone number. I mean, he’s a handsome guy! I’m single, he… might be single, she debated. Kyoka hadn’t hadn’t dated much, as no boys had ever really caught her eye, but Katsuki just… felt right. Deciding there was no time besides the present, she quickly forced out, “It’s just that you’re really nice-looking, ya know? That unnerves a girl.” 

Katsuki stared owlishly at her for a second, surprised by her admission. Then, a wicked smirk spread across his lips, his ego skyrocketing at the compliment. 

“Oh? Aren’t you forward?” he chuckled. His wet clothes squeaked a little as he slowly straightened up. While maintaining eye contact with the blushing Kyoka, he reached out to take her phone with her. She could only watch, heart thumping, while he put his contact information into her phone. “Lucky for you, I like that in a girl, so I’ll humor you,” he said while continuing to smile smugly. He all but flopped her phone back into her hands, but she was so high-strung and stunned that her fingers only twitched a little around it. 

He then looked out into the street as headlights spilled around the corner, refracting on the water and making the street look like it was covered by glittering diamonds. Finally recovering some neuron function, Kyoka realized that it was the bus. Katsuki looked back to her, smirking. 

“So, you mind sharing your earbuds with me a little while longer? Least you can do, considering I’m probably gonna take you on a date,” he said playfully. Kyoka’s cheeks lit up like Christmas lights, hot and cherry-red. Still, she nodded meekly, not wishing to abandon Katsuki’s company just yet. The rain would continue to fall for a while yet, after all…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[kieranfm]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐇𝐐  ,  𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝟒   ;   𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴  &  𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴   ››   𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍  +  𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍  .

five  ,  nearly  six  ,  months  kieran  had  been  filling  his  days  by  playing  stay-at-home-dad .  &  ,  if  he  was  honest  ,  he’d  loved  every  single  minute  of  it  .  2021  ,  after  all  ,  had  been  ANOTHER  big  year  for  the  found  as  a  band  &  for  kieran  as  a  musician  ;  they  had  still  been  running  on  the  high  of  a  #1  debut  album  &  ,  on  the  career  front  at  least ,  they’d  had  a  successful  first  american  tour  .  it  had  been  GOOD  to  wind  down  .  it  had  been  good  to  FINALLY  slow  down  enough  to  truly  process  EVERYTHING  that  had  happened  .  to  figure  out  just  how  his  life  worked  now  that  more  people  did  a  double  glance  over  their  shoulder  when  he  walked  passed  .  when  such  a  simple  thing  as  taking  ziggy  for  a  walk  was  somehow  considered  NEWS  .  how  he  no  longer  had  to  check  his  bank  account  on  a  weekly  basis  to  make  sure  he  had  enough  to  live  .  but  maybe  ,  most  important  of  all  ,  the  nearly  six  month  break  had  given  kieran  a  chance  to  settle  into  what  a  YEAR  with  EVAN  could  really  look  like  ;  what  it  was  like  to  wake  up  to  each  other  every  single  morning  &  then  be  the  last  person  they  saw  before  they  went  to  sleep  .   &  then  ,  in  the  last  three  months  ,  what  it  was  like  to  LIVE  together  .  truly  live  together  &  not  simply  have  a  designated  drawer  in  each  others  apartment  like  they’d  had  for  the  past  year  that  was  only  filled  every  alternate  weekend  —  if  they  were  lucky  .  now  ,  kieran  couldn’t  remember  what  had  been  his  &  what  had  been  hers  .  it  had  felt  seamless  .  but  then  again  ,  was  it  really  a  surprise  ?  evan  had  ALWAYS  fitted  into  his  life  seamlessly  .  even  long  before  either  of  them  had  ever  thought  they’d  even  make  it  to  admitting  their  feelings  out  loud  to  each  other  ,  let  alone  believing  they’d  one  day  be  moving  in  together  &  planning  a  FUTURE  .  but  life  did  have  a  funny  way  of  making  the  unbelievable   believable  .  &  as  far  as  kieran  had  been  concerned  ,  he  couldn’t  have  thought  of  a  better  end  to  2021  .  nor  a  better  start  to  2022  .  because  if  2021  was  a  year  to  remember  ,  2022  was  certainly  going  to  be  a  year  to  write  about  .  their  first  year  living  together  .  a  two  year  anniversary  later  in  the  year  .  evan’s  new  studio  space &  dream  coming  to  life  in  the  same  city  as  his  own  .  multiple  festivals  lined  up  throughout  the  year  &  an  impending  sophomore  album  .  .  . it  was  ALL  happening  for  them  .  &  it  was  really  no  surprise  that  as  evan  put  the  final  touches  on  her  studio  &  jobs  surely  began  to  roll  in  as  everyone  returned  from  the  holiday  season ,  pulling  her  away  from  the  apartment  &  away  from  spending  her  days  with  him  & ziggy ,  kieran  began  to  itch  for  something  to  do  .  because  no  matter  HOW  much  he’d  joked  about  just  never  going  back  &  becoming  a  ‘kept  man’  ,  they  both  knew  that  would  NEVER  happen  .  he  loved  music  too  much  —  he  loved  being  able  to  CREATE  music  too  much  to  ever  give  it  up  .  &  no  matter  how  much  he’d  loved  the  last  near  six  months  ,  there  was  no  denying  he  was  going  a  bit  stir-crazy  .  london  had  been  different  .  he’d  been  HAPPY  to  simply  spend  his  days  walking  ziggy  ,  trying  to  pack  evan’s  boxes  in  the  most  evan  way  he  could  &  making  it  so  evan  ALWAYS  came  home  to  something  cooking  in  the  kitchen  .  but  being  in  manchester  ,  knowing  disclosure  was  on  a  short  number  of  blocks  away  &  having  access  to  his  music  all  around  him  .  .  .  he’d  already  traded  one  of  the  two  walks  he  took  ziggy  on  for  time  spent  in  his  home  studio  .  pattering  about  on  the  keyboard  to  test  out  possible  new  sounds  or  plucking  the  beginnings  of  a  chorus  that  could  one  day  make  it  into  a  song  .  so  when  the  time  came  to  go  back  to  disclosure .  .  .  he’d  NEVER  been  more  excited  about  a  meeting  with  their  whole  team  .  even  when  it  to  start  talks  about  their  sophomore  album  .

A  SOPHOMORE  ALBUM  . it  was  quite  possibly  the  most  daunting  thing  a  band  or  musician  could  go  through  .  but  when  you  have  a  #1  debut  album  under  your  belt  .  .  .  well  ,  it’s  quite  possibly  the  perfect  recipe  for  making  an  age  old  saying  ring  true  ; your  second  album  is  never  as  good  as  your  first  .  a  saying  otherwise  known  as  second  album  syndrome .  a  syndrome  that  had  come  for  a  band  that  all  four  boys  had  once  idolised ;  the  stone  roses  .  a  syndrome  that  had  been  brought  up  on  the  FIRST  day  & twisted  kieran’s  stomach  into  a  knot  he  hadn’t  felt  since  he’d  heard  the  last  ever  play  through  of  their  first  album  before  it  was  set  for  its  final  release  date  .  he’d  thought  he’d  gotten  passed  this ; being  nervous  when  it  came  to  music  .  the  past  two  years  had  cemented  the  fact  that  this  was  what  he'd  been  BORN  to  do  .  music  was  what  he  was  good  at  .  it  was  how  he  thought  ,  it  was  how  he  loved  ,  it  was  how  he  lived  .  music  was  WHO  he  was  .  but  maybe  THAT  was  what  made  the  fear  of  second  album  syndrome  all  that  more  TERRIFYING  .  the  found’s  music  was  tied  so  closely  to  who  he  was  that  if  it  didn’t WORK  .  .  . then  what  did  it  say  about  him  ?  he  hadn’t  had  to  prove  himself  since  they’d  released  their  first  album  &  really  ,  it  was  quite  possible  that  maybe  their  debut  album  was  just  a  stroke  of  luck  .  that  album  ,  after  all  ,  had  been  made  up  of  nearly  22  years  of  his  life  &  six  years  of  PINING  for  a  girl  he  never  thought  he’d  ever  get  a  chance  to  be  with  .  what  did  he  have  to  write  about  now ?  two  years  of  success  &  a  year  of  a  relationship  that  made  him  the  happiest  he’d  EVER  been  ?  they  were  hardly  the  type  of  subjects  their  fans  would  want  to  hear  written  about —  no .  .  .  no  .  it  WOULDN’T  happen  to  them  .  kieran  wouldn’t  let  it  .  conan  could  joke  about  evan  needing  to  break  up  with  him  to  get  some  decent  songs  out  of  him  all  he  wanted  .  he  still  had  some  old  songs  tucked  away  that  never  made  it  onto  the  first  album  that  he  thought  ,  after  some  tweaking  ,  could  make  the  cut  this  time &  he’d  never  stopped  scribbling  down  ideas  in  that  nearing  FULL  leather  bound  notebook  he'd  carried  around  for  years  .  no  ,  their  sophomore  album  wouldn't  succumb  to  the  second  album  curse   .  not  if  kieran  had  anything  to  do  with  it  .  he’d  run  himself  into  the  ground  before  he  let  that  happen  .  

the  only  thing  was  someone  needed  to  remind  him  that  he  didn’t  have  to  have  it  all  figured  out  within  the  first  few  weeks  of  returning  to  the  same  studio  they’d  recorded  their  first  album  in  .  hell  ,  he  didn’t  even  need  to  have  it  all  figured  out  within  the  first  few  MONTHS  .  nothing  had  been  set  in  stone  .  mikey  had  booked  out  a  block  of  weeks  at  the  end  of  january  &  the  beginning  of  february  only  to  let  the  boys  get  back  into  it  .  to  give  them  some  time  to  play  around  with  ideas  they  may  have  gotten  over  the  break  &  begin  to  think  about  what  direction  they  might  take  the  album  in  before  any  REAL  talks  about  the  details  their  sophomore  album  happened  .  but  kieran  had  always  been  a  perfectionist  .  he  put  his  ALL  into  anything  he  did  .  & for  the  15  minutes  spent  goofing  around  on  guitars  ,  keyboards  &  drums  ,  he  spent  a  further  30  pouring  over  pages  of  old  lyrics &  sheets  that  held  fragments  of  melodies  that  just  about  covered  the  whole  floor  of  the  lounge  area  outside  of  the  recording  booth  .  hoping  that  if  he  stared  at  them  long  enough  the  notes  would  etch  themselves  black  upon  them  on  their  own  .  it  had  been  a  sight  that  had  become  like  clockwork  since  they’d  all  settled  into  a  routine  .  three  boys  standing  at  the  edge  of  a  sea  of  off-white  that  surrounded  kieran  ,  bent  over  a  guitar  propped  against  him  as  he  scribbled  out  a  note  &  replaced  it  with  another  ,  all  in  a  useless  attempt  to  lure  him  out  to  get  some  air  or  water  or  food  or  to  go  home  to  evan  &  ziggy  .  “  come  on  ,  walsh  .  we’ve  been  at  t’is  for  fucking  HOURS  .  give  it  a  rest  &  come  grab  some  food  wit’  us  .  ”  kieran  registered  conan’s  voice  over  the  gentle  notes  that  resonated  from  the  movement  of  plucking  fingers  across  metal  strings  that  came  with  a  slight  tilt  of  his  head  .  but  the  only  movement  his  lips  made  was  a  soundless  mimicking  of  the  notes  that  filled  the  air  .  “  kieran  .  ”  the  left  corner  of  his  nose  twitched  slightly  as  his  head  rightened  ,  a  breath  loosening  lightly  at  the  sharpness  of  conan’s  tone  ,  “  i’ve  nearly  got  t’is  bridge  figured  out  ,  just  go  catch  up  wit’  t’e  ruairi  & adam & bring  me  somet’ing  back  .  ”  &  even  though  his  eyes  hadn’t  lifted  from  the  placement  of  his  fingers  upon  the  neck  of  his  guitar  ,  he  didn’t  need  to  to  know  the  look that  flashed  across  conan’s  features  ;  irritation  .  .  .  frustration .  .  .  defeat  .  “  at  least  be  in  a  different  bloody  spot  when  we  get  back   ,  you’re  gonna  lose  a  couple  inches  in  height  if  you  keep  t’at  up  &  you  ain’t  got  a  lot  t’  lose  before  evan’s  right  about  you  being  SHORT  .  ”  but  kieran  had  already  tuned  him  out  the  minute  he’d  heard  defeat  in  conan’s  voice  .  & conan  KNEW  it  .  he  could  see  it  in  the  working  of  kieran’s  jaw  as  his  head  angled  once  more  in  an  attempt  to  tune  further  into  the  notes  he  worked  on  .  though  conan  wasn’t  sure  if  he’d  EVER  seen  anyone  more  in  tune  than  the  boy  that  sat  hunched  over  his  guitar  .  it  was  the  ONLY  reason  he  didn’t  resort  to  physically  dragging  him  out  when  he  got  so  fixated  .  .  .  it  was  hard  to  pull  someone  away  from  something  that  was  like  watching  magic  right  before  your  eyes  .  he  knew  he'd  even  out  eventually  .  he  always  did  . it  was  why  he  let  the  studio  door  close  firmly  shut  behind  him  as  he  finally  stepped  out  into  the  corridor  to  catch  ruairi  &  adam  before  the  elevator  made  it  to  the  fifth  floor  .  but  as  he'd  only  made  it  a  few  metres  down  the  corridor  ,  a  familiar  figure  rounded  the  corner  ahead  of  him  .  causing  his  brow  to  arch  upward  as  his  eyes  made  a  quick  study  of  the  girls  small  frame  carrying  the  telltale  sign  of  takeaways ,  “  you  planning  t’  feed  ALL  of  us  wit’  t'at  measly  amount  of  food  ,  connely  ?  or  is  t'is  a  special  request from  t'e  god  damn  diva  t’at  refuses  t’  eat  wit’  t'e  rest  of  us  ?   ”  he  called  down  to  her  as  his  hand  lifted  from  his  side  to  jab  a  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  studio  that  sat  a  few  metres  behind  him  . “  nearly  forgot  how  much  of  a  fucking  pain  in  t'e  ass  he  can  be  when  he  gets  like  t’is  —-  ”  it  could  have  been  cruel  ,  but  only  jest  &  admiration  wrapped  itself  around  his  voice  as  he  spoke  &  he  kept  walking  .  “ i’d  stick  around  t’  help  but  —  i’ve  got  two  ot’ers  t’  look  after  &  feed  &  t’at  one  IS  yours  so  —-  ”  as  he  slipped  passed  her  ,  he  turned  to  walk  backwards  down  the  hall  as  his  hand  rose  once  more  to  point  at  her  ,  “  ‘ave  fun  .  don’t  take  it  personally  if  he’s  more  into  t’at  guitar  of  his  t'an  he  is  into  you  at  t'e  minute  .  but  most  important  —-  don’t  call  .  i’m  off  the  clock  till  9  .  ”

[salty-dracon]

Liveblog of Deltarune Chapter 2, in one Tumblr post.

DELTARUNE SPOILERS

Checking out Deltarune Chapter 2.

Does time move differently in the two worlds? I hope not.

Ralsei is so nice to us. Thank you Ralsei for your rooms made specially for us, and totally not over the course of 10 years.

Thanks Toby Fox dog for.... something.

The Internet world reminds me of Mega Man. Is this place like Web 1.0 with those giant cathode ray monitors or is it something else? The mention of Space Pinball makes me think it's the Windows XP era.

I just noticed that a sparkle flew off from us when we jumped into the new world. Was that our second uninvited guest, Rouxls?

Everything about Queen makes me want to punch her stupid face in. Good villain, I guess? Ughhhh she's so mean but in a 16 year old on a chat room kind of way.

The Werewires have such a good design.

Queen attempts to beat us at a fighting game, but with the power of friendship we got through it. "Bosom or Perish" lol.

It's not a highly emotional game without a dancing sequence by a highly irritating musician.

Yeah they're hinting at the Queen having a sidekick and him speaking in a way no one can understand. So it's probably Rouxls.

The enemies in this area look so good.

BERDLY!!! I have a voice in my head for this guy and it's Byakuya Togami, even now.

Triple trucies!

If I ever acted like Berdly towards you, I'm sorry. Also people who act like him suck. I want to draw him doing the Virgin Walk now.

Gamer's Delight of course it is.

I finally figured out the words for what Berdly is. An isekai protagonist. That's it. He's an isekai protagonist.

Hmm. Spamton. Don't like that.

Noelle's honest discussion about the city is a nice break from all the silly shit. I'm glad she could experience it. Why was she spelling out “December” on her walk, though.

I ONLY PLAY MOBILE GAMES

Wow, I didn't expect a shout-out to Kiwami Japan, aka the knife guy who makes knives out of increasingly weird stuff.

Berdly being ass at solving puzzles is giving me, who is good at solving puzzles, life. “Face it, you’re just as big a dumbass as the rest of us!” got me. The backstory for him is interesting, though. Once again, the word “December”, alongside a silhouette of Noelle. Hmm.

I knew those screams weren’t Ralsei! Lol, they were some of those giant conefaced plague doctor Phoenix Wright things!

The Tasque Manager enemy looks so cool.

Oh god. Blue checkmarks.

Is Nubert supposed to be a reference to Omori’s “Humphrey”?

I deeply adore all of the old computer references, like “Mouse Wheel” and the windows XP background behind Queen.

Thanks Toby Fox dog.

That post where it’s three versions of “has food thrown at me, inexplicably eats it all instantly” is what Susie just did. Like the “witch hitting me while i’m sitting in her cauldron: stop eating all the potatoes” one and the “woman throws a drink at me but i swallow it all perfectly” one. That’s what Susie just did.

mmmmmm battery acid and hands and logic puzzles

There’s Rouxls. He’s a pirate now.

GOD DAMMIT!!!

Noooooo poor Noelle. YESSS SUSIE COMING IN CLUTCH

amazing. pre character development noelle lent her a candy cane and susie payed it back by not picking on her. *slow, sarcastic clapping* bravo, asshole. bravo. fuck you

Noelle :’)

Wait a minute. Wait wait wait wait wait. Noelle calls her sister Dess. Noelle stayed silent when one of the words in the spelling bee was “December”. Noelle is Christmas-themed, with her being a reindeer, her name sounding like “Noel”, and mentions of Christmas songs and candy-cane pencils. Is it possible that Noelle’s sister’s name is December, and she lost December to an accident or something?

This is the funniest conversation ever, in the Ferris wheel. Aww. I hope it ends well for both of them. Ah. Berdly came to ruin it.

NOELLE????? WHAT????

This possible revelation that Noelle can strengthen the Darkness, and that a lot of this world is built on her own memories of this person named “December”, leads me to believe that actually, all of the worlds here are built from the memories of a person, in this case, this world was built from Noelle’s memories. But whose memories are the first world built from? Susie’s? Kris’s? Ralsei’s?

All of these boss themes ROCK!

Yeah as I thought, Queen is only acting to save Noelle.

What does the Knight have to do with any of this? There was a Knight in Undertale, though, I think- it was that guy lying on a wall near one of the shops. So the Knight apparently created the darkness through the power of determination, and with determination, which Lightners all possess, anyone can make more darkness. Hmm.

Epic final boss fight against Queen! I wondered what mechanic they'd bring back- turns out it was the fighting game. Despite being an asshole it seems she didn't really want anything bad to happen.

The Roaring is going to be the endgame I guess. Maybe it's the reason all the monsters are underground in Undertale?

And everything was back to normal!

At least Lancer's got a new mom now. Lancer's dad does not like her one bit.

Sans. Good to see you. Funny as ever. Cracking fourth wall breaking jokes about how goddamn long this part took to make.

There it is again. Kris's soul acting on its own- or, by the player's influence. If the last chapter suggested that Kris's soul wasn't ours to control, why did it let us do so again?

What the HELL? So Kris sometimes pulls her soul out, shuts it away, and lets it sit there while she goes out and does her own thing? That explains the connection between last chapter and this one. There's no discontinuity. We just didn't see her put her soul back into her own body.

So what Kris did just now was slash the cars tires. Why?

Oh. And there's the connection between The Knight and the events of this story. Kris, or at least her body without her soul, is the one causing these fountain of darkness to appear. That's why Kris, with her soul, is the only one who can seal them. Kris is the knight.

[carotidartistry]

COVID and the Arts

The existence of algorithm-driven, non-chronological "timelines" is very bizarre right now. On my Facebook feed, I see posts from March 10 talking about starting the second week of previews or celebrating good box office returns. On March 12, my job ceased to exist, as did the jobs of hundreds upon hundreds of people as an entire industry shuttered over the course of one day.

The cancellations and closing of events and arts/entertainment venues, while important for public health, have left many people (who earn on a gig basis rather than salary) very suddenly and entirely without expected income. There is no work-from-home option, just their job disappearing entirely. Some people will be able to collect unemployment insurance, but many won't even get that, as they work as independent contractors who are paid a fee for work delivered or vend their goods directly to customers at such events.

This is a tough time for arts/events organizations and those who work them (which includes not just artists but all of the ushers, custodians, etc. whose work is tied to the event itself). I'm compiling ways to support those who have been impacted (pass-the-hats for donating to individuals, funds that are accepting donations, ways to purchase people's goods/services, etc.) and resources for those who have been impacted. The industry community is coming together in a heartening way right now, but it would mean a great deal to me if those not in the industry could take a moment to glance through and maybe even to share this information. Even if you can't make any sort of donation yourself, it means something to have this hardship be seen and acknowledged.

Additionally, if you have tickets to events that have been canceled and don't immediately need your funds returned, I encourage you to wait a bit before reaching out to the theater/venue/etc.. Box office workers have been overwhelmed. And particularly if it was a ticket for a non-profit or grassroots organization, if it's possible, I'd encourage people to consider donating the cost of their ticket rather than demanding a refund.

While I'm aware that there are many people in many sectors taking a hit right now, I am putting my focus on where I am and would like to keep that the focus here. Please share any relevant updates, additional resources, etc..

Support Those Who Have Been Impacted

A general pass-the-hat for individual theatre workers (updated daily): I Lost My Theatre Gigs

“The Indie Theater Fund is launching this fundraising campaign to provide direct support and emergency relief to independent theaters and artists in response to the COVID-19 pandemic.” https://www.facebook.com/donate/509591526599992/509604039932074/

NYC Low-Income Artist/Freelancer Relief Fund: "We seek to provide support for low-income, BIPOC, trans/GNC/NB/Queer artists and freelancers whose livelihoods are being effected by this pandemic in NYC. Whether it's from cancelled gigs, lost jobs, or a lack of business due to coronavirus scares, we hope to orchestrate an egalitarian approach to crowdsourcing." [Note: their funding applications are currently closed as they make sure that they have enough resources to cover the 500 people who have already applied.] https://www.gofundme.com/f/nyc-lowincome-artistfreelancer-relief-fund

"The Philadelphia Performing Artists' Emergency Fund was created amid the COVID-19 outbreak to assist performing artists whose income has been impacted by show cancellations, slowing ticket sales, and/or low turnout during this pandemic." https://www.gofundme.com/f/philly-performance-artist-fund

"The Boston Artist Relief Fund will award grants of $500 and $1,000 to individual artists who live in Boston whose creative practices and incomes are being adversely impacted by Coronavirus Disease 2019 (COVID-19)." https://www.boston.gov/artistrelief

Boston Music Maker Relief Fund: "Small grants of up to $200 will be paid rapidly on a first come, first served basis to affected artists and groups. Please see grant guidelines below. Donations will be accepted from individuals and corporations in order to replenish the fund and continue making payments to eligible music makers in the queue. The Record Co. is covering all admin/processing costs so 100% of every donation goes directly to music makers in the community. Please consider donating using the form below or contact matt@therecordco.org to get involved.": https://www.therecordco.org/relief

Durham Artist Relief Fund: "Funds donated here go directly to artists and arts presenters in Durham who have been financially impacted by cancellations due to COVID-19, with priority given to to BIPOC artists, transgender & nonbinary artists, and disabled artists": https://www.northstardurham.com/artistrelief

Emergency Relief Fund for Artists During COVID-19 (Minnesota): https://www.givemn.org/story/Epf3ag

Opera San José Artists and Musicians Relief Fund: “This emergency cash reserve will allow us to provide support to the musicians, singers, carpenters, stitchers, designers and other hourly company members that make our productions possible and who will be deeply affected by COVID-19.”: https://operasj.secure.force.com/donate/?dfId=a0nf400000QZ7hKAAT

A pass the hat for individual SXSW workers: "Update 3/10: We have received over 400 submissions - thank you! We are working diligently to verify each submission and get them posted. As of today, the total amount of reported income lost is $2,108,835. Your stories are heartbreaking but we know them all too well. We appreciate you, we see you, and we love you, Austin. Hang in there." https://www.ilostmygig.com/

2020 ECCC Artists Alley: An unofficial compilation of Eccc2020 artist alley online shops. Browse the goods of artists who won't have the opportunity to sell directly to their anticipated customers: https://ecccartistalley.tumblr.com/

Artists Alley Online:  A directory for some of the artists who would have been at Emerald City Comic Con (March 12-15, 2020) had it not been moved due to the corona virus.  https://artistalleyonline.com/

Shoutout to the theaters who have suspended performances but are still paying their artists in the interim. These have been reported to include: Ars Nova (https://arsnovanyc.com/), Geffen Playhouse (https://www.geffenplayhouse.org/), WP Theater (https://wptheater.org/), Soho Rep (https://sohorep.org/), Playwrights Realm (https://www.playwrightsrealm.org/), New York Theatre Workshop (https://www.nytw.org/), Rattlestick Playwrights Theater (https://www.rattlestick.org/), the McCarter Theatre (https://www.mccarter.org/), Parity Productions (https://www.parityproductions.org/), and Second Stage Theater (https://2st.com/).  (sources: https://twitter.com/diepthought/status/1238194781437734912?s=19, direct email from Second Stage)

More who have been named are the Public Theater (https://publictheater.org/), Transport Group (http://transportgroup.org/), Vineyard Theatre (https://www.vineyardtheatre.org/), and Lincoln Center Theater (https://www.lct.org/). (source: https://twitter.com/westratenick/status/1238847988262453248)

Please consider giving those organizations (and any others who are doing similarly) your support if/when you're able to.

Resources for Impacted Arts/Entertainment/Events Workers

Freelancers & Community Resources 2020: Resources centered for artists and those impacted by gigs being canceled/postponed: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xt1QZlGsyga_HrXagubV9O0rebV5dx4DuMOd2sWvWwc/edit

COVID-19 & Freelance Artist Resources: https://covid19freelanceartistresource.wordpress.com/

NYFA Emergency Resources: "Artists who experience personal hardship or who are impacted by a large-scale disaster, or who need funding for a last-minute opportunity can find critical resources in NYFA's Emergency Resources Directory.": https://www.nyfa.org/Content/Show/Emergency%20Resources

The Indie Theater Fund: "Rapid relief grants of up to $500 will be awarded to support our community, prioritizing the consortium of companies, venues, and individuals working in NYC independent theater (Off-Off-Broadway in theater houses of 99 seats or less), operating with budgets under $250,000. We will award grants on an on-going basis until our funds run out. Grants can be requested via a simple online application and will be reviewed on a first come first serve basis.”  https://forms.gle/pLm7bLhKQE8AbpDn6

Send your information to "I Lost My Theatre Gigs": https://ilostmytheatregigs.squarespace.com/

Philadelphia Performing Artists' Emergency Fund: Emergency Funds can be requested by any Cabaret, Drag, Burlesque, Theater, or performance artists facing a financial hardship caused by COVID-19. Performance artists who need aid can apply here: https://forms.gle/SwsMERPM1CTivFyc7

Boston Artist Relief Fund application: https://cityofbostonartsandculture.submittable.com/submit/af2153eb-2d87-4e9d-9ebc-5861eb135999/boston-artist-relief-fund

Boston Music Maker Relief Fund application: https://therecordco.typeform.com/to/w6wTkF

Durham Artist Relief Fund application: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdEJKTP91h5e7MuUITHj96J6eKWeZjgVLZjLG4Wp-WMhyQ4mg/viewform

SXSW workers send your information to "I Lost My Gig" here: https://www.ilostmygig.com/

[httphopewrld]

I Don’t Know What to Call This | (f/m/a) sneak peek!!!

Just Friends? Friends with benefits? Dating? Questions swarmed your mind when one of your dear friends, Allie, asked about you and Hoseok’s relationship. The truth was you didn’t know. You and Hoseok were close, knowing each other since elementary school, and considered each other friends. However, as you two grew older, maturing into separate professions—you a well-known fashion designer, and Hoseok a famous musician and dancer—you two had engaged in some intimate activities (sex—lots of it.) After Allie’s simple question, you had to confront your feelings. But were you and Hoseok ready to be more than close friends and fuck buddies?

Pairing: friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

Genre: slow-burn fluff, some angst, and SMUT

Rating: 18+ because there’s swearing and pretty detailed smut

Warnings: swearing and SMUT (one of the most detailed smuts I’ve written, and there’s more than one sex scene.) Smut includes: switch!reader and switch!hoseok, grinding and thrusting, protective sex (USE CONDOMS, I cannot stress that enough), lots of kissing, ass-grabbing, dirty talk, a wee bit of choking on both sides, squirting, male and female oral, fingering and handjobs, vibrator use, cyber-sex, reader uses dildo, slight degradation, and just lots of filth—YOU’RE WELCOME FELLOW FILTHY ANIMALS.

Word Count: more than 10,000 (not finished yet)

A/N: Happy birthday J-Hope! Although the fic won’t be released today, or tomorrow, on his birthday, it will be out next Friday (February 26). Please let me know in the comments if you wanted to be included in the taglist, and what you think!

Taglist: @kirbykook @kleritata @taestannie @jenotation @hemmos-obrien​ @zeharilisharaban @speed-of-wind 

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You can move those over there,” you gestured to the left corner of the windowed room, where a pile of boxes waited. The move was going to take longer than you expected because the movers arrived a week later than your assistant, Rachel, said. I really need to talk to her about this. You stressed in your mind, rubbing your temples. “Are you okay?” You looked up, vision resuming its focus on your friend, Allie. Allie, your friend for as long as you could remember, offered to help you move to your new building. She would help you manage everything, including the movers, tracking your company’s items, and the layout you gave to her for said things while you managed the company. “I’m just irritated at Rachel,” you noticed her confusion, “my new assistant.” She nodded, remembering, “Right. Why is she still employed?” “Because she’s new, and being an assistant is a tough feat. She’ll get it soon.” You reassured, “Rachel is a fast learner, and this is her first mistake. We’re prepared for the next show, though, because Westley helping me organize it.” “Remind me who Westley is?” Allie asked. You sighed. “West is like my second brain. He helps organize the fashion shows, hire the models, find the venues, and secure the guest list. He has other people help him too, but he’s the brains of that. I create the fashion, and he finds a way to present it.” Allie nodded, “Gotcha.” Your phone rang, and you answered. “Y/N.” “Y/N!” Rachel chimed on the other end. “It’s Rachel. I’m so sorry about the mix-up on dates. It won’t happen again, I—” “I know it won’t, Rachel. You’re new, so I expected to slip up. I’ve gotten it taken care of,” you nudged Allie’s arm, and she smiled. “We’re luckily prepared for the next show in Vancouver, so you don’t have to worry about the mess up. All I need you to do now is make sure that my fabrics are coming in.” “Yes! They’ve arrived at the studio.” Rachel replied. “Fantastic. Thank you. That’ll be all for now. Please check on West if he needs anything.” You requested. “Will do, Y/N. Talk to you soon.” You hung up. The Vancouver show was in five months, giving you and your team enough time to design the clothes for the production and move to the new building. The show’s theme was natural bodies of water and nature, a nod to Canada’s landscape. The clothing catalogue would include various icy blue shades to represent waterfalls and warm emerald tones like flora and fauna. These colours would be encapsulated in elegant gowns and suits, worn by different shapes, genders, and colours. The materials would be made from recycled fabrics from your previous shows and from your fellow artists. You were known for designing elegant attire, so it was best to keep to it. However, it was rare to see different sized, coloured, and gendered models on a runway; because of having to customize clothes to those models. Additionally, making clothes from recycled fabrics would be tough. “Okay,” you began, “I need to talk to my design team and plan out the gowns. Can I leave you here to deal with the movers?” Allie gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you,” you smiled, hugging her, “if you need anything, please call me or Rachel, or both. We’ll be back to help.” Before you left, a thought struck you. You turned around to face Allie. “I should just hire you.” She chuckled, “Why?” You scoffed, “Because you’re here all the time!” You backed back to her. “Listen, you’re the best manager I know. You can be my third brain. You already are, outside of work, so it would make sense.” Allie seemed unsure. “I already have my job at Youth and Hope.” You grasped her hands. “You would be given a great wage, not just because you’re my best friend, but because you’re going to be busy with lots of work. You would be handling the management tasks, like West. You’d be given a good amount of vacation, trips for shows and meetings would be paid for—you could get that loft you always wanted downtown.” You wiggled your eyebrows, and Allie laughed. “Don’t I have to go through an interview process?” You brushed a hand through the air. “I can get someone to interview you and officially hire you. Once that’s done, you’ll start getting paid.” You checked your watch, and a quick rush of panic ran through you. “Shit, I’m going to be late. Consider it, alright! Let me know your availability, and we’ll schedule an interview!” “Okay!” She shouted back as you left. . . The coffee had become bitter. You weren’t sure if it was the roast or the fact that this was your fourth cup of the night. It had been a month since the fabrics arrived. Thanks to Allie, your friend and now employee, your move to the new building was complete; however, your designs weren’t translating as smoothly as you wish. “Fuck,” you cursed, taking your head in your hands and rubbing your temples. The sketches waited in front of you. The measurements and ideas raking at your confidence. Your designs are redundant. You’ve done something similar last time.                                                                       Boring. Plain. You turned back to your mannequins, still bare. The theme was in your mind, and your design team reassured you that your sketches were fine, but it all felt fuzzy. “Y/N,” Rachel peered into the studio from the door, “there’s a gentleman here to see you.” “His name?” You asked, still looking at the mannequins. You heard footsteps retreat into the front lobby, then come back to the door. “Jung Hoseok?” You turned around, trying to contain your excitement. “Please send him in.” Rachel nodded, jogging back to the lobby. You heard a muffled “thank you” before heavy footsteps approaching your studio. Hoseok reached the doorway, beaming his signature smile. He wore acid-washed jeans, a baggy white sweater that matched his chunky light sneakers. His dark hair was slightly wavy and parted in the middle. A tote bag was slung over his shoulder. “Y/N!” He cheered, opening his arms wide. “Hoseok!” You replied, running into his arms and hugging him tightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Hoseok—a year or two? “Fuck, how long has it been?” You asked him. He pulled away, thinking. “About six months?” Totally off. “Seriously, it felt longer than that.” You argued. Hoseok pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calenderer and photos. He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Ah, see here,” he showed you a few photos of you two with his friends, who were also his bandmates, “six months ago, you joined us on tour for a couple days before coming back here. I have it also marked in my calendar.” He showed you the dates, which were marked with ‘💚Y/N’s visit💚.’ “Can Namjoon or Yoongi confirm this?” You crossed your arms. Hoseok mimicked your body language. “I can call them right now,” he challenged. You two stood in competitive tension. You succumbed. “You win this time, Jung Hoseok.” He playfully chuckled. You realized that Hoseok doesn’t live around here. “Wait, why are you in town. Shouldn’t you and the others be in Korea planning another album or something?” You speculated. “Our company gave us a month for vacation because we spent most of the year touring.” Hoseok sighed. “So, I decided to come to visit.” You hugged him again, happy to see someone who wasn’t your employee amidst this chaos of stress. “How long are you staying?” You asked, muffled against his chest. He paused. “Maybe a month?” You pulled away from him, shocked. “A month? Here? That’s all your vacation time.” “Yeah,” he replied, as if that wasn’t a big deal, “I didn’t want to travel to a bunch of places because the group and I have been doing that for almost a year—and it’s pretty chill in this area.” He sighed. “Besides, I don’t think many people would recognize me. The airport wasn’t busy, and I haven’t been swarmed by fans yet.” “Do you have a place to stay?” You asked. He nodded. “Yup! I’m staying at a fancy hotel. I got the suite at the top floor,” he made a gesture with his hand, indicating how high up his suite was. You playfully elbowed his side. “Wow look at you, Mr. Famous. You can afford a top suite now. Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me, though?” Hoseok dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright, Y/N. Thank you, though.” He peered over your shoulder, “It looks like you’re busy anyway, so I think I’ll just stick to my suite.” He walked past you, over to the bare mannequins. “Are you preparing for that show in Vancouver that you told me about?” You nodded, relaying your theme and ideas to him. He smiled. “That sounds really cool,” he pointed to the mannequins, “but don’t you need some clothes for the show, then?” You rolled your eyes, chuckling at him for being a smart ass. “Yes, I do. I’m brainstorming some ideas right now, but I’m coming up with nothing. I have the design team coming in tomorrow with drafts, but I’d like to bring my own thing to the table, you know? I’m the main brain of this operation, and it’d be embarrassing if I come in with zilch.” You leaned against one of the tables, facing the mannequins. “The tough part is designing gowns that fit the right people, you know. Sure, you can make a collection of clothes, but they won’t look good if they don’t fit the models.” You shook your head. “Maybe it’s just tougher to design clothes for different bodies, genders, and colours. I should just stick to one type of person and leave it at that.” Hoseok walked up beside you, leaning against the same table and facing the figures. “Why don’t you find the models and then design the clothes?” You looked at him, surprised. “But wouldn’t that take a long time?” He crossed his arms, “Well, how many models would you need?” “We’re thinking around seventy. There’s going to be two changes within the show.” Hoseok nodded, and you could see him brainstorming. “Well, you have four months left, right? You and your team can make some drafts, cast the models, and then finalize the ideas with said models. Which would take about a couple of months? You could do that while planning the show?” He paused, appearing to notice your hesitant expression. “Think about it. You’ve trained your team well enough to work on its own, right? That’s what you did for your last show, which was a success. You came in every day for a couple hours to make sure everything was in order, then focused on other things.” Hoseok grasped your hands. “You’re great at multitasking, so do it. It’s scary, but you can check on people every day to make sure everything’s alright.” You bit your lip, “I-I don’t know, Hoseok. That sounds like a lot of work—” “You did it last time, and it worked out just fine,” he gently squeezed your hands, “and I’m here for a month. I can help out whenever you need me. I’ll simply clean things up and fetch coffee if that’s what you need.” You laughed, “Like my intern?” “Yeah! I don’t know how to design anything or plan a fashion show, but I’ll do what I can.” He smiled. “You’re so much more than you think, Y/N, and if you need reminders, I’ll be here.” You smiled back at him, so grateful to have him here. “My god, you’re fucking sweet,” you scoffed, taking your hands out of his. Hoseok laughed. You pushed yourself off the table and faced him. “How did we even become friends?” You questioned. He actually gave it a thought. “You joined by dance club in elementary school, when no one else would.” He laughed so hard that he teared up. “I think we actually took club photos, and it was only you and I posing.” You laughed with him, remembering those days spent trying to breakdance to hip hop and presenting dance routines to your parents. “Yeah, that was before you joined that Music Academy in grade four, right?” He nodded, and you sighed, surprised you still remembered. Your mind came back to the present. “So, you’re actually okay with helping out?” You checked. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to?” Hoseok replied. You tapped your index finger against your temple, “true.” “So, how much do you want?” Hoseok looked offended at your question. You chuckled. “Well, you’re going to work for me, so I need to pay you.” “It’s only just a month, though.” “Yeah, but—” “What about we see how much you have me do before you pay me?” He interrupted. “I might just have to fetch coffee, so you can just give me money on the spot.” You thought about it for a minute. Hoseok yawned. “This work talk is making me tired. Do you want to go out for dinner?” He looked around you, “Unless you have more work to do. I can always wait in the lobby for you to finish.” You brushed your hand through the air, “Nah, it’s okay. I’m pretty brain dead anyway. I need to be energized for tomorrow’s draft review.” Hoseok pushed himself off the table and clapped. “Awesome! Where do you think I’m taking you for dinner?” You bit your lip, trying to guess. “Sushi?” “Sushi it is!” He beamed. You grabbed your things and followed him out of the studio.